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.

Hiltop Views on Memorial Service

Published in the Hilltop Views 06 Apr 2011

Memorial service remembers former professor, student
By Anna Whitney

Friends, colleagues and former students gathered April 2 at Our Lady Queen of Peace Chapel at St. Edward's University to remember former St. Edward's student and professor Michele Kay.
Kay, a journalist who first came to St. Edward's as a New College student, died at her home the morning of Feb. 16. She was 66.
Fr. Lou Brusatti, dean of the School of Humanities, delivered the opening prayer and was the first to eulogize Kay.
"We remember a five-foot tall fireball who hitchhiked across India as a teenager," Brusatti said. "She was a woman who continually reinvented herself."
From being a journalist, to a student, to eventually becoming a professor at St. Edward's, Kay did constantly reinvent herself.
Kay spent 40 years as a writer, journalist and public relations official before coming to St. Edward's to earn her bachelor's and master's degrees. Kay was a journalism professor and faculty advisor to Hilltop Views from 2005 to 2008. She also helped create the journalism minor at St. Edward's.
Friend and colleague Professor Catherine Rainwater described how Kay and her family were expelled from Egypt when Kay was 12. She also talked about her friendship with Kay that began in 2008.
Rainwater remembered Kay for her love of travel and her compassion, humor and wit.
"A reporter, she never missed a beat," Rainwater said.
Former St. Edward's student and former editor-in-chief of Hilltop Views Phil Jones described Kay as helpful inside and outside of the classroom. He described Kay as "a sheer force of nature" who cared intensely for students.
"You didn't have to talk to her very long to know kindness and generosity went to her core," Jones said.
Friend, colleague, and current faculty adviser to Hilltop Views Jena Heath spoke about her friendship with Kay, which began shortly after Heath was hired to be the Austin American-Statesman's Washington correspondent.
Heath visited Austin for two weeks in 1999 to make contacts and meet people as she began working for the American-Statesman. Heath had asked around to find the most knowledgeable people to speak to, and Kay, also a journalist for the American-Statesman at the time, had been highly recommended.
"Everybody said I should meet Michele. That was the beginning of our friendship," Heath said in an interview.
Heath said that during their meeting, Kay ordered Heath to take notes while she explained how Texas government worked.
"She was the epitome of what a teacher should be," Heath said.
At the memorial service, Heath announced the creation of a new scholarship and the re-naming of a previously existing scholarship in honor of Kay.
The Michele Kay Outstanding Student Journalist Award was created this year and will be funded from the Hilltop Views budget. It is a $300 award for a graduating senior who is a journalism minor, has worked at least three semesters at Hilltop Views and who intends to pursue a career in journalism. It will be awarded for the first time at Honors Night on May 2.
Heath said that Kay and her husband, Robert Schultz, endowed the Michele Kay Outstanding Portfolio Award in 2005, "with a very generous gift to St. Edward's." The award was recently re-named in honor of Kay.
"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," Heath said. "We know these awards will keep Michele's memory alive."
After the memorial service, many headed to the Doyle Hall Courtyard for a reception, where friends shared stories about Kay's intellect, honesty and kindness.
Professor of American Studies for New College Paula Marks remembered being Kay's teacher.
"She was always a delightful student that brought that intense curiosity," Marks said. "She had a very incisive mind and a fascinating history."
Kathy Warbelow, business editor for the American Statesman, spoke about being Kay's boss when Kay was a business columnist for the newspaper.
"Michele used to work for me, which means she taught me a lot. To be her editor, you'd learn," Warbelow said. "She had a powerful intellect."

St Ed' Service Intro

St Edward’s University Memorial Service 02 April 2011

My apologies for taking so long to post the texts from the 02 April St Ed’s memorial service. All of the participants promptly sent me their notes, but I have experienced great emotional difficulty in posting them.
The service was conducted by Fr. Louis T. Brusatti, Dean of the School of Humanities, who was Michele’s dean when she worked at St Ed’s. Lou used the songs and readings Michele selected last year. All of the speakers were St Ed’s friends.

I have been quite surprised at how difficult the grieving process has been. I had thought that with two years to prepare and having worked out every possible detail in advance that everything would progress like a well-planned engineering project. I did not take into account the incapacitating impacts of grief and depression.

RKS

Catherine Rainwater Eulogy

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Catherine Rainwater Eulogy

St Ed's Service 02 Apr 11

The following beautiful piece is from Catherine Rainwater, as presented at the St Edward's University memorial service held on Saturday, 02 April 2011.

Catherine was one of Michele's dearest friends from the University. Catherine is editing Michele's book on displacement.

