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To leave a personal message please e-mail - Neville_Eilbeck@msn.com


I wanted to write you a couple of lines to tell you how sorry I am about Deborah's passing.  I hadn't seen her for a couple of years; her desire for the Banks family to come out and share another wonderful, lazy summer with her by the pool in Long Island now seems terribly poignant and something we will always now regret not doing.

Even though I can't pretend to have known her as well as her colleagues and long-time friends, she was still an important part of my life.  I grew up hearing stories of 'Orin' and her exploits on the Post with Dad and Cotter; she was a big part of our family mythology. As I got older and spent time visiting her, both with family and independently, she became more than part of my dad's history: she became a role-model to me in so many ways. As a feisty, independent, intelligent woman in a predominantly masculine and very competitve world, I aspired to be like her (even though I couldn't necessarily agree with her political standpoint!). For me she was like Lois Lane...

I have a postcard here, that I meant to send to her. It is of a Modigliani painting from an exhibition I saw recently. I bought it for her because some years ago, when I was a gawky teenager, she once told me I reminded her of a Modigliani - I had never heard of the painter and rushed off to discover whether it was a compliment or not! I wanted to send her the postcard to thank her for enriching my life with the discovery of that painter, and for making me see a little bit of beauty and interest in myself at a time in which I found it difficult to do so.

I will mss her. I will miss the idea of her typing away, or walking barefoot with coral-painted nails around the pool, or sipping icy Margharitas with us as the 6 o'clock siren sounds around the house.

I was only an occasional entrant into her life, and my sadness at her leaving can be nothing compared to that of those who knew her well. But I wanted you to know that she will be missed and mourned even by those on the periphery of her life.

Much love, and thinking of you
tash


What was Debbie Slotkin like when she was 4 or 8 or 10?  I remember an extremely bright, intense and imaginative little girl, serious of purpose, loving her parents, devoted to Mark, and protective of him, and even of me: as I (perhaps JHS age) casually set off to walk home one evening, she watched over me from her window.

Growing up loving New York: in our early independent spins we took the First Avenue and 68th Street crosstown buses on Saturday mornings to go ice-skating (from 10AM-12 when admission was free) at Wollman Memorial Rink in Central Park, occasionally followed by a visit to the Metropolitan Museum.

Our families spent 2 weeks together each summer for several years. We painted under Sarah’s guidance [“the eye is not a camera”—which I misinterpreted to mean “don’t feel bad if you can’t get it exactly right” but later realized meant, of course: “if you want a photograph, get a camera”].

In New Hampshire (decades prior to her time there covering the primaries), Debbie advised me to avoid the “bee flowers.” When I accidentally stepped on a clover we ran, but not before quickly stomping the area in a pre-emptive strike and in the process indeed angering some bees, who took it out mostly on the nearby, trusting Mark.

There was evidence early on of Debbie’s concern to do the best, use precisely the right words, and be vigilant against threats from abroad.

Around the time of the New Hampshire bee-flower incident, a memorable picture of us was taken, holding our little red wooden fishing rods and our catch.  But why are we both holding the lines with all of the fish, rather than each proudly displaying her own catch? Inspiring teamwork? Debbie pointed out years later that she recalled very clearly that I had caught the larger fish, so she resisted having the mortifying event recorded until a diplomatic parent, eager for what is in fact an adorable picture, came up with the shared line solution. Had I agreed to the shared line solution out of kindness to my friend? I vaguely recall that I realized, or further parental diplomatic effort pointed out, that Debbie actually had caught more fish.

As an early indication of the importance with which she held words: I dropped by to play [JHS again I think] and found Debbie engaged in the approximately 11th rewrite of a term paper [possibly about Charles de Gaulle, although my memory is not very clear here].

As for threats from abroad, I recall being left alone briefly with Debbie in a cabin on an island towards the northern end of Lake Champlain when we were about 7. She indicated that she was afraid, in particular of headhunters. I suggested: “there are no headhunters anymore”. But her compelling reply did cause me to consider the possibility that men with painted faces and carrying spears might soon surround the cabin and peer in the picture window.  Well, there might not be headhunters here any more Debbie agreed but, “they come down from Canada.”

