MK Speaker Series

THE HEADLINERS FOUNDATION PRESENTS
The Inaugural
*Michele Kay Speaker Series*

Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Go Behind the Scenes With Panelists Wayne Slater, Evan Smith, Peggy Fikac & Ken Herman as they discuss Rick Perry, Barack Obama and the year of the Teavangelicals How will the media cover the race?
for additional discussion questions see below
Wayne Slater is a Senior Political Writer for The Dallas Morning News. He previously served for 15 years as Austin bureau chief for The News covering national and state politics. He is a frequent guest on numerous network television shows and is co-author of two books, the New York Times best seller, Bush's Brain: How Karl Rove Made George W. Bush Presidential, published by John Wiley & Sons, and The Architect: Karl Rove and the Dream of Absolute Power, published by Random House

Evan Smith is the CEO and editor-in-chief of The Texas Tribune, which, in its first year in operation, won two national Edward R. Murrow Awards and a General Excellence Award from the Online News Association. Previously he spent nearly 26 years at Texas Monthly, retiring as the magazine's president and editor-in-chief. For eight years, Smith hosted the weekly interview program, Texas Monthly Talks, that aired on PBS stations statewide. He currently hosts, Overheard with Evan Smith, airing on PBS stations nationally
Peggy Fikac is Austin bureau chief and columnist for the San Antonio Express-News and Houston Chronicle. She covers government and politics - including Gov. Rick Perry's presidential race. Before the Hearst newspapers merged their Austin bureaus, Fikac was Express-News' bureau chief, starting just in time to jump on the campaign plane for George W. Bush's first presidential race. At the time, she considered it a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to cover a Texas governor running for president. She previously worked for the Associated Press, specializing in public education coverage, where she traveled with the late Ann Richards during both of her campaigns for governor
Ken Herman, a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, is currently an editorial board member and columnist for the Austin American-Statesman. He began his journalism career in East Texas at the Lufkin Daily News in 1975. In 1977, Herman joined The Associated Press in Dallas, later moving to Harlingen to serve as the AP's correspondent there and, in 1979, to Austin to join the AP's Capitol staff. In 1988, he became Austin Bureau Chief for the Houston Post, a title he held until the paper folded in 1995. Herman then joined the American-Statesman as its Capitol Bureau Chief. From 2004-2009, he was the White House correspondent for Cox Newspapers.
During the course of the evening the panelists will also try to answer
What challenges do home-state reporters face when their governor seeks the White House?
How will Perry's campaign compare with George W. Bush's a decade ago?

Will national media rely on Texas journalists to help tell the story to the rest of the country?
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
5:45 pm Cocktails 6:15 pm Seating 7:00 pm Buffet Supper
Reservations Required for Members and Guests
$30.00 plus tax, gratuity, and cocktails.
R.S.V.P. 479.8080 or by email
Limited Attendance
All no shows will be charged unless cancelled 48 hours in advance.

*The Michele Kay Speaker Series memorializes the late Michele Kay; former business editor, Washington correspondent and columnist for the Austin American-Statesman... and a journalist of international stature. The series will support the presentation of fresh insights regarding the practice and experiences of professional journalism; its challenges and its value to our society.

‘You Look Great’ and Other Lies

This piece was pointed out by one of Michele's family members. I think that it is spot on. (Still having great difficulity with formatting and spacing with the blog.)

RKS

http://nyti.ms/juwR7T

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/12/fashion/what-to-say-to-someone-whos-sick-this-life.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all

‘You Look Great’ and Other Lies

by BRUCE FEILER Published: June 10, 2011 NYT

Six Things You Should Never Say to a Friend (or Relative or Colleague) Who’s Sick. And Four Things You Can Always Say.

First, the Nevers.

1. WHAT CAN I DO TO HELP?

Most patients I know grow to hate this ubiquitous, if heartfelt question because it puts the burden back on them. As Doug Ulman, the chief executive of

Livestrong and a three-time cancer survivor, explained: “The patient is never going to tell you. They don’t want to feel vulnerable.” Instead, just do something for the patient. And the more mundane the better, because those are the tasks that add up. Want to be really helpful? Clean out my fridge, replace my light bulbs, unpot my dead plants, change my oil.

