I still remember the outfit I wore on my first day (navy floral skirt and blouse). I drove a 1988 Jeep Sahara, had just rented a faded little shabby house in a boho neighborhood a block from the ocean, and my ancient dog Daphne was still alive. I had left a place I’d loved to come here to take the job as editor of Boca magazine and the other publications, and it was a giant move for me. The Speeds are not particularly fond of radical changes, and I was no exception.
That was 34 years ago.
I look back now, and it seems like only a few years ago we started the Dining Guide, the Best of Boca and were doing crazy things like the Sexiest Bald Man in Boca, a cover girl contest, and inviting real astronomers to rate the best Cosmos in Boca—when that was the drink of the hour. We had fashion shoots and started new magazines and argued about covers and won awards and I remember the collective excitement of a small group of people making a publication they loved and supported and collaborated on. It was those times that I’ll always cherish, and the knowledge that I had a job I loved, and that I was good at it because I loved it.
There are too many experiences and moments to catalogue; there is no way to “wrap up” 34 years of doing this. I recall the moment I was standing hip-deep in water in the Big Cypress and understood what the Everglades was. I remember the night I danced in the Ballroom Battle and half the city cheered me on; they needed a hook to get me off that stage once I heard the applause. I remember all those lunches with John Shuff and Charlie Siemon and Bob George and Jorge Camejo talking about Boca politics, and I remember the lunch hours I slipped away to Lord & Taylor to find a black dress for that weekend’s gala. Or the days the new magazines were delivered and we pounced on them, even though we’d written them and proofed them 1,000 times. And all those people I interviewed, too, famous and ordinary, young and old. It goes on and on. It was the center of my life.
So leaving this job now is not something I can describe. It’s been here longer than my marriage, or my faithful Jeep, and it’s outlasted three dogs and my waistline. It was the best of times and, as they say, the worst of times. The only thing that makes sense to me as I write this is to thank our readers, the late John Shuff and Margaret Shuff, the warm and supportive Boca and Delray communities and, finally, my dear, dear colleagues (past and present) for sharing this opportunity, and for sticking with it.
Thanks to you all for making this job compelling to me, and for making me feel so important to you. I’ll never forget it.
