Knip, 63, who took a buyout and retired a year ago, could do anything. He was a columnist, entertainment editor, features writer and a department head at various times.
He knew everybody. And how to reach them. (When he left the paper, co-workers demanded his two overstuffed Rolodex files and put them in a secure place.)
link: Appreciation: Jim Knippenberg | cincinnati.com | Cincinnati.Com
Knip was a good guy who lived hard -- and fully -- and died fairly young. There's something to be said for that.
He was a friend -- he was one of those rare people who was considered a friend by every one he knew -- even though we spent our careers on opposite sides. We even raised a few pints together, something Knip did with all of his friends who, of course, were legion.
There are many wonderful and funny stories about Knip, most of which have the added benefit of being true. But most of them will never be told completely or candidly in the traditional media. Simply because they can't.
Take the tale told at the end of this tribute. Humorous, but incomplete. Here's the real story:
Knip -- who most likely had an alternative lifestyle, if you know what I mean -- was waiting outside of his office after a harried day for a friend to pick him up. A very similar sporty little Mercedes (Knip lived well for an ink-stained wretch. It happens.) stopped in traffic in front of him. Absentmindedly, the Little Knipper jumps in and exclaims: "Fuck me. I need a drink." The stranger behind the wheel doesn't miss a beat.
"So I fuck you and I give you a drink," she says. "Do I at least get a cigarette afterward?"
Mortified, our hero identifies himself as the equally over-the-top columnist for the Other Paper, apologizes, and runs as fast as a life-long smoker can.
And that's the whole story as told by one of the most colorful and enjoyable people I've ever known. He was one of the good guys who made everyone smile when he entered the room. Rest in peace, old friend.
-Paul Knue
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