2. MY THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS ARE WITH YOU.
In my experience, some people think about you, which is nice. Others pray for you, which is equally comforting. But the majority of people who say they’re sending “thoughts and prayers” are just falling back on a mindless cliché. It’s time to retire this hackneyed expression to the final resting place of platitudes, alongside “I’m stepping down to spend more time with my family,” or “It’s not you, it’s me.”

3. DID YOU TRY THAT MANGO COLONIC I RECOMMENDED?

I was stunned by the number of friends and strangers alike who inundated me with tips for miracle tonics, Chinese herbs or Swedish visualization exercises. At times, my in-box was like a Grand Ole Opry lineup of 1940s Appalachian black-magic potions. “If you put tumeric under your fingernails, and pepper on your neck, and take a grapefruit shower, you’ll feel better. It cured my Uncle Louie.”

Even worse, the recommenders follow up!

Jennifer Goodman Linn, a former marketing executive who’s survived seven recurrences of a sarcoma and is compiling a book, “I Know You Mean Well, but ...,” was approached recently at a store. “You don’t know me, but you’re friends with my wife,” the man said, before asking Ms. Linn why she wasn’t wearing the kabbalah bracelet they bought her in Israel.

4. EVERYTHING WILL BE O.K.

Unsure what to say, many well-wishers fall back on chirpy feel-goodisms. But these banalities are more often designed to allay the fears of the caregiver than those of the patient. As one friend who recently had brain surgery complained: “I got a lot of ‘chin ups,’ ‘you’re going to get better.’ I kept thinking: You haven’t seen the scans. That’s not what the doctor is saying.” The simple truth is, unless you’re a medical professional, resist playing Nostradamus.

5. HOW ARE WE TODAY

Every adult patient I know complains about being infantilized. The writer Letty Cottin Pogrebin, who had breast cancer, is working on a book, “How to Be a Friend to a Friend Who’s Sick.” It includes a list of “no-no’s” that treat ailing grown-ups like children. When the adult patient has living parents, as I did, many mothers in particular fall back on old patterns, from overstepping their boundaries to making bologna sandwiches when the patient hasn’t eaten them since childhood. “Just because someone is dealing with a physical illness,” Mr. Ulman said, “doesn’t diminish their mental capacity.”

6. YOU LOOK GREAT.

Nice try, but patients can see right through this chestnut. We know we’re gaunt, our hair is falling out in clumps, our colostomy bag needs emptying. The only thing this hollow expression conveys is that you’re focusing on how we appear. “When people comment on my appearance,” Ms. Linn said, “it reminds me that I don’t look good.”
Next time you want to compliment a patient’s appearance, keep this in mind: Vanity is the only part of the human anatomy that is immune to cancer.

So what do patients like to hear? Here are four suggestions.

1. DON’T WRITE ME BACK.

All patients get overwhelmed with the burden of keeping everyone informed, coddled and feeling appreciated. Social networking, while offering some relief, often increases the expectation of round-the-clock updates.

To get around this problem, I appointed a “minister of information,” whose job it was to disseminate news, deflect queries and generally be polite when I didn’t have the energy or inclination to be. But you can do your part, too: If you do drop off a fruitcake or take the dog for a walk, insist the patient not write you a thank-you note. Chicken soup is not a wedding gift; it shouldn’t come with added stress.

2. I SHOULD BE GOING NOW.

You’ll never go wrong by uttering these five words while visiting someone who’s sick. As Ms. Pogrebin observes of such visits, don’t overstay your welcome. She recommends 20 minutes, even less if the patient is tired or in pain. And while you’re there, wash a few dishes or tidy up the room. And take out the trash when you leave.

3. WOULD YOU LIKE SOME GOSSIP?

One surefire tip: a slight change of topic goes a long way. Patients are often sick of talking about their illness. We have to do that with our doctors, nurses and insurance henchmen. By all means, follow the lead of the individual, but sometimes ignoring the elephant in the room is just the right medicine. Even someone recovering from surgery has an opinion about the starlet’s affair, the underdog in the playoffs or the big election around the corner.

4. I LOVE YOU.

When all else fails, simple, direct emotion is the most powerful gift you can give a loved one going through pain. It doesn’t need to be ornamented. It just needs to be real. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.” “I hate to see you suffer.” “You mean a lot to me.” The fact that so few of us do this makes it even more meaningful.

