Fresh into journalism after landing my first job on an evening paper in Essex, I remember vividly the call that would be a sliding doors moment in my life. My dad rang to let me know he’d been chatting to a Fleet Street colleague who’d heard that the Hounslow Chronicle were looking for a reporter to cover Brentford. I was focused on my fledgling career in news coverage so couldn’t apply, but thought I’d drop them a line on the off chance that they might just need some freelance help. A week or so later I got a letter back asking me to cover a game or two on a trial basis. I jumped at the chance and got the gig, thanks in no small part to Eric White.
My first foray into the press room at Griffin Park – in those days it was up the stairs on half-way of the Braemar Road stand – was a terrifying affair. I nervously introduced myself to Eric – then looking after Frank McClintock in the 86/87 season – who had presumably seen scores of young reporters come, make their reputation and go. I told him I was, first and foremost, a Brentford fan but stressed that I’d be totally objective in how I reported on the club. “Not too objective, I hope,” he replied with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. That was my first glimpse of Eric’s passion for the club as well as a sense of humour that always laid just below the surface. If you could make him laugh it was a genuine treat.
He was an interesting mix of old-fashioned efficiency and avuncular charm, sometimes brusque but always with a warm heart. Above all he was driven by a desire to seek the very best for the club in every aspect of his role. After a few games I was offered the casual reporting job, and knew that if it all worked out, it could be a wonderful opportunity. After all what could be better than reporting on the club you love, getting to interview players and managers? Probably like Eric when he first started on his incredible adventure with the club he loved, if you’d told me I’d still be reporting on them 35 years later I’d have laughed in your face. Pride and passion were attributes Eric had by the bucket-load. For him Brentford was everything, just as it is for our current Mr Brentford Peter Gilham. No job was too small.If he could tell you had the best interests of the club at heart you stood a good chance of being accepted as one of the ‘press gang’ – and thanks to Eric’s welcome and acceptance, I was.
Getting to know him was a gradual process though. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, so I considered myself honoured that I didn’t fall into that camp… hopefully. Eric was a kind man who catered for every whim of the managers he served. And he was steadfastly loyal to each, irrespective of their effectiveness in the job. My first recollection of that came when a furious Steve Perryman stormed into the press room wielding a copy of the Chronicle incandescent with rage at a story we’d run on the back page. Who wrote this xxxx,” he roared in my face. Now bear in mind this was a footballing legend who should have played many times for England, was arguably the greatest Spurs skipper ever and was a truly high-profile capture for the club. And I was in my early 20s! As he grew redder and redder in the face, my response went from terror to fear and then relief as he prodded repeatedly at the headline… the perfect get out clause. “I don’t write the headlines,” I managed to mumble between his outbursts. He looked straight at Eric for confirmation of my excuse. He nodded almost apologetically, and I was off the hook. I thanked Eric for standing by me after he’d calmly explained to Steve that I wouldn’t have had any involvement in the headline. It was the sub editor’s fault all along, but I won’t name names here. The strange thing was that for such a scary moment in the formative stages of my career, I can’t even remember how the headline read. Perhaps, like the Trotta penalty, I’ve wiped it from my memory.
Fast forward around five years and the first home game of Dave Webb’s reign presented the gathered media – by now in the shoe cupboard press room downstairs – with a fascinating glimpse of how two very different characters might get along. Webb, the jack the lad Kings Road geezer, and Eric, the old school gentleman, was a match made in heaven or hell – whatever your perspective. That first day Webb strolled into the room and took his place behind a table in front of the hushed media, all seeking a decent angle after his brief stint down the road at Premiership Chelsea. His first action though was to scan the table, stretch his neck bulldog-fashion from his collar, turn to Eric and ask “are there any dwinkies Eric?”. The bemused press officer looked nonplussed but quickly realised Webb wanted to sink a beer as he shared his pearls of wisdom in the press conference. None was forthcoming but the next home game Eric had the press in fits of giggles when he was asked for liquid refreshment, this time opening a cupboard where he’d secreted a row of the smallest cans of beer (135ml I think) you’ve ever seen for the gaffer. To his credit Webb reacted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, duly necking two or three as the media stifled their giggles. It was Eric’s diplomatic way of saying he didn’t approve. Needless to say, the flow of lager dried up pretty soon after.
In all the years I covered Brentford, Eric was a constant source of support who went quietly about his job in an admittedly very different climate to the demands of today’s high octane Premier League environment. He was the man for the moment. Testament to that was his willingness to take up a string of different roles at the club, including that of deputy president. As the years went by, he grew to trust me more and more, even passing on the home numbers of players for interviews. I considered that a huge honour. Approval from Eric was like a mark of distinction because like most – but not all – people who have been connected with club in my years of supporting them, he had principles and values.
Those values are still in existence today thanks to the stewardship of Matthew Benham, Thomas Frank and Peter Gilham. All good, principled men who believe in doing things the correct way… with manners and decency. That Brentford is a club with solid foundations – a fact the media glibly overlooks when constantly touting Thomas for this and that job – is testimony to the work of its forebears like Eric. I would say this wouldn’t I, but there really is no club quite like Brentford. It screams family, community, friendship, sustainability, loyalty, togetherness, home… all the things that matter in life.
So, on the 100th anniversary of his birth, it’s worth thinking about what Eric would have made of his beloved football club in the high-octane relentlessness of the Premier League. Like those legions of Bees fans who now watch from the clouds, I think he’d have been pretty chuffed at how things have turned out. He might not have relished the breakneck pace of things, but I know he’d have welcomed the fact that the club really isn’t that different today from back then.
Eric White
Jim Levack
I started reporting on Brentford in the 1986-87 season and carried on through the desolation of empty stadiums during Covid, until 2022.
I worked for the Hounslow Chronicle for more than two decades before handling Brentford’s Press Association coverage.
A season compiling the Thomas Frank and player content for the club website ended with me taking up a season ticket to watch games
Without taking notes or the stress of deadlines.I now stand with mates – and my dad in spirit in West Stand just behind the goal.