Many interns flocked through the door at Frisko magazine where I presided in my own benevolent tyrant way as founder and editor, but hands down, Bill Goggins is deeply etched into my mental hard drive. He was a bit older than most of the other interns there; many were FOC (fresh out of Columbia) or FOB (fresh out of Berkeley). The magazine was often their very first exposure to journalism.
I recall his seriousness, his polite demeanor, his good cheer. Had I a larger budget, I would have hired him in asap. When Frisko closed shop, I was happy to see that in time he landed at Wired. I then watched from afar as he climbed up its masthead. I was proud of his accomplishments. I often toyed with the idea of dropping him a line. I regret that I didn't.
One incident bears sharing. Frisko was hosting a party at some swank San Francisco restaurant. The usual crowd was there--a mix of Pacific Heights types and dressed-in-black Soma hipsters. Bill walked up to me. He was with an older man. Bill said, "This is my father. I wanted him to meet you. I am so thankful and appreciative of working at Frisko."
I was stunned. I wanted to thank him for providing the magazine with free labor. He was proud to be there with his father, proud to be affiliated with the magazine.
Of the dozens of interns who ever worked at Frisko, only one had the grace and class to personally thank me for the learning experience. That person was Bill Goggins.
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