Not long ago, I reached out to my friend’s sister, Amy, who had endured three surgeries in the previous six months for a tumor in the thalamus. She was undergoing physical therapy and had just returned to work. What most annoyed her, I wondered?
“I liked having the family around,” she said, referring to her six siblings and their five spouses. “But I had a lot of issues with my room seeming like a party and my not being in a place where I could be down if I wanted.”

The most helpful tip she got? “People reminded me that I had a free ‘No’ clause whenever I needed it. Especially as someone who tends to please, that was helpful.”

So in the end, what would she say to someone like her sister who leaned over and asked for advice?

“Fully embrace the vulnerability of the situation,” she said. “I would never have gotten through it if I hadn’t allowed people in.”

That even included a new boyfriend, who became so intimately involved in her recovery that she allowed him access to her innermost self. The two became engaged in the I.C.U. and plan to marry next year.

Bruce Feiler’s memoir, “The Council of Dads: A Story of Family, Friendship and Learning How to Live,” has just been published in paperback.

MKDDS INAUGURAL EVENT

This is the first in a series that we have been working on for several months.

The Michele Kay

Distinguished Speakers Series

Inaugural Event

Featuring Peggy Fikac, Ken Herman, Evan Smith and Wayne Slater

"As presidential politics heat up,

how will the media in Texas

cover the race?"

Cocktails 5:45 pm

Program 6:15 pm

Dinner 7:00 pm

Tuesday, 13 September 2011

The Headliners Club

Joanna Hitchcock -- Open Forum

This posting has been delayed because I have found it to be very difficult to work on the blog.

This piece is from Joanna Hitchcock, a Brit, who recently retired as Director of the University of Texas Press. Joanna was a close friend. She gave the talk at an Open Forum meeting. Michele really enjoyed Open Forum. It was a ladies luncheon group with intellectual programs and a high power membership. After one meeting, Michele said that everyone else at her table had a building at the University named after them.

MICHELE KAY

December 2, 1944 – February 16, 2011

Michele Kay joined Open Forum in Fall 2007 and was diagnosed with cancer in March 2009. But in the short time she was with us she relished her membership and was already sufficiently engaged to chair the program committee in only her second year.

Many people have written and spoken aptly and movingly about Michele since she died in February after surviving an amazing two years with brain cancer. Some of you will have read obituaries and articles about her life, and I can’t do better than to pull snippets together from them and from her own writing, including the memoir she was dictating to her friend and former Statesman colleague Mary Ann Roser during her last year.



Micheline Trigachi was born in Cairo on December 2, 1944, to a French-speaking Jewish mother and a Roman Catholic father, who was British by virtue of being Maltese. Her early life appears to have been a happy one. But her world came apart when her family was deported to London after the Suez Crisis in 1956. Speaking only French and Arabic, Michele set about learning English with characteristic determination. A year later her father got a job in Hong Kong, and by the end of that year her English was fluent. I don’t think you’re going to agree with me if I say she and I spoke alike, but someone observed that she had “a vaguely British accent,” and she certainly knew how to pronounce water.


Michele has variously been described as “a five-foot-tall fireball,” “a tower of energy,” “diminutive only in size…with a no-nonsense intensity that couldn’t hide a soft heart underneath.” She “thought fast, wrote fast, and spoke very fast. She disliked distractions, could be brusque and refused to suffer fools.” Eternally curious, she was a high-energy workaholic, but also a loving wife, mother, and grandmother. “She had an infectious smile, an impish laugh, and piercing eyes.” She was a sympathetic listener, who cut to the core of a problem or issue immediately. And “she reinvented herself time and time again—her professional life, while grounded in journalism, included stints in politics, business and community involvement,” and finally academia.



Her 40-year career as a journalist began right out of school covering weddings for The Hong Kong Standard, a job which she described as a disaster since she wasn’t interested in the women’s page and couldn’t tell one piece of clothing fabric from another. She moved on to cover news for the South China Morning Post, to Saigon during the Vietnam War, to the Dallas/Fort Worth Business Journal and Texas Business Magazine, and then to the Austin American-Statesman, where she served successively in various capacities. Of Michele as journalist, the late congressman Jake Pickle wrote in a letter to her about her coverage of his time in Washington: “In all my terms as a congressman of the 10^th District, you were the best… You gave me no quarter…. And it was fun reporting to you because you told it honestly and forthrightly….you were great to work with. I always felt comfortable in talking to you. I always knew you got your facts straight and reported to our constituents a view point of honesty and fairness…you were the best newspaper writer anyone could hope for.”



