A Tribute To Our Friend, Sam Langford
Vale.
Over the weekend, our good friend and former colleague, Sam Langford, passed away suddenly and shockingly. They were only 23 years old.
In their time at Junkee, Sam (or Slang, as we called them) essentially defined what the news and politics beat was meant to look like. They were fiercely intelligent, appallingly talented, and passionately furious about the state of the world.
And basically this was a good description for a lot of Slang’s personality in general — I’ve never met a more uncompromising, fierce, individual. They didn’t bend their principles, and they expected you and the rest of the world to meet that same (high) set of standards. When they were in the mood, they were hell on Earth if they wanted to be. I have a memory of someone pissing them off in the office, and they are stomping back to the desk we shared, in their huge boots, pink hair flying, colour high in their face, already mid-rant as I’m taking off my headphone to find out the tea.
This might make them sound intimidating, and I’m going to say: yes. Mostly because I know exactly how much unholy joy they would have taken at being described as “intimidating”. They would have laughed and laughed.
Sam wholeheartedly loved, in the nerdiest purest way, everything to do with news & art. And applied that same love to people. I've never met someone so supportive of their friends. We were going for a walk on Sunday. But life is sudden and unfair. They had the world at their feet
— Naaman Zhou (@naamanzhou) May 18, 2020
Because at the same time as all these incredibly aspirational descriptions, which they deserve, and are going to continue to reel in from their friends and the industry they impressed so much, in such a short time, Sam was also just such a goddamn delight, and a goofball, and an unrepentant nerd.
They had a big love for hijinks, and my phone is literally full of videos and pictures of us doing inane shit to help get through another day of content churn. I think every day of the incredible beef Slang developed for an unspeakably ugly chair in our lobby, and the various forms of revenge they plotted.
They were deeply empathetic, and cared as much about an individual as they did a broader issue (which isn’t always common for people who write about politics, to be honest).
They were a true and delightful friend, whose support and generosity and loyalty manifested itself to me personally daily, and to all their many friends and family. They treasured the people they loved, and you could tell that.
I am just not actually at the point where I can process this loss yet. I really can’t. But it’s so easy to write compliments about someone as brilliant as Sam Langford, so I’ll focus on doing that and leave the grieving for later.
— Patrick Lenton, Editor of Junkee
Slang, our beautiful, dear, sweet Slang.
There’s that old, well-worn saying that experiencing grief is how we know we have loved. Slang, you and I always detested cheesiness of any kind, but right now, with this incredible pain and heartbreak being felt by so many people, it feels like something to cling to. We loved you so dearly, and so we feel this pain so deeply.
You touched so many people, were loved by so many people, and will be missed, endlessly, by all who knew you. We will see you everywhere: in the music of Lorde and the Mountain Goats and the National and Grimes and Carly Rae Jepsen, in the ridiculous fonts on bad shop signs that you would photograph, in your glorious fashion sense and your often colourful hair and your ridiculous sense of humour, in your dogged commitment to the style guide and image construction, and password protection. Sam, so many people downloaded LastPass because of you.
It’s been said a lot today, but it’s true: You were completely fierce in every way. You were wildly, incredibly talented, fiercely principled, endlessly hard-working and determined. You had a sense of social justice that reverberated through your work, a commitment to call out bullshit and tear down capitalism and eat the fucking rich.
You were a comet, you were a meteor of power and heart.
Perhaps most of all, you were a relentlessly loving and kind friend. In that way you were gentle, ready to hold a hand or sit and listen. It’s those moments I’ll miss the most.
To pick out one moment of our friendship is impossible — but one that comes to mind is of us draped in rainbow flags on Yes day in 2017, dancing in the cage at Stonewall at 4pm. You were wearing that bonkers glitter rainbow hat you always wore, sweaty in a cape I’d loaned you, dancing to Lady Gaga and flinging yourself around the cage.
In my mind I can see you waving, beaming, saying ‘Hey buddy’, ready to grip my shoulders in a hug. I expect you to come back at any moment. This loss is too horrible to comprehend right now. But I’m glad the world had the privilege of knowing you, of loving you. We are better for having you.
— Jules LeFevre, Editor of Music Junkee
In losing Sam, we haven’t just lost a friend and a member of the Junkee family, we’ve lost an immensely talented journalist and writer.
Sam started at Junkee fresh out of university, aged only 20. One of their first stories for Junkee was about the Liberal Party ripping off the look and feel of Junkee for its own website, called The Fair Go. In many ways it was the quintessential Sam Langford story — a perfect mix of journalistic rigour and deeply nerdy humour, that really came to represent Sam’s body of work as they grew as a journalist over the next two years with Junkee.
Sam had a keen sense of social justice, which they poured into their work. They went out of their way to look out for the little guy. They wrote about workers’ rights, LGBTIQ issues, the environment and public housing.
If you think that public housing may not be the sexiest topic for a youth publication to write about, you’d be absolutely right, but Sam always took Junkee’s mission to cover the stories that matter, not just the ones that drive a lot of traffic, to heart. They wrote about important stories and topics that may have seemed “dull” on the surface. But Sam had a wonderful knack for putting a human face on these stories, of drawing our audience in, and making them care.
This talent was never more clear than in Sam’s investigative work on wage theft. At Junkee, we don’t have the same budgets as some of our larger competitors. We always have to balance the need to drive traffic with our desire to produce work that has a genuine impact. Sam pursued these stories with enthusiasm and empathy, working closely with vulnerable, low-paid staffers, often over several months, to produce deeply researched investigative stories, usually under the threat of legal action. Sam did this all while balancing out the realities of working at a small youth publisher that needs to remain on top of the day-to-day news cycle.
It was Sam’s commitment to social justice, and to the many brave people who spoke out at risk of their own employment, that meant these stories were ever published at all. And the stories did have an impact. Sam’s work ensured that underpaid workers got their money, customers got their refunds, and some businesses changed their ways. It’s exactly what journalism should do.
At the same time — and I mean this in the nicest way possible — Sam wrote some really weird shit. When Sam told me they wanted to write about a parliamentary mace that went missing in 1891, I had my doubts. But the final product — which, again, was written over several months while balancing out Sam’s many other duties — was a thoroughly researched, incredibly entertaining piece that was among our top performers on the site. There are so many examples of Sam’s unique sense of humour, from the legend of Sydney’s mysterious bush panther, to Sam’s most-beloved Sydney ibis.
Sam’s impact isn’t just felt in their journalism. They helped to create the Junkee image style guide, which is responsible for the signature look and feel of our website, and they worked hard every day to make Junkee a site that our readers wanted to come back to day after day to be entertained and informed in equal measure. It was something Sam excelled at.
It’s always tragic to lose someone so young, but this loss feels even more tragic for reasons that we’ll never quite know. For Sam’s potential that will never quite be fulfilled, and for the important stories Sam will never get a chance to write. When Sam left Junkee at the end of last year, I was excited to see what they’d do next. It seemed certain that their work would continue to have an impact, in whatever field they chose to work in. We won’t get that chance now, but I know Sam’s many friends and colleagues feel lucky just to have known Sam.
They were immensely talented, and they’ll be deeply missed.
— Rob Stott, Managing Editor
