Longtime Humor Columnist John Kelso Dead At 73

AUSTIN, TX — At a time when laughter is much needed, Austin has lost one of its most reliable purveyors of humor: Longtime Austin American-Statesman columnist John Kelso, known as the bard of South Austin, has died.

The newspaper announced the sad news on Friday with palpable affection for the subject: "Kelso, an endlessly funny writer and genuinely sweet guy, was 73. Going on 12." He died from complications stemming after a recent fall, after his immune system had been weakened from a second bout with cancer that had already claimed his larynx, robbing him of a "raucous staccato laugh," the newspaper reported.

Despite being muted vocally, Kelso was hardly silenced as he continued meeting deadlines in writing his Sunday column even after officially retiring from the newspaper in 2011. He first joined the Statesman in 1976, launching a column that roasted the powerful, called attention to oddities that abound in Austin — a city that embraces its weirdness — and elevating the mundane to compelling narrative.

Kelso wrote each column with an easy humor that was conversational in tone, never forced. His radar for the odd and penchant for not suffering fools gladly consistently yielded funny missives, often of the laugh-out-loud variety. But amid the humor, his work was suffused with the journalistic workmanship of solid reporting and meticulous word choice that belied his easy-going nature, said editor Debbie Hiott.

“He’s the only retiree I know who for years continued to show up at work as if he’d never left,” Hiott said, as quoted by the newspaper she heads. “Going from being a full-time employee to a contractor gave him total flexibility to come in only when he wanted, but he obviously loved this place as much as we loved him."

His voice now silenced, the newspaper is left with a considerable void: "It’s hard to imagine an Austin or a Statesman without Kelso,” Hiott noted. “For decades, he has been a primary interpreter to the masses of some of what makes Austin so Austin.”

Former Austin mayor Kirk Watston, now a state senator, was a frequent target of Kelso's sharp barbs. But even after having endured the Kelso treatment, Watson described the late writer as "...proof that e live in a special city," he told the Statesman.

"Where else could a cynical, opinionated smart ass with little more than a wicked sense of humor become one of the most respected journalists in town?" Watson asked rhetorically. "He did more than his fair share of keeping Austin weird and keeping us from taking ourselves too seriously. And, man, will we miss him.”

Kelso was born in Fort Sill, Okla., and reared in Maine. The newspaper noted he and his wife lived in the Manchaca neighborhood, just a healthy stone's throw from the Giddy Ups saloon, one of his favorite haunts, when he fell ill.

Following his graduation from the University of Missouri, Kelso accepted a summer internship at the Manchester Union-Leader in New Hampshire before working at the Portsmouth Herald prior to serving in the U.S. Army. He moved to Austin in 1976 when he started writing for the Statesman, carefully sculpting his words as a "...wiseacre everyman, more comfortable in a barbecue joint or a dive made of cinder blocks than the emergent city’s more sophisticated spots," as the Statesman described him.

Readers of his column conveyed their condolences on Legacy.com.

"Such a loss to us all," Jean Dordek wrote on the site. "Such a great sense of humor always. Kept us smiling through hard times. Thanks John. Keep those angels rolling in the aisles up there. Blessings on his family."

"You moved to Austin roughly the same time I did, 1976-1977, except I was a runt at 10 years old then," Albert Lin wrote as part of his reflections on the website. "But I grew up reading you, in days where we actually had to wait for the paper. You gave many of us laughs every day, and often when we needed it the most. You lived a most excellent life."

Mickey Crowell of Cedar Park recalled one of Kelso's most outlandish antics: "I loved his articles. Great guy. The one where he dressed as Barney, the dinosaur, and went around to bars in South Austin, was my favorite. Gonna miss him."

Carol Peters suggested she'd miss the smiles Kelso's column would induce: "John's stories always left me smiling. The ability to lighten someone's day is a true gift. John was a gift to Austin. We were so fortunate to have his wit and humor grace our community. May you rest in peace, John. You will be missed by so many."

Retired schoolteacher Reina Enriquez was so taken with one Kelso column in particular that she kept a copy of it in her classroom, she wrote: "Thank you for writing a column about your Spanish class," she wrote. "It made me laugh out loud. I kept a copy of it in my file cabinet in my classroom for a long time. I retired as a Spanish teacher in 2014 after 35 years and I gave every student a copy of the column so they could read about the fun of learning a foreign language. So funny. Qué te vaya muy bien, Juan Kelso. Te extrañaremos."

The last part translates to "We will miss you," prefaced by well wishes on his journey.

There are hundreds more such missives on the obituary website. They are the words not of high-falutin' academicians, snooty dignitaries or fellow scribes, but of ordinary folks who found his musings personally resonant and smile-inducing. Kelso — the bard of South Austin who gave voice to the everyman — would have viewed their words as the highest praise. And this time, he would be the one smiling.

>>> Photo of John Kelso via Legacy.com