Tuesday, October 11, 2022

Remembering Molly Ivins

(NOTE: It’s been 15 years since I wrote this. Molly had just passed.)

It's time to say goodbye to a great journalist, gone too soon. Today, it was Molly Ivins, dead of breast cancer at 62. She will get many well-deserved eulogies. I can only add my few personal memories. 

She was in town on the speaking circuit one night in the early '90s when Doug Foster, our mutual friend, invited us to hang out at a downtown bar for a late-night drinking session. We were both at our best, which is to say our worst, so the jokes were flying back and forth as waiters shuttled bottles of her favorite spirits. Night turned into the next day.

She was most definitely a woman who could drink me under the table. 

Molly's caustic humor not only was contagious, she could be inspirational to progressive audiences. Her story telling was legendary. She gave no ground to those politicians who asserted claim over her Texas. If Bush thought he represented the true Texan, Molly begged to disagree.

She dismissed him as "Shrub."

Molly was the keynote speaker at the 25th anniversary of the Center for Investigative Reporting, in 2002. She personally introduced the three of us who had co-founded CIR back in 1977. Her speech was an old-time, shit-kicking, raucously profane political screed.

Tonight as I watched a fuzzy video of that event, I was struck by Molly's deeply personal identification with what we at CIR had always tried to do.

"Progressives are thought of as terminally earnest...(but) if we couldn't laugh, we'd go insane." Molly joked her way through the event that night, some lines delivered so fast in her droll Texas drawl that the audience had trouble keeping up with her.

Laughter erupted again and again. She was skewering the mainstream press, politicians, and anyone else within range.

But she also was cognizant that young journalists were present, idealistic and fresh-faced. For them, she was momentarily earnest: "Yes, you can make a difference." But, then, she added, "The best way you can learn [to become a good reporter] is to listen to older journalists sitting around in bars..." 

Finally, she turned on herself: "You know, I've spent my whole life being obnoxiously cheerful." An unabashed optimist. That's who Molly Ivins really was. 

We need more like her. Let's hope some of the journalists from the next generation were listening.

***
I remember one other, quite different time.

Molly was promoting another book in 1998 and was on her book tour. By now, she was extremely well known, and audiences everywhere looked forward to her visits.

But on this particular day, she was sitting in the waiting room of a web-based magazine, waiting for an editor to get out of a meeting and see her. The receptionist was young and didn't know who she was. The staff milling around also was clueless. As I saw her across the lobby, Molly seemed very alone, awkwardly thumbing through a magazine, probably wondering why she was even there that day.

I went over and renewed our acquaintance. I sat with her until her appointment. She seemed grateful for the connection.

I know I was. 

Good-bye, Molly. The next world just became a much funnier, more irreverent place. Even as ours became one giant heartbeat less so.

NEWSLINKS:

 

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