Rich Hein, a Sun-Times photo editor whose theatrical work was art, died Sunday

Rich Hein looked through the lens of his camera into the hearts of people. He shot the city for nearly half a century, taking thousands of images that captured the human condition, first for suburban newspapers, then for 40 years on staff at the Chicago Sun Times, rising to become its photo editor.

“Rich was a tough but fair boss,” said Alex Wroblewski, pausing from shooting the inauguration of President Donald Trump in Washington on Monday for Agence France-Presse. “I wouldn’t be where I am today without him. He opened the door for me. A sweet and gracious man.”

Hein, 70, died Sunday in Naperville. He had felt chest pains, drove himself to Edward Hospital, waved off a wheelchair, and walked into the ER, where he collapsed and could not be revived.

“He was an all-around photographer, he could do anything,” remembered John H. White, who won a Pulitzer Prize at the Sun-Times. “He could do any kind of news. I always called him ‘The Professor’ because he was a teacher; he’d explain things. He took the time to teach me many things. He was a great photographer, a great educator.”

“Rich was always so calm, just always chill and cool, easy to talk to, easy to be around,” said Robert A. Davis, a Sun-Times staffer for 14 years before going on to become a top international photographer. “He never got too excited. Slow and steady.”

That steadiness was put to the test in 2013, when the Sun-Times abruptly fired nearly its entire photo staff — except for Hein.

“He felt very guilty about it,” said former colleague Rich Cahan. “He’s sitting there, and everyone else is gone.”

Hein was left the photo editor — a term he hated — supervising one young videographer, and whatever freelancers he could rope in.

“He didn’t want to be the only guy left,” said Ashlee Rezin, the Sun-Times’ current photo editor. “His running joke was that, on his tombstone it would read, ‘He complied.’ Because he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. But he did so much more than comply. He was the quiet, calming, level-headed backbone of the photo department.”

But it allowed him to do something he excelled at: nurture a staff of young, energetic photojournalists.

“I think he really loved giving opportunities to young photographers,” said Rezin. “He loved when somebody wanted to work, and wanted to do well and wanted to learn from him. He enjoyed that mentorship role. I used to ask him for a critique: ‘How did I do?’ Whenever I didn’t do the greatest, he would look at me over the top of his glasses and say, ‘Do you really want to know?'”

In addition to his Sun-Times work, Hein was a fixture on the Chicago theater scene, shooting publicity stills for stage productions.

“His photos for the theater community were artworks themselves; they were gorgeous, ” said Bill Ruminski, a news editor at the Sun-Times.

“He was a wonderful, wonderful guy, beloved in our community,” said Robert Falls, the former artistic director of the Goodman Theatre.

Hein took the one photograph blown up huge on the wall of Falls’ office.

“My single favorite photograph of any show I’ve ever done,” he said of a shot from “The Iceman Cometh.”

“Nobody is facing us in the photo. Brian [Dennehy] is at the bar. The other actors are at the table. [Nathan Lane’s] Hickey is looking away. That moment occurred, just seconds of a four-hour production. Rich grabbed it, an iconic representation.”

“One of Rich’s great gifts was the ability to almost know what was coming up,” said Falls. “He was there at the right moment, from the right angle, and did this all quietly.”

“He moved like a dancer, very graceful,” said Hedy Weiss, the longtime theater critic. “I always watched him when he was taking photographs. He had such an incredible eye about what angle, how close, how far, the energy in the play. He was just fantastic.”

“His job was to be invisible, but his art was to communicate human nature in its rawest form,” said Barbara Gaines, founder and former artistic director of Chicago Shakespeare Theater. “In the dark — patiently waiting for that split second of seeing through the truth of souls onstage. Rich was an artist. And if this weren’t enough — he was the kindest, sweetest man who loved his family and our theater community with all his generous heart. He was one of a kind.”

“This great witness to my life and my work is gone,” said Tony Award-winning playwright and director Mary Zimmerman. “I have seven published plays and I believe it’s his photograph on the cover of every one. He had a really, really beautiful eye and he captured moments that were funny and full of action … He was a great artist. We were so privileged to have him as our guy in Chicago.”

Richard Hein was born in Chicago. His parents were George Hein, who worked for the electric company, and June Demblon, who worked as a homemaker.

He went to Western Illinois University for a year and then, after the death of his father, transferred to Northern Illinois University, where he graduated in 1977. His first job was at the Star, then at the Southtown Economist.

In 1981, he married Amy Denbroeder, whom he had met at Elk Grove High School.

“He gave me the most magical life,” she said

“They made each other laugh so hard,” said their daughter, Liz Lauren Hein Murray. Hein used his daughter’s first two names as his professional moniker when taking theatrical photos.

“I was very proud to be his daughter,” said Murray. “My dad was the smartest guy I’ve ever met. He knew so much, because he actually listened to people and cared about what you had to say, what you actually thought … He was so humble. He didn’t want attention. All his relationships were so authentic. If you were lucky enough to be in his life, it’s because he wanted you there.”

“He was a great dad,” said White. “He and his daughter were such a team. She got her PhD when she was almost a child. He would teach her, she read everything, he taught her everything.”

In addition to his wife, Amy Hein, and daughter, survivors include his son-in-law, Nolan Hein Murray, brother Don Hein and sister-in-law Terry Hein.

“He loved storytelling in a quiet moment,” said Rezin. “To find the beauty in quiet moments. That’s really when he shined.”

Contributing: Miriam Di Nunzio