Perhaps he may be classified as more of a publicist than a true public relations practitioner. Along with our much respected friend Mark Borkowski we love to pay tribute to the life and work of Jim Moran. Jim was a publicist of extra-ordinary imagination and understanding of the needs of the media. The following obituary is the ‘New York Times’ tribute to the great man. James Sterling Moran, who became a legend in the publicity business with such stunts as selling a refrigerator to an Alaska Eskimo, died at a retirement home in Englewood, N.J. He was 91. Mr. Moran pushed outrageousness to the outer limits to seize the attention of the buying public. He once searched for a needle in a haystack for 10 days to publicize a piece of real estate that was for sale. In 1946, he sat on an ostrich egg for 19 days, 4 hours, 32 minutes before hatching it, all to publicize "The Egg and I," a best-selling book soon to become a film comedy starring Claudette Colbert. During the 1944 presidential campaign, he changed horses in midstream - literally - in a Nevada river after the ruling Democrats urged voters not to "change horses in midstream" by voting for Republicans in the middle of World War II. He got the attention he desired. In 1989, Time magazine called him "the supreme master of that most singular marketing device - the publicity stunt." Bob Thomas, who has covered Hollywood for 55 years for The Associated Press, called him "the last of the great, flamboyant press agents." Even his colleagues in the publicity business, a species not given to promoting much of anything without being paid, gave him respect. "Jim Moran is a folk hero in the P.R. business," said Howard Rubenstein, Manhattan public-relations executive. Rubenstein said that earlier in his career he tried to imitate Mr. Moran, citing the time he took live alligators to City Hall during a political campaign. The son of a chimney maker, Mr. Moran was born in 1907 in Woodstock, Va., according to Mimi Brace, a longtime friend. He was married several times and had no children. His only survivor is a brother, Paul, of Alexandria, Va. Mr. Moran's idiosyncratic course was set early, Brace said. At 12, he was hit by a car while riding a bicycle. The driver, ecstatic that the boy was alive, was said to have given him a $100 bill. He immediately took a train to New Orleans, the story goes, not reappearing in his family's kitchen until two weeks later. Mr. Moran did not attend college. Among his early jobs was working as a tour guide in Washington. He later became an airline executive there and then operated a studio where members of Congress recorded speeches for local radio stations. A tall, rotund prankster with a flowing white beard, Mr. Moran played classical guitar, liked champagne and read two or three books a week. His friends included show-business figures such as Burl Ives, Lee J. Cobb and John Henry Faulk. Some think the day for his sort of publicity stunt is past. "He did all the weird stunts that would never work today," said Cy Preston, a publicist who is quick to tell of the time he himself took a giant to a Missouri cavern he was promoting. Rubenstein begs to differ. He says the proliferation of television outlets, not to mention the Internet, makes visual stories all the more compelling. "His stunts would now go worldwide through multiple media," he said. One of Mr. Moran's cleverest schemes went nowhere in its time. An avid kite flier, he hit upon the notion of using kites to fly midgets over Central Park. The police refused to grant him a permit and nipped the scheme in the bud. Mr. Moran was outraged. "It's a sad day for American capitalism when a man can't fly a midget on a kite over Central Park," he said. Our thanks go to our good friend Mark Borkowski for supplying these details. Further information on Jim Moran is available in an excellent collection of publicity work entitled ‘Improperganda’ and available from Borkowski PR.