Craig Virden, who headed the children’s division of Bantam Doubleday Dell and then the combined Random House children’s group, died suddenly on May 6, at the age of 56. He leaves his wife, literary agent Nancy Gallt, and children, Emily and Sam. Here, colleagues, friends and authors pay tribute to his literary acumen, his warmth and generosity, and his joie de vivre.
George Nicholson, agent, Sterling Lord Literistic
Thirty years ago I ran into a tremendously energetic young man at the beginning of his career. Catholic in his tastes and judgments with a terrific sense of humor, he became a friend, a professional partner and somewhat uncertainly a participant in one of the major changes in the publishing of our time. From a small literary agency to Scholastic (then still privately held) to a brief unrewarding stint in advertising, Craig joined me at the then Dell Publishing Company (later Random House). We talked in a dark bar on Lexington Avenue about the paperback business, what it could become, and laughed a lot over the idiocies of what we saw around us. His love of reading, theater, music and creative people made him a superb point man in helping to develop the publishing lists that were soon to be folded into the world of international publishing with the creation of Bantam, Doubleday Dell by the German colossus, Bertelsmann.
After a decade of our working together, he was put in charge of melding the publishing lists of BDD, Random House and finally, the ailing Golden Books. Keeping in mind the primacy of the creative writers and artists whose interests he so valued, Craig managed the job without always realizing his unique contribution to making this operational behemoth work. Surely, he made misjudgments in the process, but it was a giant achievement. Of course, he didn’t do it alone, but his humor, his compassion for people, his full sensibility as a publisher, and his large view of the task gave him a unique view of the industry and set a standard which is being emulated today. And of the man, his loyalty, his humor, his disdain for the "suits" who didn’t always understand the children’s book business they were in (many of them are no longer in publishing), was tempered by wit and a shrug of the shoulders for the "idiot boys." But most of all, aside from his family and colleagues, he loved and respected the achievement of talent and the creative mind in whatever task. For most of us "our Craig" isn’t really gone.
Christopher Paul Curtis, author
I’m not the luckiest person in the world so I know that’s not why it happened. But I’m not quite sure what I did to deserve the introduction into the world of children’s literature that I received. It must have been something in a past life because I can’t recall doing anything so noble or so kind or so important that I would be paid back the way I have been. The first person I met in publishing was my tremendous editor Wendy Lamb. She insisted I come to New York to meet this guy named Craig Virden who was the publisher of BDD. And what a guy! From the word "go" Craig was enthusiastic, supportive and made me feel valued. I knew he cared and meant it when he said, "If there’s anything I can do for you...."
Craig had a quick, razor-sharp sense of humor. I remember being at a Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators convention where Craig was the keynote speaker. This must’ve been in the mid-’90s, because Craig was going to give his speech off his first laptop computer. The crowd warmly applauded him after the introduction and anxiously leaned in to hear the wisdom of this respected publisher, and why wouldn’t they? This was a group of mostly unpublished authors looking for a way in, and to have this big-shot New Yorker speaking to them was akin to Moses coming off the mountain. Craig gave his thanks and, looking down, paused. The pause became uncomfortably long as Craig repeatedly jabbed at the keyboard trying to get something to come on the screen. Then, in a move that only those of us born before 1965 would understand, he picked up the computer, shook it a few times, then banged the side with his hand. Still nothing. Finally Craig looked up and announced, "If there’s anyone in this room who can make my speech come up on this computer I will publish your next three novels."
That was Craig. The two words that paint the best picture of him for me are dignity and grace. As I said, I’m not the luckiest person in the world, so I’m not sure what it was that allowed me to have the great fortune of having Craig be one of the first two people I met in the publishing world. What a loss, what a human being, what a friend.
Philippa Dickinson, managing director, Random House Children’s Books U.K.
I feel as though I have known Craig all my life, although it is probably only a mere 13 years or so. Our paths crossed from time to time at the start but I really only got to know him properly when he took over from George Nicholson in 1996, a friendship that deepened when I took charge of RHCB UK in 2000.
When I think of Craig, I think of his love of books; the authors we shared; his pride in his colleagues and their achievements; his passion for children’s literature and the (sometime tortuous) business of children’s books; and his love for Nancy and the children. I hear his laugh. Even on the occasions when things weren’t going so well, Craig could always find some way of spinning the yarn to wring some grim humor out of whatever had gone wrong.
I’m sure that others will talk about Craig’s achievements in the U.S. On the international stage, he was a big thinker and visionary publisher, willing to take a chance when he could see an opportunity. The launch of David Fickling Books at RHCB as the first truly trans-Atlantic children’s publisher was Craig’s inspiration, in recognition of the opportunities for great children’s literature to be published successfully under a single global umbrella.