After leaving the Statesman in 2002, Michele fulfilled her lifelong ambition of going to college by getting two degrees from St. Ed’s, before going on to teach journalism there. “I wasn’t really a teacher,” she wrote. “I was somebody with a passion for something who wanted to share it.” She stirred things up, creating a journalism minor and transforming the “really pretty bad” student newspaper into a professional publication. Father Brusatti, the Dean of the School of Humanities, described “her regular camping in my office with a list of demands—she never really called them demands, just very urgent requests and needs if we are going to succeed.” The students “loved the hustle and bustle of working with Michele Kay…. On hectic production days, we could often find Michele sprinting between each room yelling orders, answering multiple phones, and keeping us on task.”


Michele made friends easily. The same curiosity that made her a good journalist made her a great friend. She wanted to know everything about your life, but she was curious without being nosy. Her husband Robert Schultz described their first date in July 1997 as “the longest, most intense press interview I ever experienced…. I barely knew Michele before our first date, but as I was driving home afterwards, I asked myself ‘Is there any significant fact about me that this woman does not now know?’"


Michele and I first met at a dinner party at B.J. and Bob Fernea’s in the early nineties and followed up by getting together for lunch just before she moved to D.C. as Washington correspondent for the Statesman. When we reconnected, over 10 years later (I can’t remember how this came about, but I think she just picked up the phone one day) she’d been through several reincarnations. She’d met and married Robert Schultz and begun the happiest period of her life; she’d been involved in a political campaign, returned to the Statesman for 3 years, then gone to St. Ed’s, as I mentioned.


Michele and I soon discovered we were at roughly the same stages in our lives. Many of our vital concerns were similar, but there was also enough difference in our experiences to add spice and variety to our conversations. One of the many subjects on which we agreed was work: we enjoyed it far too much to want to “retire and not do anything.” “What would I do after I’d got everything in the house organized by 10 a.m.?” asked the super efficient Michele. When she did finally decide to retire in 2008, we talked about how much she was enjoying her leisure, spending time at home with Robert. She wanted to give herself some space before taking up any new projects. And always hospitable, she used this time to give parties, always for other people and causes, and invariably—in Tracy Curtis’s phrase—“self-catered.” At our final lunch before her diagnosis, she talked about how she was beginning to think about re-engaging in community projects and what she might like to do. Sadly, she never had the chance to go further, as fighting cancer took almost all her energy over the next two years.


One of the subjects Michele and I agreed on was the value we placed on becoming U.S. citizens. We were naturalized two years apart in the late nineties, and having at last gotten the vote, neither of us ever missed a chance to use it. But whereas I was simply a two-timer and felt as though I belonged, partially at least, both here and in England, Michele felt she did not belong anywhere for most of her life, having lived all over the world--in Egypt, London, Hong Kong, Saigon, San Francisco, Paris, Tel Aviv, New York, and Dallas--and it wasn’t until she made her last move to Austin that she finally felt settled.


And we also shared grief. Michele’s mother died in March 2005, mine two years later. Her mother was smart and fashionable, like mine; but unlike mine, she did not believe in education for women. Our mothers were both difficult in their different ways, but as Michele put it so well—and she could have spoken for both of us: “in the end, I could only think…how much I loved her and how much I would miss her.”

Whatever one asked of Michele, she was quick to say yes, almost before one had finished the request, whether it was to accompany me to an obligatory UT dinner, to co-host a party, or, ironically, to act as executor for my will.



The Open Forum meeting in November was the last time I had a real conversation with Michele. She was feeling a little better that day and she enjoyed it. On the way home in the car, she mentioned that she was meeting that afternoon with her minister friend to arrange her funeral. She said she hoped we’d have some time together after I retired; that was not to be. But she also expressed the hope that she would not be forgotten, and that’s one wish of hers that those of us who were fortunate enough to have known her can be sure to fulfill.

