When a Colombo-bound ship called the “Dali” struck the Baltimore Key Bridge resulting in its collapse a few months ago, a breathless Leon Berenger dashed into my room at the Sunday Observer and told me rather excitedly that at least one Sri Lankan sailor was on board the ship. This, at a time when even well-established foreign media organisations were in the dark as to the composition of the ship’s crew.
That was the essence of Leon, whose life was unfortunately cut off at a time when he was most productive. A veteran journalist, storyteller and writer, Leon had an extraordinary ability to get the crux of the news hours before the others got it. Most of his stories were exclusive, since he had contacts everywhere. In fact, just days before his untimely death, he had received an award for his reporting on maritime affairs, his pet subject or beat.
I first met Leon over 30 years ago, somewhat ironically on a political stage. Unlike most journalists, politics was not Leon’s cup of tea per se. My editor had asked me to cover a political rally in Matale. When I climbed onto the stage, I saw a person who I thought was a foreigner seated in the last row. My photographer went to the front of the stage to take photographs and there was a vacant seat next to the “foreigner”, so I took it. I kept thinking why a foreigner would attend a local political rally.
I was taken aback when the “foreigner” asked me in Sinhalese “Mahaththaya mona paththarenda?” (from which newspaper are you?). I told him I represented the Daily News. Then he switched to English, with which he was obviously more familiar and told me, “I am Berenger. Leon Berenger”. I burst out laughing, because this is exactly how British spy James Bond introduced himself to pretty women and vicious villains in the hit movies. I was neither, but that was Leon’s sense of humour on show.
We had a really good conversation, until the main speakers at the rally took their turn at the microphone. Being a young, novice reporter at the time, I was amazed by Leon’s furious scribbling. Once or twice, he asked me the meanings of some of the heavier Sinhala words used by the speakers, but apart from that, the ink flowed on to his notebook graciously. Just observing him at work was a pleasure.
Fast forward 30 years, when I became the Chief Editor of the Sunday Observer, Leon was among the first to come to my room and wish me good luck. It was at the Sunday Observer that I discovered Leon’s true versatility. Leon could do a story at a moment’s notice.
He did not wait for instructions from the Editor or the News Editor – when he sensed a story, he just made his calls, verified the facts and wrote it as fast as he could to meet the tight deadline on Saturday. He had a very good nose for news and if he was too pressed for time, he would give the gist of the story to another reporter.
Seeking personal glory was not his forte. To him, the newspaper came first and he came second.
Leon was truly multi-faceted in that he was also a superb copy editor and sub editor. In most newspapers, reporters have no clue about subbing and the subs are equally clueless about reporting. Leon, on the other hand, straddled both worlds effortlessly.
On Saturdays, he subbed more than eight pages almost single handedly without any complaint. He went through copies carefully and spotted mistakes that most other subs would have missed.
Since Leon had “been there and done that” as a reporter, he could straightaway tell when a reporter had missed a good point or messed up the opening para. He made their stories more effective and more engaging for the readers.
In a way, it was a pity that we used his services more as a copy editor than as a reporter due to manpower constraints. Remarkably, Leon took it all without missing a beat – literally – as he diligently worked on stories from his favourite beats – Police and crime, National Security, maritime news and social issues.
He had a stellar reputation as a crime reporter at all the newspapers he worked for. He could just pick up the phone and dial those in the highest echelons of power to get a story. If he had to travel far and wide to get a story, he did that too, even at his own expense. He was not personally satisfied if he did not have at least one major story in the next day’s paper.
Most journalists find it rather difficult to find a work-life balance as it is a job that calls for long hours in the field and at the desk. But not Leon. Whenever both of us had some free time, Leon would come to my room and chat about his family, some of whom live in Canada and Australia.
He could not conceal his delight when his cousins, nephews and nieces living abroad came down to his Welisara residence to spend a few days or weeks with him and his wife. He too occasionally went abroad to spend some time with him, but despite their appeals to permanently settle down in those climes, he always came back because his true calling in life was here in Sri Lanka.
Either way, they apparently doted on him, listening to his maritime yarns and stories of his close shaves as a reporter. Apparently, there were many people who were not so pleased with his stories who wanted to see him off, but he persisted nevertheless.
The Sunday Observer will never be the same without Leon. The journalists and other staffers will sorely miss his magic touch, larger-than-life presence, the infectious laugh, hilarious yarns and jokes and above all, his warmth to everyone he came across.
Rest in peace, dear Leon, you will never be forgotten.
– Pramod de Silva