My colleagues, my family and I mourn the loss of this lovely man, great publisher and close friend. Our world is a sadder place without him.
Gary Paulsen, author
Craig Virden was my publisher. But, more importantly, he was my friend. Most importantly of all, he was a friend to children who like books and to those who don’t.
He was masterful during times of turbulence in the industry; I watched him steer my publishing house through some rough times of merging and consolidating and he did it with a steadfast passion for authors and books far more than spreadsheets and bottom lines.
I will always remember hearing his big, hearty laugh at dinners and conferences, surrounded by teachers and librarians and booksellers. He had a big heart and a bigger sense of humor. We had wonderful times making books together, we had even more wonderful times on my boat and I will always regret that I didn’t get him on the back of a dogsled.
Fair winds and following seas, Craig. And thank you for all the books and all the times we shared.
Beverly Horowitz, v-p and publisher, Bantam Delacorte Dell Books for Young Readers
It has been seven years since Craig Virden and I worked together; however, we had been colleagues for more than 10 years. It has been hard to accept that such a talented, spirited, hardworking, thoughtful person should be cut down in his prime. I am flooded with thoughts about the years when we laughed and talked and focused on our business as the marketplace was changing so quickly.
Seventeen years ago, when we started, we didn’t have computers and cell phones to keep in constant touch. We wrote letters and sat in meetings and even shouted down the hall! So many ideas to share and complicated encounters with authors and agents and the daily work of publishing hardcovers and paperbacks at BDD. Office life was only part of it. I remember a convention we attended in Chicago in the heat of June. We found ourselves hitchhiking in cocktail party clothing because we needed to get to a gathering and there were no taxis. Craig dared me to get us a ride and I did knock on a guy’s window when he was stopped at a red light; this stranger got talking to us about books and ended up exchanging business cards with Craig.
And that is what I am focusing on as we try to make sense of this loss: Craig’s passion for books and people and his zeal for the search. He loved finding new talent as much as he loved publishing an author who delivered a wonderful novel. And that is why I know that Craig’s contribution to our business is still so vital. We have the pleasure of watching the development of those he discovered, those people he gave advice to, those hopefuls who have yet to write the best book possible to reach the kids who will be changed by these books. Craig made a difference and that is an inspiring fact to remember.
Dinah Stevenson, v-p and publisher, Clarion Books
My first specific memory of Craig, in the 1970s or early ‘80s, is of visiting him and Nancy in their apartment on Columbus Avenue and being served homemade scallion pancakes—an impressive early demonstration of Craig’s bon vivant side.
I remember Craig especially for his generosity of spirit and his remarkable combination of hard-headed business mind and irreverent style. When I had to give a speech about What a Publisher Does, I asked him for input about his experience because he had held a position quite different from mine—managing a colossal publishing venture, hundreds of people, and an enormous budget. He told me about addressing these issues in a presentation, impeccably dressed in corporate garb, and at the end stepping out from behind the podium to reveal that he was wearing shorts and sneakers: a reminder not to overlook the fun stuff.
Linda Summers, associate publisher (rights), Random House Children’s Books U.K.
I first encountered Craig via mail and telexes more than 25 years ago, at a time when the Brits regularly bought in picture books from America. Craig was at Scholastic and I was at Julia MacRae Books, where we were buying in an Ezra Jack Keats picture book. We later bonded over contracts, or lack of them, when Doubleday bought several picture books in one go from us and I soon discovered, as we battled over impossible schedules and missed deadlines, that with Craig however tough the going got, a sense of humor was never lacking.
Soon afterwards we were meeting regularly in London, at the Bologna and Frankfurt book fairs and on my visits to New York. There were the years, too, when Craig and I were Random House colleagues and enjoyed working more closely together. As the years went by my friendship with Craig and Nancy grew, and I would always stay for the weekend at their South Orange home on my New York trips. On occasions these weekends would coincide with the party which Craig and Nancy hosted each September for New Jersey publishers, and on other visits we would sit in their garden, or as we did last September out at their lake house, chatting about books, publishing, travel and life. The guaranteed warm welcome from Craig and Nancy and a weekend spent in their company was the most perfect way to start a New York selling trip.
Craig, Nancy and I had our regular lunch on the last day of the Bologna Book Fair this past March. Craig was in good spirits, having enjoyed his role as Bologna blogger for PW. It was to be our final lunch there together as I was soon to retire, but we had plans to meet in New York, London or France. I am so incredibly sad that there will be no more opportunities to enjoy Craig’s friendship and company, but I have such wonderful memories of the times we did enjoy together. Without Craig many lives and careers would have been a lot duller—I know mine would have been.