　

Some Words to Help Us Rember

Memorial Service for Michele Kay
Queen of Peace Chapel at St. Edward’s University
April 2, 2011

Some Words to Help Us Remember
Louis T. Brusatti

We gather today to remember:

The five-foot-tall fireball who hitchhiked across India and Europe as a teenager…

The woman with the forty year journalism career that took her to all parts of the world…

Her no-nonsense intensity and never-ending curiosity that made her a formidable and dependable journalist…

Her war correspondent mentality emerging from her time in Vietnam…

The woman who continued to re-invent herself time and time again—be it journalism, politics, student and ultimately professor.

She spent her life on the mountain, bringing rich food and choice wine to the New Jerusalem.

We Remember:

Her time at St. Edward’s University—as an undergraduate and then graduate student and finally a professor…

Her work with the Hilltop Views—moving it from Student Life into the School of Humanities, from a rather amateurish to a professional publication…

Her commitment to the creation of a journalism minor and a true teaching laboratory for Hilltop Views…

Her regular camping in my office with a list of demands—she never really called them demands, just very urgent requests and needs if we are going to succeed…

Her intensity in the face of conflict with any of us…

Her genuine interest in her students


We remember:

That infectious smile and impish laugh—who could ever forget them? Those piercing eyes shooting forth questions and making comments.

That her home was open to all. There was a place for everyone at her table—there is that wonderful picture of her “stirring the pot” at a dinner she prepared for her students.

That her life was filled with love—Robert, her two children and five grandchildren. There was such excitement in her voice when she talked of the grandkids.

That her life was filled with good friends and admiring colleagues… The last time we had lunch we went to The Tree House—it’s quiet—with some colleagues from St. Edward’s and the Writers’ League. The conversation was animated and filled with stories and life.

That her cancer would not take over her life. She continued to live as determined and independent for as long as she could.

A dedicated journalist,
a woman of passion and deep belief,
an inspiring teacher and mentor,
a determined colleague, and loving friend,
a loving wife and mother and grandmother.

Michele was about calling forth the best in each of us with a drive and focus.

In a few moments we will hear from others in her life who will help us continue our process of memory.

Philip Jones Remarks

Philip Jones -- Michele Kay Eulogy


Writing for Michele was a daunting task. When you respect someone it's hard to submit your work to their judgment. But that paled in comparison to the responsibility that comes from writing about her – and trying to justice to such an inspiring person.
When I was graduating from St. Ed's, Michele invited me to coffee to talk about my plans for the future. To be honest, it wasn't so much an invitation as much an order.
I didn't really want to face her with my lack of a plan, as it was scary enough to admit to myself I did not know what was coming next. But even though she had gone from being this intimidating newspaper woman with an amazing life story to a dear friend who had shown genuine compassion, I still didn't want to run the risk of disappointing her.
But I knew better than to try to lie about what I thought I might do. We all know she could see right through deception.
In that conversation, she told me something that will always stick with me: "When you're trying to decide what to do with your life, decide on whatever will make it more interesting." That advice could have been easy to dismiss coming from anyone else. But Michele had lived that way, and that made her words impossible to ignore.
A lot of students here today got that same debrief because she cared enough to be invested in our lives inside and outside of the classroom.
As students we had a very different background and experienced much less than her. But she still saw so many of us as friends. Speaking for myself, I can't tell you how much that meant.
When I've talked to people who knew her for decades, through her work in journalism or politics, it strikes me that they all describe her like I would. We all knew the exact same Michele. She didn't show a different face to different people. I don't think she was capable of the masks that so many of us can wear depending on who we are with.
She was so earnest and filled with conviction to make clear how she truly felt. As her friends, we were lucky to have someone like that in our corner: someone who would tell us how it really is.
And the irony of it all is that when I first met her, I thought she was so intimidating; a sheer force of nature. But even with all that will, energy and unrelenting inquisitiveness, you didn't have to talk to her long to realize that kindness and generosity went to her very core.
She helped some students enter journalism who had never considered it as a career before meeting her. She inspired others to pursue their dreams in other parts of the world. Whatever we were aiming for, I think we were more likely to give up on ourselves than Michele was to let us.
As her students, we could not have asked for a better mentor to help us find our voice. Those of us who got to know her better, were even more blessed to count her as a friend.
I miss Michele deeply. But she always taught us not to bury the lede. The real story here is how blessed we were to have been touched by such an amazing life.