Contrary to widely held assumptions about little girls with braids, I don’t remember Debbie ever gossiping or giggling about movie stars or boys. We talked about our observations and the world around us, first our families and the immediate world, and then, as our horizons grew, political figures, government policy, national and international events, things that really mattered.  Like most nursery school classmates (Goddard, NW corner of 34th and 1st) we did drift apart, but not for years; as we grew up into our 20s and 30s and beyond, first our time together decreased due to busy schedules and geography; then, our shared concern about the larger world, similar in intensity but different in perspective, made it very hard to talk about anything that mattered to us deeply, other than our families. I sent streams of ineffective emails to editors and marched to try to prevent an invasion/occupation/conflagration while Debbie supported, very eloquently of course, a liberation.

Although not long ago Deb brought beautiful white roses from her garden to a celebration for my parents, we spent little time together in the past 10 or so years; thus I did not experience her joy at having met Neville. On January 21st, at her bedside, I stood in awe of the resources of strength Neville was able to summon to support Debbie through the pain and the horror of what was happening. What a rare gift Deb had been given in Neville’s devoted love, and how fiercely they fought together against the diagnosis to try to excavate a path back to their life together.

My happy memories of Debbie center on our time together in the color-filled, energy-filled Slotkin apartments in Stuyvesant Town. Now this remarkable family is without its two strong, multi-tasking, multi-talented, extraordinary, and unforgettable women. My thoughts are with Mark and Aaron, whose loss is beyond imagining.
Lynn Caporale


I've just heard, and send you my love. We carry the pain of loss, but I am glad that Deborah's suffering is over.
 
For so many years, Deborah made it all look so effortless -- practical matters like her incredibly complicated scheduling of NY, DC, LI and England; the endless stream of punchy, insightful, fact-filled columns for the Post;  engaging in thoughtful analysis of ideas on almost any subject, drawing on her incredible store of general knowledge; providing compassionate, generous support for friends and family; taking pleasure in growing flowers and cooking wonderful food, and so much more --- that it was hard to accept that the strength and determination and optimism she brought to all of those activities were not enough to beat the cancer.
 
And of course it wasn't effortless -- she was focused and passionate, enthusiastic, curious, eager and efficient; she took such joy from every aspect of life,  that I don't think she realized how hard she worked.  I drove her around New Hampshire one day during the last campaign, covering a few Kerry events, and had the pleasure of watching her in action, soaking up the details, schmoozing the campaign staff, giving me background and gossip and sharing stories of old campaigns, then writing and filing her story on her laptop in my car on the way home. 
 
We spent a long weekend together in Southampton in early September, 2001, walking the beach, eating lunch at the pub, talking for hours about books, sharing jokes and memories of high school and our parents, looking at pictures of you, your boys, Amelia and Brutus, and of course cooking -- good things for us to eat, and treats for her father. Deborah often referred to that as "The Last Weekend Before the World Changed" and how it grounded us for the turmoil that followed.  We talked about doing it again, but of course the world had changed, and we got caught up in the turmoil and it didn't happen, but we both treasured that memory.
 
When the three of us had dinner last October, I was cheered to see that she was the same feisty, courageous, engaging Deborah I've known since we were 11,  but there was --despite the pain and weakness -- a new sense of completeness that clearly came from the comfort of your presence and the marriage.  Deborah had room in her heart for all of us, but you have been all that really mattered to her these last years. I don't think she ever got over the wonder of finding you. Just look at her smile in all those photos!
 
