In 35-plus years of print journalism, I have worked for perhaps a dozen editors and experienced both ends (and the middle) of the good/competent/awful spectrum.

Wayne Sargent, however, was easily the most colorful of those dozen. But also one of the best.

I am reminded of Wayne because he died last week at the age of 87. Here is his obit, variations of which appeared in several newspapers.

Probably everyone who worked with him remembers a story or 10 in which Wayne is the central character. I can knock off three or four without digging too deeply into the memory banks.

A little bit of background. Wayne ran the newsroom of the San Bernardino Sun from 1978 until 1986.

During that period, he promoted me twice, and I took over the sports department there in 1980. Certainly, I was grateful for that, but being a young guy with more confidence than experience, I believed I was fully deserving.

We got along well, then. Editors always are more comfortable with section heads they have promoted. And he rarely made unreasonable demands, aside from more coverage of Redlands Country Club than I would have provided, without his, uh, encouragement.

What made Wayne memorable was the way he approached the business of being editor.

He came from the end of an era when editors were expected to be major personalities in the communities they served. Those editors were expected to know all the major players in their core market, and to be invited to major social events — and to attend them. And to be memorable.

Being colorful was a big part of it. On whatever level the editor chose.

In Wayne’s case, he was a bright guy who had seen and done and achieved much in a career that was winding down by the time he landed in San Bernardino. But he also had a flair for the dramatic.

To wit:

–In 1979, the story of the Skylab space station falling out of orbit and slamming to earth was a big story. Where would it land? How much destruction would it wreak? Wayne had a moment of inspiration. He decided to take out an insurance policy on San Bernardino County, a sprawling area bigger than nine U.S. states, covering everyone and everything in it against damage caused by Skylab plummeting from the sky. That insurance policy led to significant attention for The Sun and for San Bernardino. Some of it was a bit mocking, but “bad publicity” still is usually an oxymoron.

–San Bernardino is notable, from the air, for an unusual formation of shrubs on the side of a mountain north of the city. The shape made is in the form of an inverted arrowhead which seems to point at the city. (The outline of the arrowhead can be seen surrounding the county seal.) Wayne’s bright idea was to light up the arrowhead so it could be seen from the air, at night, as well as from the ground. This never actually happened, to Wayne’s disappointment. Something about the cost of running power up to the remote site.

–Wayne was perhaps the most sociable of all executive editors I have worked for. He had an annual party for the staff at his large home in Redlands, and I seem to recall it often was a swimming party, too. Let’s say that Wayne admired the female form. He was not obnoxious about it, but it wasn’t hard to discern. His parties were major events, though, and featured fine food; I had never had eaten curry until a Wayne Sargent party.

–His previous job had been editor and publisher of the Nashville Banner, and during his time there he seemed to absorb a bit of the old South. It certainly didn’t hurt his hoard of folksy stories. When confronted with a difficult problem, he more than once invoked “the story of the man who wanted to get the fat lady out of ditch, but couldn’t figure out where to grab onto first.”

–He was not shy about using and wielding influence. In April of 1980, I served a three-month stint with Gannett News Service as the first “national sports correspondent.” My first big assignment was to cover the Masters at Augusta National, and organizers there laughed at the idea of issuing a media credential only a week or two ahead of their event. Wayne, however, was a serious golfer (he was perpetually tan), and Knew People, and he called up the chairman of Augusta National, Hord Hardin, a personal friend, and arranged for a credential. It was done in 10 minutes. Without Wayne’s intervention, I would not have covered the Masters. Ever.

–He gave me several bits of advice, some of which I am carrying around three-and-a-half decades later. On sore backs: “You’ll know when you’re ready for back surgery when you crawl into the doctor’s office and beg for it.” … On the tendency of editors to promote reporters: “A lot of times all you get is a bad editor while losing a good reporter.”

–His dog, and I want to say it was a basset hound because the visual is more amusing, was named “Banner” — after his previous newspaper.

He was just an amusing guy, and not always politically correct. I hired a part-timer in the early 1980s, a short and broad teenager with a large chest. Wayne came over to talk to me about something and asked who the new kid was. I told him. He said: “I imagine she will do fine … if she doesn’t topple over.”

Wayne also was a flashy dresser. He liked bright colors and patterns. Sometimes too bright. He had a pair of what came to be called “Christmas” pants that he would occasionally wear. They were white with red and green Christmassy objects printed on them. They were hideous … but I remember them 35 years later.

Wayne’s showman tendencies (I suppose it was) may have been a factor in his unpopularity with certain high executives in Gannett Co., Inc., which owned The Sun and the Banner. One guy with a significant title was reported to have said: “I wouldn’t let Wayne Sargent edit a weekly.”

I don’t know where that came from, because I thought he was thoroughly competent. A good judge of talent (and I’m not talking about myself), a decisive editor and great in the community.

At the end of his stay there, another editor was brought in, above him, and Wayne was shifted to the op-ed department, to write think pieces. He accepted that for a time, but we all knew it would not last, that the new guy would not want him in the building, and he retired — and stayed retired.

Thus, his golden years lasted for a quarter of a century, and I think any of us would take that deal. He played a lot of golf, up in Carmel, which is a great place to live. I heard from him, from time to time, mostly on golf topics, and I was flattered he remembered me.

Wayne wasn’t the best editor I worked for, nor was he the most forward-looking. But he had a knack for promotion, and he was almost always eager and upbeat, and those characteristics are important in a newsroom. I remember him fondly, and not just because it was a long time ago.

The fact that his obit appeared in so many papers, despite his being out of the business from 1986 forward would seem to indicate I was not the only person who found him memorable.