Catherine Rainwater

Eulogy for Michele Kay

(December 2, 1944 - February 16, 2011)

April 2, 2011

St. Edward's University, Our Lady Queen of Peace Chapel

Many years ago, I learned by negative example that a long road trip in a Volkswagen could provide a pretty accurate measure of a friendship. I value each and every friendship that I'm lucky enough to maintain, but the ugly truth is that some of them wouldn't bear up under the stress of travel in a Volkswagen farther than three or four hundred miles, even under ideal road conditions. I learned through that same negative example to gauge accurately a companion's travel mileage capacities, and to avoid getting into a car with a person not likely to hold up past the county line.

I never took a long road trip with Michele in a Volkswagen, but I know in fact she was an Austin-to-Boston sort of friend. She was thoughtful and considerate, a great conversationalist, a person who listened and remembered, a friend with no end of her own fascinating stories to tell, but who always wanted to hear mine. When Michele asked a question, she was genuinely interested in the answer. I never heard her talk simply because there was open air space. She was always on the trail of a point, or ferreting out some deeper understanding. During her long illness, as the verbal skills she valued failed her, I could still see clearly in her large, expressive eyes an enduring curiosity and capacity for listening.

Though I no longer have a Volkswagen, I did enjoy a few short road trips with Michele throughout the too few years we knew each other. One I remember fondly occurred in October of 2008. My mother had passed away a few weeks earlier, and now I had to return to the old cemetery in Brady, Texas, where she is buried alongside family and old friends, to see that her headstone had been set correctly. Perhaps because Michele had buried her own mother not long before, she insisted that I shouldn't carry out my melancholy chore alone. She enjoyed car trips, and volunteered to ride along with me. Gladly, I accepted, for Michele's company was a gift at any time. We decided to make a day of it, not to rush, and to find a place to eat lunch in Brady.

Around 10 a.m., we set out for the cowboy town my mother loved that calls itself the Heart of Texas. Along the way, we talked about our mothers, born in the same year, who seemed to share some things in common, perhaps generational, despite their distant, different origins—her mother from the sandy Plains of Giza, now buried in a Jewish cemetery in London; my mother from the rolling plains of central Texas, now buried less than a mile from where she first drew breath.

As we drove past fields of cows and goats and horses that define the open Texas Hill Country, Michele said, "I thought I was okay when my mother died, but I really wasn't." I felt acquainted with Michele's mother, though I never met her, based on autobiographical essays Michele had written and I had read. I could easily picture Paulette who, like my own mother, had a flair for fashion and a variety of old-fashioned convictions. Michele's compassionate nature showed in her regard for her mother. Before Paulette died, Michele called her every day in London and visited her at least twice a year. Even though our mothers were both way past 90 when they died, we missed them, and we were their children still. We laughed and called ourselves some old, pathetic orphans.

Along the way to Brady, we stopped for the necessities—that is to say, to buy club soda. At the windswept, lonesome cemetery, all was well. Michele wandered among marble angels while I arranged a few Gerbera daisies near my mother's freshly cemented marker. I wondered what my friend was thinking in this resting place of several generations of my family. I knew that her own family's exile from Egypt, when Michele was 12, was only the first experience in her life that led her to feel she was a stranger, without a country, without a home, without even a native language to anchor her in place and time.

Michele said, not long before she passed away,

"I always believed when I died I would be buried in England. But my mother is buried in a Jewish cemetery, and my father's ashes are in a non-religious cemetery. For the first time since my parents met, they couldn’t find a way to be together. It wouldn’t make sense for me to be buried over there. I feel, now, here is where I will be buried. I love this house. I would like to be buried in the back yard."

It made me happy to know that after moving to Austin and eventually marrying Robert, Michele at last had found the place where she belonged.

As we left the cemetery, the sun shone down on my mother's black, granite marker. In the glossy, reflective surface, I saw the sky, mirrored as it will be there for all my own remaining days, and beyond. I'll never forget, and I'll always be glad it was Michele who accompanied me that autumn day, before the grass had had a chance to grow across my mother's grave.

Next we were off to lunch at Mac's Barbecue on Highway 87. There I was amused by the girl from Cairo who, as an adolescent, had adopted English as her native language. Her comprehension of the English dialect, central Texan, was complete. I just wish now that I'd asked her to try to speak it. Among camouflage-clad October hunters, we ate barbecued chicken and were amused by the ambient conversation.

"I'm'na drive on over't S'nangelo an' gitt 'at trailer t' put down by the creek," said one. "Ep," said his buddy. "Musquituhs dang near drove me crazy out 'air at that creek las' time I went fishin'. Kep flyin' in m'ize all mornin'."

"Gitcha piece-a pie?" a passing waitress asked.

"Oh, no thank you," said Michele, glancing down at the untouched three-quarters of the one-quarter chicken she had ordered. "I'm quite full."

The crack reporter never missed a beat. Here among us all in Texas, she was, most certainly, at home.