I cannot imagine a better friend, and am always grateful for the gift of her friendship. I will carry her in my heart always.
Collin


I am a classmate of Deborah's from Hunter, and I send you my condolences at your loss. I went to the website and saw the slideshow- Deborah certainly looked beautiful and glowing in so many of those pictures, emanating a lot of love and spirited presence...it's amazing how little many of us knew each other in high school, and yet, forty years later we can recognize the  depth and quality that was there all along, that we were only glimpsing in each other at that time.  So, I hope you are nurtured by the love that you shared in the time you had together. It is evident in the loving spirit emanating from the photos that you put there to share with us. Thank you, and peace and healing and comfort be with you.
Regards and Best Wishes,
Varda Brahms


Deborah Orin was a national treasure ("Deborah Orin-Eilbeck: 1947-2007," Editorial, Jan 29).
Mary McLemore
Pike Road, Ala.


Whenever I saw Orin on TV, I immediately connected with her views, her integrity and her skillful journalism.
Don Fisk
Oceanside, Calif.


Orin was always my most revered Post columnist.

We all will miss her style and the power of her words, which explained how shallow Washington really is.
Ronald Kelly
Lanark Village, Fla.


I am one of your many readers who will miss Orin's inciteful and hard-hitting columns.

My deepest sympathy to her family and to all who knew and worked with her.
Margaret Schlosser
Bethany Beach, Md.


Orin was a sharp and classy gal who was always ahead of the curve in Washington.

I feel like a window into that Byzantine world has now been shut, much to the detriment of us all.
Tom Goetz
Manhattan


There aren't many things you can take with you when you depart this life.

Integrity is one of them, and Orin had it in spades.

In fact, she had so much integrity that she managed to leave some of it behind as an example for others to follow.
James Kochy
Bordentown, N.J.


My prayers will be said for Orin.

I admire her professionalism and, now knowing what she was dealing with, her courage in her battle with cancer.

May God bless her and look lovingly over her family.
Joellen Arrabito
Point Pleasant, N.J.


How our hearts go out to you.  She was one of the most exceptional people I have ever met. We had so many good times together - her house was always my house - mine was always hers..  I even received the phone call that reunited me with Daniel after all those years while I was in Southampton with her.   Please let me know what the arrangements are.   Be strong - even though I have never met you, I know you are also an exceptional person and someone I would like to meet. 
Vanessa


A piece of my world fell apart today when I heard the news. I'm so sorry.

I have so much to say, but I am having trouble stringing together words.

She was a wonderful woman - and I owe her more than I can ever repay.

Ian
Ian Bishop
New York Post
Washington Bureau
 

I join the many many voices, separate threads in one fabric of appreciation and
love, you have likely heard from thus far. Deborah had and was a special light
-- Deborah, my friend and your love and wife.

We knew each other from seventh grade to this very winter, when I sent the
occasional cybermessage from L. A.,
book of (hopefully) inspiration and frequent prayer for her during her last
months.  We knew each other's parents
and, of course, Mark, as we grew up together in the 50's and 60's that was New
York.  Deborah recently recalled
the cooked grapefruit and entire menu from a high school dinner at my house.
From my end, I remember the excitement generated by provocative conversation
with various Slotkins and Debbie -- as she was known back then.
I recall going off for Early Decision decision-making  to (then-known as)
Radcliffe (where Debbie was applying) and Wellesley (where I chose, ultimately)
and bemoaning to our beloved adviser, Mr. Kizner, that I might be competing with
Debbie whose GPA was literally several grade points above mine despite the fact
that she was #1 and I #3 in the class. In his wisdom and inclusiveness, Mr.
Kizner reassured me that being myself, I'd be accepted anywhere as
would Debbie and that there was no need to see each other as competition.  We
were very fortunate, Deb and I.
We had great teachers, mentors, friends, peers, loves and families.

Neville, I have only a small idea of how much sadness you must have but I do
know that Deborah very much appreciated your being in her life.  I am so sorry
for your loss.

If there is anything you think I could do to help. and/or if you find yourself
visiting, I would be most delighted to take
you for tea at a very English Beverly Hills experience.

