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Tuesday, 13 February 2007 18:37 |
 | | Roland Martin |
CHICAGO ó I was set to write my third installment in a series on the presidential candidacy of Sen. Barack Obama when I popped over to see what was on the Web site of the Dallas Morning News. Staring back was the headline: ìColumnist, author Molly Ivins dies.î
Itís a good bet that many of you read her ideological rants each week; she was syndicated in more than 300 newspapers by the same company that has the rights to my column ó Creators Syndicate.
Normally when someone dies, we mourn his or her passing. But why, especially when some folks had a zest for life? There was no need to be sad when Art Buchwald died. The man had an enormous appetite for life, and lived it to the fullest. The same goes for Ivins, 62, who had a smile that was as big as she was a woman, living in Godís country ó Texas (she lived there for most of her life, but was born in California). Thatís why I hope the powers-that-be at Creators remove the solemn photo of Ivins on their Web site and replace it with her smiling so large she appeared to relish the idea of tossing out a zinger at another hapless politician.
For
a time, she and I were employed at the same newspaper, the Fort Worth
Star-Telegram (I left in 1995; she in 2001). Our paths crossed
infrequently because she was based out of her beloved Austin and I was
ensconced in Fort Worth. But when she strolled through the newsroom,
man, did the place light up with the energy of knowing that one of the
legends of our business was in the building.
One day she told
me the story of why she chose to write for the Fort Worth
Star-Telegram. The former star writer at the New York Times could have
worked anywhere when the Dallas Times-Herald folded its tent, but here
was this scrappy paper trying to recruit her. So our editor, Mike
Blackman, decided to impress her. Mike jumped on his gorgeous
motorcycle and rumbled down the I-35 from Fort Worth to Austin to meet
with the great Molly Ivins. He walked in with his black boots, jeans
and leather jacket, and she said that any editor that was so cool he
would ride a motorcycle into town to recruit her; she had no choice but
to work for!
That was vintage Ivins.
She was
fearless, unflinching and used humor in her writing to decimate the
folks she found wanting of imagination or creativity ó mainly
conservatives.
In a world where
Republicans and conservatives have nearly ruled America for the last 27
years ó heck, in Texas they hold all statewide offices ó Ivins was the
rare voice in the wilderness that refused to take a step back. She
would eviscerate radio big mouth Rush Limbaugh; tell us all how dumb
George W. Bush was when he was governor of Texas ó she nicknamed him
ìShrubî ó and even dish on those Democrats she felt were in need of
political Viagra.
But it was her
humor that was amazing, even as she valiantly fought fight after fight
with breast cancer, to which she succumbed after a third diagnosis.
Ivins had a writing style that was so amazing she could leave you in
awe with her mastery of the written word. Linda Ellerbee has always
been my favorite broadcast writer; Ivins my favorite in print.
Today, meanness
seems to be the order of the day when we read columns. Ivins could hit
you below the belt, but you wouldnít notice because you would be
laughing so hard.
It takes a
special knack to be able to turn a phrase at the right time regarding
the right person, but itís also about having a style that works. For
Ivins, it didnít fit at the Times, which she felt was too stodgy. And
frankly, that was their loss.
Newspapers
should stop stifling young voices like Ivins and encourage them to be
different. We shouldnít abide by a cookie-cutter approach when readers
are looking for something unique and different. Thank God Ivins didnít
pack up her bags and run off to another profession because she ran into
some knucklehead editor who was unwilling to recognize the brilliance
sitting before him. If so, journalism would have lost a special lady,
and readers would have been deprived of reading a fantastic wordsmith
who could make you curse or shout ìAmen!î
Maybe at the same time.
ï
Roland S. Martin, editor of The Chicago Defender newspaper, is author of ìSpeak, Brother! A Black Manís View of America.î
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