Utah needs more humanitarians like the late, great Jon Huntsman Sr. 

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I've been told there's been a rush on sales of pink shirts at the local men's clothing stores this past week, thanks in part to my being pictured on the Aug. 24 cover of City Weekly wearing one.

The true color of the shirt is more of an Atlantic farm-raised salmon than that of Barbie pink. But despite that slight nuance, I'll gladly accept credit for moving male fashion forward. It's the least I can do after an entire life of dressing like the inside of a bait fisherman's creel.

As a result of discovering such newfound influence, I'm staying home today to write. I don't want to be caught off guard like I was last week.

I was simply minding my own business at the office when City Weekly Art Director Derek Carlisle swooped in and bribed me—with the promise of a macaron from Fillings and Emulsions—to stand for a photo in front of the sign that used to hang off our former office building at 248 S. Main.

Less than 24 hours after publication, I was reminded of the impact City Weekly has on this city when I saw the first of many Atlantic salmon pink shirts meandering around the core of downtown Salt Lake. By Saturday, it was at its crescendo, culminating today with the news reports from the men's department stores stretching from City Creek to Sugar House and down along State Street, where the outlets at the South Towne Mall are selling them faster than the dirty sodas at Fiiz.

Reports from Ogden and Park City are hazy, but that's normal for both towns, known to be populated by more independent-minded folks than much of Utah. Down in Utah County, the only pink being worn is the rosy blush upon the cheeks of BYU fans, who believe pink is the grooming entry color to debauchery, gender confusion, communist socialism and the worst transformation of all—into a genuinely scary lover of all things Utah Ute Red. We don't want that type anyway, and we're gonna kick their football ass when the time comes.

Pink brings out the aggressive and reckless in me. So much so that I'm thinking of hitching a limo up into the foothills and calling on the Huntsman Corporation offices to see if my old friend Paul Huntsman, Salt Lake Tribune publisher, might join me outside for an arm wrassle. I remember him as more of a powder blue guy but whatever. I'll remind him he can buy about 50,000 pink shirts for Salt Lake City's homeless with just the salary he pays to his two top nonprofit executives, for starters, and we can go from there. Or he could hire eight news reporters, whichever community good deed he chooses.

He—but mostly his late father, Jon M. Huntsman Sr., who I flat-out admired—used to give me solace when I was getting my ass kicked to the curb when our own newspaper fortunes turned. I used to give Paul thoughts as well when he was unsure of how to deconstruct The Salt Lake Tribune into what it is today—whatever that is. I really don't know.

First thing I'd do is head to the Huntsman Museum on the main floor, which houses all kinds of historical tidbits collected during the long and enduring history of Jon Sr. and his enterprises. Did you know Sr. found early success selling music albums from dollar bins in the likes of Grand Central? If you're under 50 years old, you don't remember the Grand Central stores (one is now the center of Chinatown on State Street and another is an auto dealership on 900 South). If you look close inside your granny's album pile, you might find the likes of Ed Ames, Billy Joe Royal or the Boston Pops that was copped for a buck at Grand Central in 1968 and was placed there by Jon Huntsman Sr.

Last time I was at that museum, it was laid out so that before you get to all the plastic gizmos and pictures of Jon with important people from all over the globe, you'd find hanging what Jon told me were among his most prized accolades: The plaques that honored him in the annual City Weekly Best of Utah issue.

One such was his Best Utahn plaque. When he was awarded that in 2017, he called me to validate that he won fair and square, which he did, and on the spot offered to pay for our entire Best of Utah party, which I declined. He did come to our "gala," however, at The Leonardo (the same place where Paul's Tribune would later, lamely take credit for producing SLC's "first, best, coolest, blah, blah" awards celebration ever).

At our gala, Jon Sr. soon took the microphone, humbly thanked everyone and said he was as thrilled and honored as he'd ever been and much relieved, he said, to be around real people. He then offered anyone attending who was fighting cancer assistance and to connect them into his Huntsman Cancer Center. Tears all around. That was a pretty stunning moment in the history of City Weekly.

So, while the unimaginative, pick-pocket dullards over at Tribune central operations are still thinking inside their box, before they again lay claim to something-or-other that someone else in town has already done, I'm announcing an addition to this year's City Weekly Best of Utah (which as of this writing has over 200,000 votes cast, so hurry!): The Jon M. Huntsman Humanitarian Award for whatever amalgam we choose, from fighter to visionary to pink shirt purchaser.

I know, I know, Sr. had his flaws. He made a fortune on chemicals. He did other things, too. I have a couple of folks in mind to honor in Huntsman's name—guess who isn't one of them?

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