With affection,
Jane Wolf Waterman


Debbie was an original – a whirlwind who swept from activity to activity with boundless energy, enthusiasm, intensity and brilliance. She tackled, and accomplished, more in a day than most of us attempt in a week, or perhaps a month. After a crushing work week in DC she’d head for NYC, where she’d stop in at her apartment, visit her dad, then head to LI, where she shopped, gardened, jogged around Big Fresh Pond, baked, cooked (regularly preparing meals and pies to bring back to her father, and sometimes brownies for the office), read a half dozen papers in print, another half dozen on line and breezed through a mystery, spent quality time with Neville, and found time to knock out stories for the Sunday and Monday Post. This while I, a Post colleague with a considerably less demanding schedule, lolled around my house, recuperating from the week past in preparation for the week ahead, hoping for a dinner invitation.

I was always amazed at how she turned out those marvelous meals. The ingredients would come spilling out of her overloaded freezer and fridge, every inch of counter space would quickly be covered with a confusing jumble (to me) of mixing bowls, platters and cutting boards, and, within what seemed just a matter of minutes, amid a mix of riveting conversation and searches for misplaced seasonings, she would be putting another extraordinary meal on the table.

Before she bought her house Debbie would sometimes spend weekends with me in Water Mill. I remember how she listened as I fantasized about digging up the stray tiger lilies that had mysteriously appeared in my backyard and transplanting them in front of my house. And then one afternoon, while I dozed in my hammock, Debbie dug up more than 100 lilies and planted them along the fence in front of my house. I will forever cherish that brilliant annual display – and all the warmth, love and friendship Debbie directed my way.Marsha Kranes


I am very sorry to hear about Deborah. I will always remember her and be grateful for everything that she has done for me. I will remember her for the chocolate bread. I always remember her kind words and help when my mother passed away. Even though we don't talk as often as we use to, both of you have always been and will always be in my thoughts.
My deepest sympathy,
Alberto Dioses, AZ Electronic Materials


I was so sorry to hear about the death of Deborah. Even though she was sick the
whole time that I knew her, she was still such a strong, focused and admirable
person.  She had a passion for things in life (politics, and you) which I really
identified with. I remember when she was first in the hospital and could not
sleep- she said to me- "I just need to go home and curl up next to Neville." To
me, it was a wonderful demonstration of the special love you shared. I am sorry
that she suffered with such a terrible illness.
Please know that you are in my thoughts during this sad time
Charlotte Ariyan, MSK
 

My sincerest condolences to you and to the Slotkin family.
Without fail, at 6:15 pm, the Library phone would ring and Deborah would be on the other end requesting the source of some obscure quote or fact or figure that somehow managed to find space in her amazing brain. I am sorry for some of those exasperated sighs she received from my end!
How well I remember my first week on the job and taking a call from Deborah who somehow equated my Librarianship with understanding Chaucer english. I never did tell her I couldn't make out a word of what she said.
God, I'll miss her!
Laura
Librarian


I am terribly sorry for your loss, and I am still stunned that she is  gone. Thank you for meeting her and bringing out the silly side, which we loved to see -- not so much for us, but for her. I will miss so many things about Deborah -- the way she knew everything and never  forgot anything (and yet  constantly lost her keys and didn't  understand that she could program radio stations into her Honda's car stereo), how she protected her staffers (not like a Mom, she always said, but more like an aunt), how she shrugged after getting beaten on a story but happily celebrated a scoop, how diverse her interests were (she could cook scratch Pad Thai from memory, translate 18th Century French poetry, and explain the Yankees' 8th-inning collapse), how tough and relentless she was when she sensed dishonesty, how well she listened, how she enjoyed the colorful characters who made the New York Post a part of our culture, how she was one of those characters, how she sort of pretended that she drank beer with Dunleavy, how her voice rose to a higher softer tone and how her eyes  widened with empathy and understanding as soon as the battle of the day was done.
Brian Blomquist


I was another of the high school juniors who joined Debbie and Blair at the Telluride Summer Program in 1963.  Debbie was amazing – she was so smart, and so sophisticated and so beautiful. Someone that summer said she looked liked a Sabra (something this Catholic schoolgirl had to look up).  I hope you have seen pictures of her then – she did not change at all as she grew older. She remained just as beautiful.