Klaus Humann, publisher, Carlsen Verlag, Hamburg
It was impossible not to be impressed by Craig. His intensity, his passion. We met one Frankfurt because he was interested in one of our authors, Andreas Steinhöfel. An American publisher interested in a German author? This can only be an exceptional person, I thought to myself. And he was. Although running an impressive list at a big company he was very European in his attitude: interested in other markets, eager to discuss books (we shared a love for Robert Cormier) and ideas, always open to the world of international children’s literature.
He met Andreas a fair later. Finally, The Center of the World came out from Delacorte Press in 2005 and both he and Beverly Horowitz were proud when it was nominated for the prestigious Los Angeles Times Young Adult Fiction prize.
Free of the burden of a day-to-day job, he and I had lunch in New York, met at book fairs, for the last time this Bologna, and I will never forget his curiosity, his wit, his eyes so lively, his loving kindness well hidden under his beard. He was an impressive figure of a publisher, an old-fashioned booklover. I will miss him.
S.E. Hinton, author
Craig Virden was a friend of mine. He was my editor for many years, but friend for years longer. I have to admit I always thought "friend" first. Over the years we shared good meals, good conversation, a love of books, a mutual respect and affection.
One story about the two ways Craig was in my life:
He was visiting me in my hometown of Tulsa, Oklahoma. I hadn’t been writing for a while, and we were trying the age-old way of thinking up a story, an afternoon of sipping Scotch. When this failed we ended up talking about our kids; his Emily and my Nick were born within a few days of each other.
I was telling him about a joke my husband David had played on Nick, convincing him that the little boy in his kindergarten who had black hair like David, wore glasses like David, and who’s name was David, was really his father turned into a little boy in order to go to school with him. I have to admit I aided and abetted this by listening to Nick’s after-school conversations, then relaying the latest to his dad over the phone. We kept this up for about a year, Nick skeptical, but not quite enough to disbelieve.
While telling this to Craig, I looked over to see him torn between falling off the couch laughing, and calling DHS. My friend said, gasping, "This is hysterical." My editor said "Write this down."
That’s how my picture book Big David, Little David was born.
I will miss Craig a lot. The world of children’s literature lost a big supporter. I lost a friend.
Debbie Kovacs, svp, publishing, Walden Media
Generous, wry, gracious, brilliant, innovative, kind, imaginative, elegant, creative, old school and occasionally curmudgeonly, Craig was both a throwback and a visionary. His apprenticeship with the legendary children’s book agent Marilyn Marlow imbued in him the courtesies and gentility of a bygone era; his curiosity and entrepreneurial zeal kept him exploring the leading edge to the end of his life.
I worked with Craig at two different stages of his career. We first knew each other in the early 1980s, when, bitten by the movie bug, he joined then-nascent Scholastic Productions. I was part of a group down the hall starting Scholastic’s interactive department. We recognized each other as kindred spirits, fueled by challenges, frustrations and elations.
We did not see each other again until 2003. By then, Craig had achieved spectacular success. At Walden Media we were starting a publishing venture and needed a Yoda. I heard he had begun to do some consulting, and could imagine no better mentor. We agreed to a consulting relationship. Convincing him to work with us was a big "get," as they say in Hollywood. We were thrilled.
He and I set our first meeting for 2:30 p.m. on August 14, 2003 at Walden Media’s then-New York City office at 41st and Madison. I was slightly delayed returning from a lunch date and was rushing into the building—only to be met by hordes of people leaving the building. A citywide blackout had just occurred. Craig was 26 stories up, with no way out but the stairs. In those first eerie post-9/11 years, no one knew whether this situation was a typical New York City malfunction or something more malevolent. I was wretched.
I waited in the lobby, scanning the limp and motley crowd as it shuffled wearily out the stairway door. Finally, he emerged. He was dripping wet, but had already (nearly) forgiven me for putting him in that terrible situation. Moreover, he had an action plan.
Within 10 minutes we were sitting in the shady garden of the Williams Club around the corner, sipping chilled white wine (until all the ice melted), a room for each of us secured for the night. The long dark evening boomed with his laughter and with camaraderie as the club filled with his equally stranded friends.
With that unorthodox beginning, my unforgettable period of mentorship with Craig began. I knew he’d be wise. I knew he’d be wry. But what I was not prepared for was his astounding generosity. He escorted me on my first trip to Bologna—and his 30th —walking me up and down every aisle, building a bridge between me and his legions of devoted friends and colleagues. He taught me how to view the field, how to separate wheat from chaff among people and projects, and, throughout, underscored the power and importance of relationships. He taught me a hundred new and different ways to analyze and assess an opportunity. And he gave me glimmers of insight into the workings of his own exquisite taste.
