In his life as well as writings, he defined the spirit of Glendale.

It has been said, perhaps with hyperbole, that 1989 was the year Glendale made the transition, at least in its image, from small town to big city.

Although such change probably doesn’t come as dramatically as people think, one event--almost lost in the New Year’s frenzy--seems to offer a precise point at which the old Glendale gave way to the new.

It was the final column of Carroll Parcher.

The 86-year-old publisher emeritus of the Glendale News-Press announced his retirement in his column on the last weekday of 1989. He said he thought the beginning of a decade would be a good occasion to quit.

The absence of fanfare on his own behalf left understated the importance of the moment. For 50 years, Parcher spoke person-to-person with Glendale in commentaries under the title, “In My Opinion.” In his life as well as writings, he defined the spirit of Glendale.

Parcher was born in the city before it was a city. He learned Glendale politics and society from his father, Wilmot, leader of incorporation and the city’s first mayor.

Young Parcher joined the News-Press as columnist in 1939. Since then, he stopped writing only once, to untether himself from the newspaper during an adventure in city politics in the mid-1970s. He was twice elected mayor, then went back to being the voice of Glendale through the ‘80s.

Several years ago, while researching a profile on then-Mayor Parcher, I spent hours in the Glendale Library studying that voice on microfilm, going back to the dark days of World War II.

In them was the vintage Parcher, a blending of mock-Victorian affectation with the newspaper argot of his day and a semisweet candor that was all his own.

While the headlines spoke of battles and men in the field, Parcher kept a sharp eye on matters of the home front. A highlight of that genre read as follows:

“If you thought the agonized protests of plump womanhood are not heard by the powers that be, consider the fact that the rubber production branch, division of industry operations, has promised to make a limited amount of crude rubber available for manufacturers of foundation garments.”

His most treasured column was from that period:

“A star swung low last night to lift my mother from a life of which she had become a trifle weary--with the weariness that comes to every faithful worker at the sunset of a long and wellspent day or life . . .”

Even so deep a mood seldom lasted a whole day. Parcher fussed little over life’s transitions, even less over those in print.

He began many irreverent columns under headings such as “Random Thoughts of a Random Thinker.” In one he opined:

“Mickey Rooney didn’t ask my advice before he got married, but if he had I should have advised him to wait until he grew up to the height of the girl he married. . . .”

Along with such silliness, Parcher kept a watch for “do-gooders.”

They were usually liberal Democrats.

He deplored the protest movement of the 1960s, defining civil disobedience as “lawbreaking according to the individual whim of the lawbreaker.”

Yet, his strongest reproaches were reserved for transgressing conservatives.

“Most disgusting pamphlet ever to be distributed locally by any of the hate groups is the mimeographed sheet from an alleged ‘Citizens to Keep Glendale White Committee,’ ” Parcher wrote in 1963.

That said, he could switch in a moment to folksy charm.

“Remember last year’s Glendale Night at the Palladium? You do, of course, if you are a Lawrence Welk fan, as so many members of Our Little Group seem to be.”

Our Little Group, referring to his readers and sometimes abbreviated OLG, was one of several affectations with which Parcher molded a sense of Glendale as a giant family.

Parcher’s wife, Frances, frequently appeared in his columns as The Lady of the House. His son was the Heir Apparent and his two daughters the Heiress and the Princess Royal.

In an early column, Parcher mentioned his “all but perfect paper.” The allusion was repeated and soon became the “a.b.p.p.”

It was understood that Parcher’s meaning could be broadened to “a.b.p.c.,” this “all but perfect city.”

As councilman in the mid-1970s, the 70-year-old newsman became an agent of change for the all but perfect city.

Seeing stagnation without growth, Parcher was an early advocate of redevelopment.

As the effects of his political decisions came in the growth of the 1980s, Parcher found a new, nostalgic voice, looking back on Glendale’s past, which was also his own.

In columns of the past year, he recalled the open air market on Glendale Avenue, the neighborhood cop on his bicycle and a woman who lived in a tent.

From a hospital bed this spring, Parcher gave a bittersweet report.

From his window, he said, he could see an ugly gash in the San Rafael hills caused by development. He was not pleased, having sponsored an ordinance he hoped would protect the hillsides he once played on as a child.

However, he conceded that soon the wounds would be healed by new foliage. He was won over by the symbol of renewal.

“I’ll miss the view, but not the tubes,” he concluded.