She was fearless.  One day that summer Abe Shulsky, then the Telluride Association President, came by to tell us that it was a waste of energy having women in the summer program (it had been all-male until our year). We would only get married and have children, and we took the space that should have been given to men.  I sat there dumbfounded and silent, and Blair timidly agreed with him. But Debbie argued. And argued.  I think she won.

I grew up not far from Manhattan, but in a very different world from Debbie’s New York.    After that summer, however, there were trips to New York to stay with her and her parents, who were so very kind to me. I attended my first Seder in their apartment.  It was a Friday, and Mrs. Slotkin went out of her way to make one serving fish just for me, as Catholics were still abstaining on Fridays.

Like most high school friends do, Debbie and I lost track during college and beyond, and in recent years it was only the fact that we were both in the same business that meant we talked occasionally. That was especially true after Blair died.  After that, Debbie and my conversations were almost entirely business – she was a tough reporter.  And I would get very nervous when I learned “Deborah Orin of the NY Post” was on the phone for me!

So I did not know Debbie was ill.  But I was excited to see the name change on her column – it meant she must be happy.

My thoughts are with you and with her father and brother.  I am so sorry.
Kathy Frankovic


Deborah was a gem. An independent thinker. She rarely followed the pack of Washington journalists. Her keen insights into the minds of politicians were always insightful.  What a wonderful human being. I'd not seen her in a number of years, yet I can still see her face and hear her greeting me as if we met this morning.  Over the years, I've share many terrific dinners with Deborah on various presidential campaigns. I am truly saddened by her death. Yet, I'm honored and privileged that Deborah passed through my life.
Paul Costello


Deb had the kindest, most generous heart of anyone I've ever met -- and
more importantly, knew just when you needed her most. Nearly 20 years ago, when
my boys were briefly "lost" by their schoolbus driver, it was Deb, whom I had
only known for a little while at South Street, who was instantly at my side,
knowing just what to say and do. I never felt that I properly thanked her for
that well of strength she let me draw on that frantic day, but I treasured her
then and now, and will keep her in my heart always. All my thoughts and prayers
are with you and Deb's family in your time of grief.
Cathy Burke


Deborah was compassionate, generous, and loyal, and she has been my closest friend for nearly four decades. The one thing that she just could not do was say a quick good-bye.
My husband has always joked about our “long good-byes” describing them as just the start of still another conversation while we stood by the door, moved to the car, and then talked more through the car window. In the same way, she will never say good-bye to those she loved, and she will always be here for those of us who loved her.
Hilary


I am so, so sorry. You were her rock for many years and especially the past six months. Please know that I am thinking about you, and her father too.
So many of us are so much better for knowing her. I owe her so much. She always laughed it off when I introduced her to anyone as "my boss," and it's true that she never acted like a traditional one. Nobody could ask for a better bureau chief. She was an ideal boss, someone who was incredibly generous with her advice, her wisdom, guidance, patience, and especially her steadfast loyalty. She made me a better reporter and writer. We all worked unbelievably hard at the bureau but no one EVER worked harder than Deborah.
When I first started at the Post, the editor in chief at the time apparently didn't like my work and wanted to fire me -- I never found out about it from Deb, who was fiercely protective of me. Unbeknownst to me, she came to my defense and made it clear she wouldn't tolerate my being fired. Later, over the space of a decade, she repeatedly fought the editors in New York to ensure that I could keep working a three-day week so I could spend more time with my children. And this from a workaholic who, until she met you, worked 24-7!!
How could such a tenacious and fearless reporter be such a gentle, soft-spoken, kind-hearted, absolutely loyal, fun-loving friend? Yet that was Deb.
After meeting you she really blossomed, softened, and eased up on herself just a little. You completed her life, and through your lovely boys and your granddaughter, you gave her the extended family she longed for.
Thank you.
Maz


Neville: My condolences to you, the Slotkin family, The Post family and the fraternity of every political reporter who ever clambered onto a campaign airplane with Deborah.

