Charlotte Gray: Jack Rabinovitch was 'a large-hearted and generous man'

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Jack Rabinovitch's impact on this country was enormous; the Giller Prize gave every Canadian writer and reader a significant boost, as we all learned what a dynamic literary culture we share. Since the Giller Prize was founded 23 years ago, the selection of nominees and winners each year has encouraged and reflected the emergence of Canada into the assured, engaged and diverse country that we know today.

But like many of his friends, I recall best the personal joy of knowing such a large-hearted and generous man. I remember his chuckle when I was a Giller juror and he was told that the jury couldn't reduce the shortlist from six nominees despite strict instructions that only five novels should be selected. "So you want me to write yet another cheque?" he responded with a big smile, unscrewing his pen.

I first heard about Jack in the early years of the Giller, when various Toronto writer buddies told me about this amazing guy who wanted to put some oomph into Canadian literary awards and who gave a splashy party each year. When I finally met him, I was struck by his immediate warmth and lack of pretension. After that, I saw him frequently when I visited Toronto. "Hey kid, how's it going?" he would greet me. While he was speaking to you, he gave you all of his attention; he didn't look over your shoulder for someone more important or interesting. You were his focus. There was nothing aloof about Jack: he was always keen to enlarge his circle of friends.

Our encounters were usually within groups, at dinners or cottages. He delighted in lively conversation, gossip, political discussions, book talk. His memory was phenomenal, for quotations (especially Shakespeare and Yogi Berra), anecdotes, jokes. Although he had worked hard to (as the eldest of his three impressive daughters said at his funeral) "get the hell outta the ghetto," he loved recalling anecdotes from his childhood in Montreal's St. Urbain neighbourhood – well below the tracks. I cannot recall now which of those episodes from Baron Byng High School I heard from Jack, and which I read in Mordecai Richler novels. But I can remember Jack sitting in the centre of those convivial groups and egging on the best talkers with his laughter and repartee. He liked being in the middle, not to be the centre of attention – he didn't need that – but so he could hear better.

Underneath the gregariousness, there was a serious and insatiable curiosity about the world – about history, about how writers create, about what his friends were thinking, about how the world works. Amongst his reading matter were five newspapers a day, the New Yorker and piles of fiction and non-fiction. At one dinner, I remember him telling me that he'd been pondering the Old Testament. "Who wrote it?" he asked me. I stared at him, then admitted I didn't know. "I don't either," he replied, "So I've started reading about it …"

At Jack's funeral on Wednesday, his two greatest friends, Bob Rae and Julian Porter, retold with enormous affection their favourite Jack Rabinovitch sayings. Aphorisms such as, "You can't be angry and smart at the same time." Blunt dismissals of easy talkers: "Straight from lung to tongue." Views on negotiating strategy: "Always leave something on the table. Then you can go back and do business again."

Jack's own business ethics were honed early in life. When he was 16, he got a part-time job in Eaton's shoe department, on Sherbrooke Street, selling on commission. Older, more experienced salesmen regularly elbowed him out of the way of any customers who looked like they might make a purchase. When a little old woman in a threadbare coat arrived, Jack's colleagues disappeared. She wanted a pair of bedroom slippers. The experienced salesmen sniggered from their hiding places. Jack showed her every pair of slippers in the stockroom and she finally made her selection. "I'll wrap a pair for you," Jack smiled. She looked up at this nice, helpful assistant and said, "I want 35 pairs."

The point of this anecdote was not Jack's youthful triumph over his callous elders. It was what happened next.

The Eaton's shoe department manager suggested to Jack that, as a teenage part-timer, he didn't need the full bonus; it should be shared equally between all the salesmen who needed commission bonuses more than he did. Jack was outraged; those weren't the terms on which he had been hired. He insisted that he got the full bonus for his efforts, then gave in his notice. As Julian Porter, who told this anecdote, pointed out: His business ethics were intact and his wallet was full.

One day, Jack had lunch with me and my son Nick, who was starting a career as a building contractor. It was the first time I'd heard Jack talk about the non-literary, non-Toronto part of his life, when he was building his extremely successful career in Montreal. He gave Nick two pithy pieces of advice. "Honesty over bullshit is best," he told my son. And then, as they got into a discussion of project management, Jack remarked, "It's all about the estimate. Get that right at the start, and things are more likely to fall into place."

So Jack. Plan well, then embrace life with an open mind. That wonderful life ended too soon.

Charlotte Gray's most recent book is The Promise of Canada: 150 Years – People and Ideas That Have Shaped Our Country. She served on the Giller Prize jury in 2004