I know my experiences with him were the rule, not the exception. We were all so lucky to have him in our lives. The millions of kids his work touched will be affected for an entire generation and beyond. All we can hope to do for the rest of our careers is to try to bring forward projects that approach the timeless quality of those for which he was responsible.
Bonnie Bryant, author
Craig Virden was a very classy man. He had enough grace and wit to make the most awkward situation run smoothly, and being around him gave people a welcome sense of security and comfort.
Not long after I left corporate publishing to become a fulltime author, Craig asked me to write a book for him. It was a movie tie-in and he wanted it as soon as possible. I got myself into the zone and finished the 160-page manuscript in four days. I existed on creative juices, coffee, and adrenaline. When it was done, I took the manuscript, still warm from my printer, to the Dell offices at 666 Fifth Avenue, and proudly plopped the thing on Craig’s desk. He thanked me, handed it to a copyeditor, looked at his watch and said, "Want some lunch?" I was in ratty jeans, a rumpled turtleneck, and sneakers. I brought this to his attention, saying, "I can’t go to a midtown restaurant like this!"
"Sure you can," he said. "You’re an author. You can wear whatever you want."
He took me to Aquavit where I was treated like a queen.
Brenda Bowen, former Chair, Children’s Book Council
The time, the place: early 1982, the old old Scholastic offices—in the Hippodrome on West 44th Street.
Ann Reit, the redoubtable editor of girls’ romances at Scholastic, had given me the honor of writing my first-ever flap copy. It was for If This Is Love, I’ll Take Spaghetti by Ellen Conford. The book was a collection of short stories about life and love as a teenage girl, in funny Ellen Conford style. Proto-chick lit. All I remember about the flap is that it allowed me to write a punchy last line: "This book is for anyone who is, was, or hopes to have been a teenager."
Ann loved the copy, and went up and down the floor telling people about what one of "her girls" had written. Then a sonorous voice came from the other side of my cubicle, asking, "Did you write this?" That voice belonged to Craig Virden, who visiting the cubicle copy of a very quiet and unassuming club copywriter, named Ann M. Martin. When I admitted that yes, I had written the copy, the highly respected young associate editor-on-the-rise popped his head over the cubicle wall and said, "This is really good."
"Really good!" From an associate editor! Who was actually editing books himself! I was thrilled. It wasn’t effusive praise (not Craig’s style), but it was sincere and generous (very much Craig’s style). And it meant so much to me: one of those very small gestures of Craig’s that prove so important in a colleague’s career. Imagine how many of those he spread throughout the industry, from pre-1982 to just weeks ago, and you have some idea of Craig’s lasting legacy.
Jim Murphy, author
Last February Craig came to our house to pick me up for a "business lunch" at a local saloon. It wasn’t the sight of this bear of a man standing at our back door that was so startling. Despite an outside temperature of around 20 degrees, Craig was dressed in a rumpled t-shirt and equally rumpled gray shorts, and looking rather impish. Almost immediately another mental image of Craig came to mind, this one from a 2003 National Book Awards ceremony. Craig looked downright dashing in his perfectly tailored tux, scanning the crowd like a Civil War general surveying the terrain before a battle. But that was our Craig — able to float effortlessly and successfully through a wide variety of worlds.
He understood, for instance, the importance of commercial projects to a publisher’s survival, but cared passionately about words and books and had the will to champion the rare literary gem that came his way. He had a gentle, almost southern charm and bearing, but he wasn’t afraid to muck about in the dirt of his garden. And he brought a knowledgeable and refined sensibility to everything — travel, food, music, art — but was more than happy to have the occasional bacon-cheeseburger (medium rare, please) with extra-crispy fries. No brief tribute could possibly do justice to Craig’s spirit or life, or adequately express what he meant to his family and friends. I’ll just say he was a level-headed and honest advisor, a talented publisher and editor, and a caring best friend who will be missed dearly.
Barbara A. Genco, Brooklyn Public Library; past president of ALA's Association for Library Service to Children
Brilliant. Ebullient. Irreverent. Kind. Funny as hell.
I can't remember when I actually first met him. It must have been at a Random House dinner at an ALA. He made quite a first impression. Welcoming. Warm. Big booming voice. Tall and broad. Wonderfully well dressed. Craig gave off that sort of big man confidence that we see in a John Goodman. Think... a Brooks Brothers Burl Ives? Smart. A gracious host. Well educated. Thoughtful. A man who loved ideas and possibilities as much as he loved good food. He knew (and I am truly broken up to be using the past tense here, now) so much about so much; one felt that you could talk for weeks, months and never run out of topics.