I suspect thousands of reporters are replaying thousands of stories like this, but here’s mine: I was in the lobby of the Netherland Plaza Hotel in Cincinnati having a drink with Deborah. It was 1984, right in the middle of Reagan-Mondale.

For some reason, she was conversing (knowledgeably) about the influence of German immigration on turn-of-the-century Republican mayoral politics in Cincinnati. Where this strain of knowledge came from, I’ll never know. I didn’t have very much to contribute. Actually, I didn’t have anything to contribute. But I was vaguely interested, and even more so, I loved the passion and enthusiasm and animation she brought to the subject at hand. She always did that.

Anyway, she was going back in time to some revolution in 1848 that led the Germans to flee to Ohio, when suddenly, a Mondale aide-de-camp stepped into the lounge. In mid-sentence, she was on her feet making a beeline for her source and striving to divine a secret Mondale stratagem to turn their desperate race around so she could share it with her readers. Me? I was forgotten, of course. Our conversation was abruptly over, and I never did learn how those Germans in Cincinnati helped the Republicans take over City Hall.

But nearly a quarter-century later, I realize she had taught me something else. Because the moral of this story, if there is one, is that the reader came first — not the colleague, the drink or the history lesson — and Deborah always put the reader first.
Douglas Feiden
Daily News
New York City


Deborah had such a tough-as-nails demeanor, but she was also secretly very funny. She liked to be teased and was very warm and generous -- especially to younger women (who feared her) - "Anonymous"

Deb broke the story of Kerry and Edwards praising foul-mouthed, Bush-bashing celebrities as the "heart and soul of America" at Radio City in 2004. The rest of the press ignored it that first night, but it became a major campaign issue thanks to Deb. She was fearless that way.... -"Anonymous"

I loved Deb. She was feisty and smart. She was generous with compliments about others' work and clearly loved her job. We spent many hours together on campaign buses and planes, and she always wanted to talk about the issues, the candidates and what was at stake. I really miss her already.
Judy Keen, USA Today


For someone who spent the last three decades covering politics and was a fixture in Washington, Deborah Orin-Eilbeck was an enigma to many. Deborah, who died on Jan. 28 after a battle with cancer, was viewed as pugnacious and zealous. She was so known for her battles with the Clinton Administration that she was the inspiration for a Clinton-hating reporter in Joel Klein’s quasi-fictional Primary Colors.

Deborah had her point of view, for sure, but really she had no time for phonies. And no time for the self-absorbed Baby Boomer mentality that sometimes personified the Clinton Administration. You see, Deborah was one of them. She was a Baby Boomer, but rejected what she saw as the generation’s shallow faults. And she was as smart as them – she’d graduated from Harvard with honors alongside many of the Clinton folks. She could go toe to toe with them intellectually; that intimidated a lot of smart white guys.

But there was another Deborah...... the one seen by her co-workers and her friends. I had the good fortune of being both. As a boss, which she was to me from 1994 to 1997, she was fiercely protective of her reporters and always looked out for them. She’d order you to take a day off because you’d worked over a weekend on a story; she’d always take the time to help with copy and graciously send scoops your way and then take none of the credit. And as a friend, there was no one more loyal or supportive.

Deborah was an intensely private person so as she got sick you had to look for clues on how she was doing. It was difficult not to see her byline during the 2006 election season; politics was her life so for sickness to rob her of such a seismic election must have been very difficult. I was heartened to see her byline in the fall, hopeful for what it meant.

But it was not to be. Deborah died Sunday at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. We will all miss her byline, but her friends have an empty place in their heart now.
Tom Galvin, 463 COMMUNICATIONS


I was so saddened to hear of Deb’s passing and truly sorry for your loss.
Deborah was a wonderfully warm-hearted, hard-headed woman. She welcomed me into the DC bureau of The Post more than a decade ago when I was fresh off the plane from Australia. I learned more in six weeks with Deb than I could have in six years in many newsrooms. She was incredibly generous with her time and advice, and could not have been more supportive and encouraging.
She was dearly loved by all of her colleagues at The Post, and deservedly respected by every political journalist in DC.

