News
R.I.P. Mike Zigler (1979-2009): Remembering a former
CityLife staffer
Mike Zigler
It was late Tuesday, another caffeine-crashing deadline night in the old CityLife offices on Sunset Road across from McCarran Airport. It was spring of 2004 and, once I’d signed off on the last page of arts coverage, I was free to leave my alt-weekly arts editor job to pursue my moonlight mission as People magazine stringer, which involved standing at a nightclub red carpet and lobbing vapid questions at talentless celebrities. (Typical query: “So what’s your new favorite fall fashion accessory?”) The night in question, I was wearing a ratty Black Sabbath T-shirt and needed something with a collar to get inside a club on the Strip.
Peeking out from my cubicle, I spotted then-news editor Mike Zigler hunched over his computer, hunting-and-pecking his way into another story (probably with a libertarian slant, which irritated my then-liberal sensibilities). I was hungry for a fat paycheck, so I asked: “Mike, I need your Oxford. I’m interviewing Carson Daly.”
He shook his head at the ridiculousness of my lie, but then, without a word, stood up, removed his shirt, walked over, handed it to me, and returned to his desk. He knew I was on assignment, even if my assignment was far less glamorous than interviewing Carson Daly.
I’m ashamed to say the shirt still hangs in my closet. I’m ashamed because Mike literally gave me the shirt off his back, a gesture I never reciprocated.
Mike died at the age of 29 on Oct. 16 after a night of drinking. He pulled into his garage, hit the button closing the garage door, and passed out in the front seat. In keeping with his clumsy reputation, Mike forgot to switch off the ignition. Around the office, he liked to tell stories about how he’d wake up in his car after a night of boozing, stories in which he appeared confused, goofy, good-natured. I’m ashamed to say now that, back then, we all laughed.
I lunched with Mike the day before he died. He was in great spirits with another boatload of projects, one he hoped to get me involved in. I said yes, because more than anyone else, Mike taught me about life’s peculiar beauty.
After Mike left CityLife, he got a job directing internal communications for a local gaming company. He also gained notoriety for editing a GOP-related publication called Liberty Watch. I was lucky enough to have played a small part as the magazine’s entertainment writer. He also hired me to write employee newsletters in his internal communications department.
By day, we constructed feel-good stories celebrating the workers and the company that cared for them. Before, I’d facilely viewed casino corporations as evil entities designed to crush benevolent unions. The experience Mike provided taught me a more complicated reality.
By night, we constructed feel-good Liberty Watch stories about conservative political candidates and small-government ideas. Before, I’d facilely viewed Republicans as racist dumbasses. The experience taught me otherwise. I was fond of telling Mike that, after months of writing for Liberty Watch, I’d finally come to see Republicans as greedy, racist dumbasses using religion to justify most anything. But honestly, I found my experience at Liberty Watch challenged my liberal views, calling into question things I’d believed for years.
One night, Mike said he had a surprise. Wary, I let him drive us to a hotel suite where, without being patted down, I met the Prince of Darkness, Karl Rove. (I stifled the urge to strangle him — Rove, I mean.) Mike and I watched recorded porn and live classical ballet with John Stagliano, bowled and drank beers with Drew Carey, debated the merits of Robert Heinlein with Newt Gingrich on a golf course, played Keno with Loose Change filmmaker Dylan Avery, ate In-N-Out Burger with Whole Foods CEO John Mackey, urged blowhard Christopher Hitchens to fuck himself to his face, and discussed The Fountainhead with Ron Paul in a Maryland Parkway Denny’s. Working and being with Mike provided a rush People could never match.
Disgusted by warmongering Democrats and Republicans alike, Mike and I joined the pro-peace Ron Paul revolution. Thanks to GOP operative George Harris (the magazine’s publisher), Liberty Watch launched in ’05 with 2,000 Republican subscribers. Every time Mike put Paul on the cover, angry letters poured in, subscriptions were cancelled, until the magazine folded earlier this year. To Harris’ credit, he never said anything about the Paul endorsements; to Mike’s credit, he didn’t give a shit what anyone said. As a real libertarian, Mike was consistent in his ideology: no warfare, welfare or taxes. He hated hypocrisy, hence his scathing attack on Sun columnist Jon Ralston in Liberty Watch. Mike believed in the goodness of people, not government or journalism.
He was beloved by powerful casino execs, and degenerate crackheads (whom Mike would let crash in his house for days). A gifted designer and writer. The perfect boss who never once raised his voice or displayed a temper. The only negative thing I can say? He was a sloppy drinker who’d buy his friends beers until his card maxed out.
In case I forgot to say it years ago, Mike: Thanks for the shirt. I owe you absolutely everything, little brother. See you some tomorrow.
A former CityLife arts editor, Jarret Keene toils in a hotel-casino on the Strip.
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