Craig had opinions. For example. I really knew that Craig was really glad to no longer be living the life of a gentrifying pioneer in Brooklyn's Prospect-Lefferts Gardens. (He was MUCH happier in South Orange!)
And books! He knew (there's that melancholy past tense again) his books. He loved his books. He believed in books. He knew what would work and what wouldn't. He was curious and creative. Innovative. He had high standards but he also got the bottom line. We librarians had confidence in Craig. He set a high bar. He gave us great, good books. Thank you, Craig.
Our hearts go out to Nancy and your kids. You were much loved.
Patricia Reilly Giff, author
I picture Craig laughing. I hear the sound of it even now. He used to call me Patgiff, all in one word, just like that. And he began that way in his office one day.
"When are you going to write a serious book, Patgiff?" he’d asked.
I shook my head. "I can’t." After dozens of humorous books for children, I didn’t even know how to begin.
He laughed, that big wonderful laugh. "Of course you can," he said. "Of course."
The book was Lily’s Crossing. It took me four years. I’d start, then put it away. But always I saw Craig, sitting at that desk, laughing, believing. And I’d begin again. I remembered that day in his office as I made my way through that book, and all the ones I’ve written since.
Of course you can.
I’ll never forget him, his belief in me, his friendship. I think that’s something he must have given so many writers, that affirmation, that belief we all need, that support we thrive on. How grateful I am.
Katrin Magnusson, former executive assistant, Random House Children's Books
Craig was one of the most caring and generous people I have ever known. As his EA for over five years, what touched me most was how compassionate he could be—giving freelance work or overtime pay to those who needed and deserved it. He even hired me to do filing in his home office recently during a particularly difficult time for me. Not many people go out of their way to make others feel better about themselves the way Craig did.
On the morning of 9/11, Craig gathered us all in his office so that together we could watch the events on television. He walked the halls over and over again to check on everyone and stayed long after most people had left to make sure we all had a place to go and a way to get there. His combination of wisdom and empathy came to light on that dark day. I am so very grateful to have known Craig and I will miss his being in this world.
Wendy Lamb, v-p and publishing director, Wendy Lamb Books
Craig Virden was my colleague, my boss, and most of all, my dear friend. I remember:
How he loved to laugh. And to read and talk about a good book, to eat, to travel, to listen to music, to look at art, to tell stories about his children, Emily and Sam.
What a good editor he was, how I trusted and relied on his judgment.
What a good boss, how he talked me through difficult situations and decisions.
The day before my wedding he left flowers and a note on my chair.
When my best friend and I went on a trip, he sent us to the airport in a town car with a bottle of Champagne.
The beautiful gifts he gave his wife, Nancy Gallt.
Craig and my husband Paul in black tie, smoking cigars, drinking brandy and singing at the King Cole Bar of the St Regis.
His kindness, loyalty, and love for his family and friends. He believed in the people he cared about. He rejoiced in our good fortune.
Craig Virden. How he loved to laugh.
Neal Porter, editorial director, Neal Porter Books/Roaring Brook Press
Craig and I first clapped eyes on each other across a desk in 1988, when I was pitching picture books for Sebastian Walker and he was batting cleanup at Bantam Doubleday Dell. We did a couple of deals and unraveled a couple of others, and in the course of a couple of conversations I knew that I had found a kindred spirit and a friend for life. We were of the same generation; had started in the business in the ’70s and come of age in the ’80s, and shared the same mildly dyspeptic yet oddly optimistic view of publishing... and life. Over the next 20 years we suffered through a lot of bad plays and consumed a lot of good wine and pissed and moaned about our respective bosses. When he got the big job at Random House I was happy for him, and yet also sensed that inside the business suit was a sensitive and talented editor yearning to bust out, when he talked about the new Patty MacLachlan with the pleasure of a proud papa.
My most vivid memories of Craig are in the Palace Bar in Bologna, scene of our annual contests for the most outlandish tie or most annoying appointment. The latter usually ended in a draw, because we invariably saw the same annoying Belgian publisher on the same day. But my most cherished memory of Craig is in a sunlit garden in Ferrara just before last year’s fair, digging into a plate of pumpkin lasagna with gusto. "Does it get any better than this?" he sighed, breaking into his trademark impish grin. And by God, I don’t think it does.
Readers are invited to add their own tribute to Virden, below. A memorial service will take place on Wednesday, May 27, at 4:30 p.m. in St. Peter's Church at 619 Lexington Ave. in New York City.
