Farewell to the Life of the Party: A Tribute to Ernie Pino

Editor Rachel Hart reflects on the late longtime Seattle magazine society reporter

By Rachel Hart June 1, 2015

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Seattle celebrated the rich, full life of longtime Seattle magazine writer Ernie Pino at a gathering of more than 700 people at The 5th Avenue Theatre last night. The tributes by people from all aspects of Ernie’s worlds—food, theater, Spanish language translation, Seattle magazine columnist—and the musical numbers performed by his husband Rich Gray’s musical theater colleagues (including their friend Cheyenne Jackson, who sang the same song he performed at their wedding), made the celebration feel like Ernie’s own episode of  “A Prairie Home Companion.” I was honored to be among the people speaking.

The nearly two-hour celebration was followed by an epic feast at the Palace Ballroom with food prepared from Ernie’s favorite recipes—including his famous paella—by more than a dozen of the city’s top chefs (PSBJ’s Patti Payne offers more details here). Ernie was a fixture in Seattle’s culinary scene, and as such, friends have established the Ernie Pino Culinary Art Scholarship in his memory, to be awarded annually to a local culinary student. You can contribute here.

I remember Ernie in our July issue, on newsstands June 18, in my tribute below:

SEATTLE TRAGICALLY LOST one of its most beloved party guests on the last, brilliantly sunny day of April this year. Ernie Pino penned and cowrote the various incarnations of Seattle magazine’s Flash+Talk column over the past 16 years, and he was one of those larger-than-life characters in a city that’s rapidly growing, homogenizing and losing its standout personalities.

Ernie was introduced to me in 1999 by the equally larger-than-life Seattle public relations maven Tamara Wilson. She was pitching an Herb Caen–type columnist to report on the juicier tidbits of the social scene, and I was sold. Ernie started as we were rebooting Seattle magazine under new (and current) ownership of the magazine, and the city was experiencing a renaissance as well. The dot-com world was emerging and booming, Mayor Norm Rice was finishing up his term, and downtown Seattle was a shiny, gleaming example of what a cleaned-up urban center could look like.

There was a lot to talk about, and Ernie was on it, bringing dinner party conversation dynamics to his column. He defended Paul Schell’s somewhat prophetic cancellation of the New Year’s Eve celebration in 1999 at the Space Needle due to the threat of terrorist acts; got chummy with notoriously publicity-shy wealthy Seattleites at private bank openings; poked fun at the high price of joining high school cheer squads; and, of course, regularly reported on the evolution of Seattle’s party scene as the city grew into a town where people put on their finest—a story unto itself back then—and raised multimillions of dollars for local charities. And when Ernie showed up at your event, the party started. He worked a room like nobody could and made everyone feel welcome and at ease, the way a good host would—even when he wasn’t hosting the party. He also had an uncanny ability to make fast friends with celebrities as they came through town for book signings, shows or cooking demonstrations.

The many worlds he walked through intersected beautifully with what our magazine covers, and he had a way of connecting the dots between food, theater and arts, galas and more with a network of friends in so many different circles. He owned and ran a successful Spanish language translation business. He was immersed in the theater scene through his beloved husband, lyricist, composer and actor Rich Gray (who most recently appeared in Spamalot, A Room with a View and Carousel at The 5th Avenue Theatre). And he also had a foodie following, particularly for his paella cooking classes.

If you were really lucky, you got a seat at the table for one of his dinner parties. Each was a beautifully presented wow-fest. The dish I will remember most is his white gazpacho, a working-class staple in Spain. Unlike the familiar cold tomato soup, Ernie’s gazpacho was made of plain white bread (the closer to Wonder Bread, the better, he said, to my delight), sherry, garlic, almonds and water. He plated it perfectly with a grape, as if ready for its magazine close-up. This gazpacho personifies Ernie to me: dapper, debonair and stylish—but also a great conversation starter, approachable and humble. His full name was Ernesto Pino, and he was proud of his Latin heritage, but I adored that he went by Ernie for his byline.

Although it’s so hard to comprehend the pain this publicly jubilant man must have been in during his final days, I will always remember the Ernie who was friendly, fiercely loyal and able to laugh at what was happening around him as well as himself. He will forever be the life of the party.

 

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