After the death of George Reynolds, PETER BARRON reflects the difficulty and difficulty of being the editor of The Northern Echo during his infamous reign as the owner of Darlington Football Club …
When I look back on my 17 years as editor of The Northern Echo, I often ask myself, “Did this all really happen?” Never more than when I am reminded of my dealings with George Reynolds.
Many local and national words have been written about George since his death was announced last week. Some were warm and generous in tribute, others cold in condemnation.
That’s because he was a man who polarized opinions: a bizarre and explosive mix of good, bad, and an often very ugly way of doing business.
They say you should speak as you choose. Undeniably, there are those who have found him kind, generous, and entertaining; those who welcomed his confidence, determination and business successes that lifted him from poverty to a petty crook, safe cracker, and then a multimillionaire chipboard tycoon.
However, there is also no hiding from the fact that many knew him as a criminal who resorted to bullying and harassment when he failed to get his way.
Yes, he had his admirers, but there is no shortage of people in the Northeast who have had bad and often frightening experiences with him, both personally and professionally.
In my case, we were on a collision course from the moment he became chairman of Darlington Football Club in 1999 (the year I became editor). He cleared the Quakers’ £ 5 million debt and built a 25,000-seat stadium on the outskirts of the city with the wild promise that Premier League football will come.
The first piece of good news about saving the club – when frankly no one else was willing to take the risk – made positive headlines. But we all knew deep down that they would never last.
George was a man with a huge ego and a desperate need for affection and credibility.
When the soccer honeymoon was over, the results surfaced on the field and controversy flared over his plans for the stadium site development. He didn’t find the headlines too tasty.
George soon came to view The Northern Echo – and almost everyone else – as an enemy.
He struggled with members of the community who opposed his plans, as well as journalists whose names appeared in less favorable reports on the news or sports pages.
His daily calls to the newsroom became increasingly abusive and threatening. Assistant Editor Chris Lloyd, a gentle soul who couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag, endured a memorable tirade in which George shouted, “I’m going to wrestle you in the marketplace, stripped to the ****** waist – we sell tickets for charity. ”
Believe me, it’s not a sight to ponder too long.
As an editor, I was an obvious target, though there were comedy moments too.
There was a time when Darlington manager David Hodgson called to ask me to stop by to see him at the stadium on his way to work. By this point, Chairman George’s relationship with me had bottomed out, and I suggested that this may not be the best idea ever.
“It’s okay, he’s in London on business,” David insisted.
So there I was in the manager’s office when I saw through the window that a black Range Rover was pulling up and George was getting out.
“You said he was in bloody London!” I protested.
“I thought he was – don’t worry, come down here,” said David, pointing under the desk. Fortunately, George was no better at playing hide and seek than running a football club.
I held my breath on all fours as he poked his head out the door for a quick chat with ‘Hodgy’ before getting on the elevator and I escaped.
On a phone call to me, George stated, “If you want to write the headlines about me, I’ll write the headlines about you.”
The next day he put up a giant billboard in front of the stadium and wrote weekly headlines in giant letters. These included SACK BARRON, BARRON IS A LIAR (complete with a picture of Pinnochio) and his carefully considered coup de grace BARRON IS GAY.
It’s a strange feeling driving past a football stadium to work not knowing what’s next.
The spiciness continued to boil when the club’s fortunes went into ruin, and George reached out to journalists’ front doors with terrifying words of warning to be careful of what we’d written.
The final straw came when my wife and I returned from a family vacation with our four young children. While we were unpacking the car, one of the kids came out of the house and announced, “George Reynolds was!”
Without knowing we were gone, George had visited the house several times, shouting profanity through the mailbox and leaving a series of signed business cards on the doormat with messages like “Let’s see how your kids handle it” and “Your wife is going to have one.” Having a nervous breakdown. “I don’t care what someone says – it’s not funny.
A neighbor had filmed everything from a bedroom window and the business cards were handed over to the Darlington Police Department. They decided not to be prosecuted and an inspector said, “You are a journalist – it belongs to the territory, doesn’t it?” I disagreed and pointed out that my wife and children were not journalists, but the police were was unmoved.
To be fair, the cops put an alarm system on my home phone with a direct line to them so my wife could call when George made one of his visits. It went off accidentally once and resulted in an officer calling to see if everyone was okay.
In the end, sports editor Nick Loughlin took a call one evening from a retired County Durham police officer.
The officer was on vacation and was sitting on a beach in Spain, but had learned that George had been arrested with £ 500,000 – withdrawn from the Co-op bank in Shildon – in the trunk of his car. You really couldn’t make it up.
The Durham Police Press Office was initially unable to confirm that the tip was true, but temptingly suggested, “Call back at 9pm this evening and we may have something for you.”
I nearly dislocated my shoulder and hit the air when she read a statement at 9 p.m. that evening confirming the exclusive story that led to the Darlington FC chairman being jailed for tax evasion and money laundering.
So there it is, or at least a snapshot of it. Do you speak how do you find? I can’t pretend George Reynolds is anything but grossly disgusting, although I fully accept that he was a remarkable character, with a colorful life story that easily translates into gritty comedy drama with sinister twists.
Did it all really happen 20 years ago? It really did – and it was utterly surreal.