A Texas journalistic gem closes

Olivia Messer, Daily Beast - When news broke on Sunday night [of the pending closure of] the storied journalism institution known as The Texas Observer—the great incubator of national industry talent and Lone Star State muckraker once helmed by the irreverent Molly Ivins— a wave of fury, sadness, and hopelessness washed over the state’s press corps.

Nationally recognized journalists called the closure everything from an “ego-driven tantrum” to a “damn shame,” and it seems they’re just getting started. Some aren’t ready to give up on the historic magazine. But I’m paralyzed by sadness for what was my first real reporting home and what was, for Texas, a place uniquely and steadfastly dedicated to holding a spotlight onto injustice and oppression….

This was a dream come true. The Observer was founded in 1954 by Ronnie Dugger and its history includes a six-year period in the 1970s under Ivins, a truly inimitable leader.

“We will take orders from none but our own conscience, and never will we overlook or misrepresent the truth to serve the interests of the powerful or cater to the ignoble in the human spirit,” Dugger once wrote. For her part, Ivins called the magazine a “publication in a class by itself” in the book Fifty Years of the Texas Observer, which was published in 2004.

And it was a dream to report for them. The Texas Observer was the place for watchdog, muckraking journalism in Texas. The statehouse was—and still is—full of clownery, and there was only one outlet truly willing to report on it with teeth. Everyone else had seemingly become inoculated to the sexism and racism and the this-is-just-how-it-works of Texas politics. But the Observer’s editors didn’t care about ruffling feathers, as long as the story was true and smart and well-told. The Observer did not bend for access to officials. It was a place beloved by journalists and loathed by the corrupt….

Kolten Parker—a former editor at the Observer—on Monday called the news “hard to swallow.”

“It’s a sad day for independent journalism, for Texas and for the extremely talented and dedicated staff of The Texas Observer,” said Parker. “It provided for me, as it did countless other journalists, a space to craft hard-hitting journalism that owed nothing to anyone or anything except the truth. The high editorial standards and freedom of the Observer is liberating for writers, readers and voiceless communities in Texas.”

 Sam Smith - My bosses at my 1950s summer job  – as a newsman at DC’s WWDC radio - were two Texas liberals: news director Joe Phipps and his assistant Bob Robinson. Short and bald, Phipps appeared a bespectacled and ambulatory small mouth bass. When excited his eyeballs almost rubbed against his glasses. His voice ebbed and flowed between 1950s broadcast fog and full-blown southern oratorical eruption. Robinson, on the other hand, had an unflappable Texas drawl. A tall man with white hair, Robinson was as imperturbable as Phipps was instantly reactive.

That summer at the end of my sophomore year at Harvard ended with Phipps offering me a job when I graduated. As one of the few students with such a promise, I barely made it through the academic aspects of the rest of my college experience, preferring to spend my time at the college radio station.

I already knew that Texas liberals were special people; Tom Whitbread, a poet and Harvard tutor, had introduced me to the Texas Observer, newly started by Ronnie Dugger. The Observer would be a remarkable voice of sense and liberty in an era turning dogmatically dumb and mean. In the first issue, Dugger quoted Thoreau: "The one great rule of composition is to speak the truth."

Beyond their politics, I liked that Texas liberals seemed to enjoy themselves and that even the worst election brought a new batch of stories. Such as the one about the freshman state legislator being advised that the best way to stay honest was to sell out to one interest group fast; that way the rest would leave you alone. Or about the Texas trial lawyer who stole from the rich . . . and gave approximately half to the poor. I liked the tales of Lyndon Johnson and Ralph Yarborough -- the yin and yang of the Texas senatorial delegation. Even the names that cropped up -- like Creekmore Fath or Cactus Prior -- were fun.

I didn't realize it then, but being a Texas liberal in the 50s could be hazardous. Folk humorist John Henry Faulk found that out when CBS fired him after he became a target of the red-hunters. Unlike a lot of eastern liberals at the time, Faulk struck back, suing the group that had accused him. Nonetheless, it still took years on the broadcast blacklist and the legal assistance of Louis Nizer to prove that he was a good American.

Through it all, Faulk kept his sense of humor,. telling stories like the one about Totsie who was hit by the Katy Flyer express. Totsie's remains were so well distributed that the family rented 300 acres for the funeral -- just to be on the safe side. The minister said it was the largest funeral he had ever preached -- acreage wise.

Faulk also told of being born in a village so small it only had four houses, and they weren't exactly downtown. He claimed to have been one of triplets and that his father had come to the hospital and asked his mother, "Well, which one you gonna keep?" "That," recalled Faulk, "is when I learned how to swim."