John Homans died earlier tonight, at 62. He edited features at New York for not quite 20 years, from 1994 to 2014, and because he was not a celebrity editor, he was not particularly well known outside the publishing universe.
But let us assure you, because we saw it firsthand: There was nobody quite like him. A disproportionate number of the best things you ever read in New York came through his hands. The shape and sound and worldview and talent pool of this place would be immeasurably lessened without him, according to a statement posted online on Jul. 30, 2020 by nymag
Cause of Death.
We have no information at the moment on of caused death . This post will be updated as soon as we have that information.
The following are some tributes posted on social media to honor the life and the legacy of the deceased.The last time I bumped into John Homans was on Greenwich St. in Tribeca during a summer fair. It had been too long, but the old familiar tones of his voice, his chuckle-laugh, almost a drawl always took me back to meandering conversations, some profound, others amusingly banal, over our lingering dinners at Adams House.It was a pleasure to find him, sitting with Ingrid, Peter, Jay and others, to join a circle of discussions on what passed for our interests and intrigues. It was no surprise that John went on to become the voice of a great publication. He always had that voice. A voice that was both tender and strong, firm and thohgtful, and always nutruing the rumbles of his humor. Most likely he was born with it. I can’t imagine him otherwise.I haven’t thought directly of that voice recently, though I sensed it’s timber in his work. I took it for granted, that it would be there, and I suppose always imagined I was going to be bumping into John again and again in the future, as I had that summer’s day, one much like this one. Except that was a day of pleasant surprise, re-seeing an old friend, and this is one of hollowed emptiness, at the knowledge that there is no chance to ever chat with him again.John was a friend to me, and a friend to many, but more that that, he was a friend to good ideas, especially those well expressed. He always called me “artist,” not as a tease, or a sobriquet, but because he knew for me that it was more than an apsiration and avocation, it was an honor. And John he honred all of us, each in our way, always. John gave gifts to us all of honoring us with his words.Good bye John I hope my effort to honor you in turn, minor though it is, on this most noxious of platforms, still rings true and stirs the shared love of you, we all felt who knew you, one more time. Rest in Peace John.