Sincerely,
Andrew Butcher
(SVP/Corporate Communications, News Corporation)


My name is Maggie Haberman and I worked with Deb on and off for ten years. We never met but one of the last times I saw her she was comparing our diamond solitaires - my engagement ring and the ring you got her.
I can't tell you how sorry I am that Deb is gone - for you, for her dad and brother, and for all of us who knew and loved her. She was an amazing woman and a class act - and Vince put it very well in the Post piece the other day, she was indeed a terrific boss to her bureau.
She was always wonderful to me, especially when I was just starting out. Even after I left the Post for a time, she was always interested in how I was and encouraging.
 
Just wanted you to know I'm thinking of you and all her family.
Maggie Haberman


I was a “copy kid” at the New York Post in 1977 when I first saw Deborah in action. God, she made such an impression on me. At the time, the city’s 911 system was in shambles – and the Post was way out in front on that story largely because of Deborah’s hard-nosed reporting. I can still see her pecking furiously at the typewriter keys and racing around the city room talking to editors; going to the library. I learned so much just watching how she conducted herself in the tough world of New York City journalism and politics.
JoAnne Wasserman


I was shocked and deeply saddened to learn the news of Deb's passing. I covered the first Bush White House with her and remember the cold shoulder she got from the administration for pushing questions a lot harder than most.
She was a terrific reporter to be in a press pool or on the road with. Writing for the Post, she knew how to make every word count. It goes without saying, but Campaign 2008 won't be the same without her. She would have been in nirvana with the race starting 22 months before Election Day, and two New Yorkers very much in the mix.
Please convey my deepest sympathy to her dad and brother and the rest of her family.
Chris Connell
Alexandria, Virginia
 
PS: I didn't know she was a Radcliffe graduate. Indeed, Deb may be the only Harvard person I've ever met who didn't fill you in on that important line in the resume in the first minutes of conversation.


Deborah was a friend for nearly 30 years and, despite all she went through these past months, it is impossible to think of her in any way other than the vibrant, witty, talented and caring person she was.
Maralyn Matlick-Latov


I can’t begin to describe how sad I am about Deborah. She was great in so many ways, and easily the nicest editor I ever worked for – as well as the hardest working.
She was usually smarter than any of the other reporters in the room, and always tougher. I loved watching her ask tough questions that made people squirm. None of the other press dared to ask such tough questions. But they all were eager to use the answers in their copy. That happened at the White House countless times where her question would elicit an audible “gasp” but the next day every reporter had the quote in their story, thanks to her.
She also loved children and cats and good food and travel and was nice to everyone she met.
I miss her very much.
Vince Morris


I cannot tell you how much we miss her already.  In a town that thrives on intrigue, spin and personal alliances, Deborah was at once the consummate navigator, professional truth detector and most importantly, a world-class reporter. Over the years as I got to know her as source and as a friend, I marveled at how she had so much fun going after a story – and that in itself was a valuable lesson to me. I still chuckle every time I think of her unbridled glee over “Socks Docs!” She knew when to push for information and when to ease off. She was always fair. She was always thinking, probing and analyzing. Her memory for obscure facts was intimidating – it was impossible to slip anything by her. I never tried to spin her because I would never even have considered wasting her time or insulting her intelligence. She was “unspinnable.”   She would indulge the flacks, spokesmen and PR types as we read our well-prepared talking points, and then she’d force us to answer the question or suffer the consequences… the consequences being a sharp (and well-deserved) pen lashing in the Post.  But even when on the attack, she was always understanding and kind. There was no malice, no vitriol, and never any grandstanding. She seemed to engage simply for the sake of the intellectual pursuit that brought us all closer to the truth of whatever story she was covering. We’ve lost a friend and a force. And I will miss her greatly.
Sincerely,
Mark

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