Ben Reddick wasn’t the best at making friends

Ben Reddick, who published the Press, a local paper, was as prickly

as a porcupine.

To his critics, he was loud, obnoxious, opinionated, bombastic,

overbearing and unpleasant. To his admirers -- few though they may

have been -- he was fearless, aggressive and outspoken.

I always thought Ben visualized himself as that small-town

publisher in countless westerns, the feisty man who was the enemy of

the big rancher and the friend of the lonesome hero.

Ben didn’t court friends. As a matter of fact, he went out of his

way to annoy people. For example, he held the medical profession in

low esteem. He refused to call doctors by the title of “doctor” even

in print. He always referred to them as “mister,” which infuriated

those in the medical profession.

For some reason, he liked me, so I was always referred to as Judge

Gardner rather than Mr. Gardner.

Before Ben became a newspaper publisher, he had been a staff

photographer for one of the L.A. papers. He never got over that

background. Where Ben was, his camera was never too far away.

And so it was that when there was a shootout between a citizen and

the police department, Ben got right in the middle and photographed

the battle. It was a miracle he wasn’t hit. Somehow, he survived, and

this escapade led to the “Boob of the Year” award.

Shortly after Ben escaped with his life from the shootout, Tom

Keevil, the editor of the Daily Pilot, published in Costa Mesa, and a

group of close friends decided that each year when the chamber of

commerce was selecting its “Man of the Year,” they would select the

“Boob of the Year” and name the award after the man who had had a

chance to shoot Ben Reddick and didn’t.

The award was never given because the group could never find

anyone who came up to the high standard set by the guy for whom the

award was named.

Ben had a short, a very short, political career.

A member of the Board of Supervisors of Orange County died, and to

the amazement of almost everyone, the governor appointed Ben to the

position. He completed the dead man’s term, no more, and even then,

there were mutters of recall.

Shortly after Ben’s abbreviated political career, he left town and

moved to Paso Robles. There, he started another newspaper. One night,

years later, I was checking into a motel in Paso Robles. The owner

was a nice, white-haired old lady who looked for all the world like

Mrs. See of See’s Candies.

To make conversation, I asked, “Is Ben Reddick still publishing

the local paper?”

If I had jabbed her with an electric cattle prod, the result

couldn’t have been more dramatic. The nice, motherly old lady swelled

up like a pouter pigeon, her face turned red, and she screamed, “Ben

Reddick! That so and so and so on!”

I gathered Ben Reddick hadn’t changed his ways.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.

His column runs Tuesdays.