Back in the โ90s, when I was a cub reporter for the Chicago Tribune, I had the privilege of being hazed by my very first editor, Jim Gallagher. Gallagher was your serious Old School metro desk editor: Irish-American, New Yorker, chain smoker, a man possessing an exceedingly big voice and an exceedingly short fuse. โWiltz!โ heโd scream at me, jabbing a nicotine-stained finger in my face, โYou better go write that story faster than youโve ever written anything in your life. And it better be good!โ
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Weโre talking fear, major fear. Fear that Iโd get fired, fear that I would get something wrong and โheaven forbidโ need a correction. And I would indeed type faster than Iโd ever typed in my life. If Gallagher told me that what Iโd written was good, I knew that it was true. Because if Iโd written a piece of crap, he would tell me. In excruciating detail.
I say all this to say, that if Gallagher (now dearly departed, alas), had been editing Walter Dawkinsโ Daily News piece about rapper Roxanne Shanteโs Ph.D., it never wouldโve made it into the paper, getting linked all over the world wide web. (Including, it must be said, on The Root.) Because Gallagher wouldโve said something like this: โDawkins! How do you know this sh** is true? Did you bother to call the fโing school?โ (Apparently not.)
Ben Sheffner, over at our sister site, Slate, did bother to call the school. Proving that even in this era of blogging and digital domination, that old journalism maxim still rings true: If your mama says she loves you, check it out. (And if Roxanne Shante says that she has a PhD, call Cornell.)
โTeresa Wiltz
Straight From
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