Jena Heath Remarks

Hello, I'm Jena Heath, the person who had the unenviable challenge of following in Michele's very large shoes as faculty adviser to Hilltop Views and coordinator of the university's journalism program.
Back then, in the fall of 2008, I seemed unable to turn a corner without meeting someone who looked at me pitifully before telling me all about the transformation of Hilltop Views under Michele's guidance. The feel-good newsletter became a vibrant, thoroughly reported and well- written campus newspaper thanks to my petite friend's very large ambitions for her students and her unerring faith in what they could accomplish.
Needless to say, I was thrilled about starting this new chapter in my life after 17 years as a newspaper reporter and editor. I was also daunted.
The one person who encouraged me most during those early days was Michele herself. We met in her office at home, where she shared her syllabi, her grading philosophy, her insights about her colleagues (positive, but unvarnished, as I'm sure you can all imagine) and lots of very keen advice about the transition from the newsroom to the classroom. Most of all, she shared the absolute joy she took in getting to know her students.
And know them she did. She told me not just about one editor's design talent, but about her outsized loved of cats, her extreme shyness and the potential Michele saw in this serious young woman, both professionally and personally. Michele made it her business to help bring that potential forth and, just as important, to help her young friend have some fun.
She told me about the romances on the Hilltop Views staff. No new couple was subtle enough to elude her hawk eye and though she tried to stay more or less neutral, she couldn't help musing about whether or not they were a good match and wondering about what the future held for them.
She knew all about her editors' families, their academic challenges and triumphs, their hopes and their disappointments. She loved them and they loved her in return.
In one of the many tributes to Michele published since her death, I read this quote:
"I wasn't really a teacher," Michele said of her love of interacting with the students. "I was somebody with a passion for something who wanted to share it with them."
In this, I will beg to differ with my dear friend. She was the epitome of what a teacher should be. I know because I learned so much from her. When we first met, in the summer of 1999, I had joined the Austin American-Statesman as its Washington correspondent. I spent my first two weeks in Austin trying to meet everyone I could. Everyone I encountered, from reporters, to public officials to lobbyists, said there was one person I couldn't leave Texas without knowing – her name was Michele Kay.
So, I called her. She invited me over to the Greystone house, where she and Robert, who were still newlyweds, lived then. She sat me down at a table in the back yard, got me a Perrier and disappeared. When she came back, she handed me a large box. Inside were more rolodex cards than I'd ever seen. It was Michele's source list – a who's who of powerbrokers and notables. She then ordered me to take notes while she explained how Texas worked.
That was my first lesson from Michele. There were many others. Over the years, over more dinners and glasses of wine than I can count, she taught me to, among other things, cook a roast, correctly baste a Thanksgiving turkey, shop for clothes at lightning speed (a visit to Ann Taylor with Michele was always a dizzying sprint) and, most important, not to sweat the small stuff when it comes to being a mom. She taught me to see the humor and pathos in people's mistakes and foibles – and in my own. She took great delight in gossip, but never in a malicious way. Indeed, her enormous interest in others, her curiosity about people and embrace of their differences, helped me, I hope, to become more patient and accepting, to see that we all make mistakes and that the vast majority of these mistakes should be forgiven.
In the final weeks of her life, Michele taught me her greatest lesson. I was fortunate to be able to help Robert during the week. Together, we spent many quiet mornings rousing Michele, helping her with breakfast and, often, sitting by the fireplace and just relaxing. I watched the friend who had so tenaciously fought to hold on to her amazing life slowly decide – and I believe it was her decision – to let it go. In those weeks, though she stopped expressing herself verbally, Michele's eyes said it all. She was at peace.
Michele told me more than once that what she feared most was being forgotten. She wanted to know that she had left a legacy. I assured her that she had – and that we would never forget her.
Today, it is my great honor to announce the creation of the Michele Kay Outstanding Student Journalist Award, which will be given this year at Honor's Night to a graduating senior who has minored in journalism, worked consistently for Hilltop Views and intends to pursue a career in the field. Along with the Michele Kay Outstanding Portfolio Award, I know that these honors will underline, each year, this remarkable woman's contributions to our university and to the profession she loved so much.
Thank you.