I count myself among the lucky Vermonters who got to be friends with Ed Koren. Since he died last Friday, at 87, the longtime New Yorker cartoonist and chronicler of the human condition has been celebrated in media outlets across the globe. Now it’s our turn to thank the former Vermont cartoonist laureate, who never said no to Seven Days. In this week’s culture section, look for a written tribute by Seven Days staffer Sally Pollak and a graphic one from Bolton’s Tony Award-winning Alison Bechdel.
I met Ed in the early ’90s, a few years after he moved to Vermont, and our relationship developed over dinner parties cooked up by his wife, Curtis. No matter how cold or snowy the night, an invite to their Brookfield home led through the mudroom to a warm, wood-fired hive of fascinating people. An expert chef and social connector, Curtis assembled the guest list and prepared delicious family-style meals. Ed held court, telling stories and delighting in those of others. Sitting at their table was an honor and a pleasure.
I saw him in action outside, too, cross-country skiing. Ed took great pride in his physical fitness and pushed himself hard. He was eager to share the extensive trail network just beyond his back door in Brookfield. One winter we met at the Millstone Trails in Barre, and he guided me past frozen granite quarries, noting the play of the light on the rock.
When he’d come up to Burlington, I’d often get a last-minute call proposing we get together. In conversation, Ed was curious, attentive, authentic. Witty and well read, he loved to drop a literary reference or, better yet, a French phrase — flawlessly pronounced, a result of the time he spent studying art in Paris. When he had a good line, he’d deliver it with impish glee, eyes twinkling.
Ed and Curtis could have lived anywhere. Once ensconced in Brookfield, working national gigs, they didn’t have to engage in the community. But Curtis, a former journalist, joined the staff of the Sharon Academy and developed a semester-abroad program for the school. Ed volunteered for the local fire department, whose duties included responding to accidents along the most treacherous stretch of Interstate 89.
Their generosity extended to local media — in Ed’s case, this newspaper. Although we couldn’t pay him New Yorker rates, he was a contributor to Seven Days. When we launched an annual Cartoon Issue, he submitted original work, in 2014 and 2015. In 2016, he drew the cover.
Two years later, I was in charge of a special reporting project on rural Vermont that would fill an entire edition of the paper. Once again, Ed agreed to illustrate it. I gave him the headline and subhead — “Our Towns: Can Rural Vermont Communities Survive in the Age of Amazon and Act 46?” — as well as my intro to the issue, in which I quoted his great insights about Brookfield.
But his first sketch — of a downtown Main Street block surrounded by suburban development — didn’t cut it. It was too subtle and literal. I had to break the bad news to Ed. I was nervous, of course, but he received it cheerfully, went back to the drawing board and came up with a whole new concept that perfectly captured the spirit of the project.
With an attachment of the new sketch, he emailed right before Thanksgiving: “I noodled a way to compress the original idea into a simpler version, and revisited the one that came up during our brainstorming about it and which related more to the subhead’s emphasis on how fragile our towns really are — and the perils of survival they face. Hence the drawing. Your thoughts?”
He closed with: “I’d love to have it finished by next Monday, so I can bring it by my very hand. I would happily work on it over the holiday. love EK”
Later, he thanked me for pushing him to make the drawing better.
More evidence of Ed’s humble professionalism: He worked right up until the end; the New Yorker published one of his cartoons the week he died. In his signature shaggy style, it shows Moses holding the Ten Commandments above a crowd of sad-looking regular folk. The caption: “Time for an update!”
With a final touch of his pen, Ed left us smiling.
This article appears in Apr 19-25, 2023.




