Felix Dennis, publisher, provocateur, entrepreneur, poet, and planter of a million trees is dead at 67 after a long battle with throat cancer. Dennis, a very wealthy man, was the rare individual who wrote his life as he lived it, mainly over-the-top. What else does one say about a man who claimed to have spent a cool $100 million on wine, women and drugs? Well, he did hang with John Lennon and Mick Jagger. And yes, he was jailed for his involvement in an edition of Oz magazine that showed the Rupert the Bear half-naked and wearing genitals.
I got to know Dennis and his Maxim magazine when I was part of a team launching Men’s Health in the UK in the mid-1990s. Special-interest magazines at this time largely catered to women but in the UK, with the launch of “lad” magazines such as FHM and Loaded, men were now being chased by publishers. By the splash, noise and notoriety that accompanied the Maxim launch, I knew this company was a force to be reckoned with. Within two years, Maxim would be launched in the states and soon was outselling all the other men’s magazines in the category.
Dennis had a keen nose for finding business opportunities early, whether it was launching computer magazines, Star Wars and Jaws issues, or Kung-Fu specials. And he knew when to get out of a business. After the advertising downturn following the 2007 recession, the “lad” magazines in the states felt the pinch. Dennis sold Maxim, Stuff, and Blender to the Quadrangle Group for $250 million. Today, Maxim is worth next to nothing, having been passed around by investment companies like an old shoe.
He told journalism students at Columbia University in 2008 that “You are all useless tossers, but I will be forced to employ you to provide content on the web.” In 2001, he warned European paper manufacturers of the coming digital tsunami. The man was equally comfortable with digital or print. I recall him discussing a perpetual web business to celebrate the endless dead and dying and those who mourn them. In his view, the latter would pay a pretty penny because they surely ignored the old man when he was alive. Dennis’ wicked sense of humor never kept him from an interesting business opportunity.
I recall our meetings in New York City during which Dennis was never reluctant to tell me what was wrong with American publishing. Executive editors were spoiled and overpaid; the executive ranks were filled with people who would have trouble tying their shoelaces; and the cost of producing magazines was scandalous. Hyperbole aside, he has been proven prescient. We have been watching for the last few years the downsizing and restructuring of media companies in the U.S. with Time Inc. the most public example. Dennis never forgot he was an entrepreneur, the only position worthy of him.
What is remarkable about Dennis is that he developed such a rich interior life while still chasing the money. He started writing poetry in 1999 and became seriously dedicated to his muse. I still have a T-shirt that reads, “Did I mention the free wine,” an invitation to attend poetry readings delivered with a delicious hint of bribery. Dennis said he would be pleased to leave behind two memorable lines of English verse. Felix, spoken like a true poet!
The letters to his friends in 2012, when Dennis was recovering from throat cancer surgery, are full of wit, despair, and ruthless reflection. He mentions Freud and Jung in his ravings, but his self-analysis seems more fitting to the occasion. He knew his demons well (www.felixdennis.com).
Dennis’ gift of a forest of trees in “The Heart of England” says a lot about what this man considered to be permanent and for that reason must have come from a very old soul.