David McHam in the office of the Waco Tribune-Herald in the late 1960s. Photo by Sue Jones.
Following is a collection of quotes and anecdotes from students of David McHam
John C. Hollar, SMU and Harvard law graduate, former PBS and digital media executive, and technology investor:
I was born in Pampa, in the Texas Panhandle. I found SMU to be like a foreign country. I was alienated, surrounded by people with money. McHam took a very personal interest in me from my freshman year. It was the kind of relationship I needed. He knew things about me I didn’t know myself. He had this gentle way of telling you. I wanted to shoot the lights out for him … it was a wonderful, motivating thing. And he had a marvelous, humble way of accepting all that.
The greatest influence McHam had on me was his ability to see small things. He was a stickler for excellence. He was the one who showed me that mastering the small things can lead to bigger things, to understanding why there‘s a stylebook. It was about how to write succinctly, to sweat the details, a way of doing things. It was a way of thinking.
John McClain, Baylor graduate, four decades as Houston Chronicle pro football beat writer, NFL Hall of Fame member for sports writing:
I was a terrible student, and then I took introduction to mass communication. That led me to meet [sports editor] Dave Campbell and start working at the Waco News-Tribune covering Friday night [high school] football. Then I met Tony Pederson, who told me you need to take McHam’s classes. McHam knew I worked 60 hours a week and he told me, “Don’t work for The Lariat (the student newspaper) but bring me your carbons from the News-Tribune.” He was able to see my raw work. He helped me so much. We just talked a lot. He was so knowledgeable and knew so many people.
I have been very, very blessed in my career. I still like to take him to lunch and talk to him about journalism. I’m 72 and I’m still learning from him. It was his support, the things he taught us. It was like learning the Bible from Jesus.
Bob Darden, Baylor graduate, retired master teacher and professor emeritus of journalism at Baylor, author/editor of 24 books, founder of Baylor’s Black Gospel Music Restoration Project:
I took my first two journalism classes at Baylor from McHam and I was astonished. No one else taught like him. He walked into class in jeans, taking the last puffs on a cigarette, and just started talking, very conversationally. He was the first professor I had who talked to us as equals. It was like being inducted into a secret society or club. It was going to be this most thrilling journey.
Storytelling was at the heart of everything David taught. When we started to do stories, features, he was sending the best to The Lariat. We had to figure out for ourselves what we were doing. Toward the end of the year, he gave me one story back with no grade, just “see me.” He told me “You’re overwriting. Don’t tell me everything at one time.” It was getting in the way of storytelling. He had me retype 10 pages from “The Old Man and the Sea.” I was so mad at him I almost quit.
Two other aspects of being a McHam protégé: When you were job hunting, you always called him first. He knew where the jobs were. He had this mental Rolodex to match jobs with people. And among people I know, David has always been one of the best listeners. He listens with his whole body.
Paul Parsons, Baylor graduate, retired journalist, professor and dean of the School of Communications at Elon University:
I first met David McHam under difficult circumstances during my opening semester at Baylor (fall 1970). Dave Cheavens was my Journalism 141 teacher. When I came to class in early December, McHam was there instead and told us that Professor Cheavens had died while attending a conference. We were shocked. McHam was our teacher the final few weeks. I still have my final exam from that class–writing a spot news story as if we had been present for Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. McHam emphasized that what a speaker says is far more important than the mere fact that he or she spoke. McHam explained it in a way that this basic concept became ingrained in me as a freshman journalism student and later as a working journalist and then a professor.
From that point on, I took as many McHam courses as I could. In his editing course, he focused on how to make a sentence more impactful by shortening it. Every word needs to fulfill its role. It’s a concept that has stayed with me for life. I also learned that there’s no period in Dr Pepper, that editing involves precision in words, punctuation and storytelling.
McHam was a meaningful mentor to me and my classmates, and we felt it. He once came to the press at night (in the days when The Lariat had just switched to cold type) and took me for coffee to talk about how I could become a good journalist if I keep working hard. Another time, he wrote a letter to me during Christmas break that I had received an A in a junior-level course he taught even though I had failed to turn in an early class assignment. I still have that letter, too. He wrote in part, “Paul, you can’t just not do things… You must live up to your potential. I hope you take this note in the constructive way I intend it.”
One class assignment, though, really riled me. If you missed his class, you had to collect class notes from at least two others and write a news story on what the class had covered the day you were absent. One day when I was a Lariat editor, I had been at the press into the early morning hours and simply slept through McHam’s morning class. I felt awful about it because I liked being in his classes, but I was bone-tired and the extra assignment really irritated me. I gathered notes from others and proceeded to write a story on the class I had missed. But after a few grafs of content, I added a graf in parentheses about a farmer whose mule was so tired that it wasn’t pulling the wagon as it should. After a few more grafs about the class content that day, another parenthetical graf about the farmer deciding to whip the mule, only adding to the mule’s misery. A final few grafs about the class that day, then a final parenthetical that the farmer might have considered letting the mule rest so that it could regain its strength and pull the wagon with its former vigor. I turned in the missed-class assignment with some trepidation and waited to see what would happen. The next class period, McHam handed back my class-absence paper without comment. My paper had no edits, just a short phrase at the top: “Our farming perspectives differ I see.” The fury had ebbed from me by then, and all I could do was laugh at his response.
Baylor journalism had a pipeline to UPI at that time, thanks to outstanding Lariat predecessors, and McHam encouraged me to apply. I did, interviewing with the bureau chief in Dallas. I was engaged to be married to my Baylor sweetheart eight days after our graduation, and it would be nice to have a job and know where we’d live. But the UPI staff went on strike in 1974, and a hiring freeze made a job offer impossible. I accepted a reporter job at the Arkansas Democrat newspaper in Little Rock, where I had enjoyed interning the two previous summers. Later, I would join UPI’s Little Rock bureau for five years before going to the AP.
Kay Brown, Baylor graduate, former journalist, state representative and government executive, current political leader in Alaska:
My overwhelming feeling about David McHam is gratitude for giving me a deep sense of connection and direction that has continued more than 50 years. I am honored that David is a mentor and a friend, and grateful for the interest that he has shown in me and my work over the years. Each time we speak, we pick right up as if we had only a brief time away.
McHam came into my life at a pivotal point–I first encountered him as a freshman in Baylor’s journalism department in the fall of 1969. You can do it–that’s what came across. He believed in me. McHam emerged as a father figure in my life after my father died in 1973, the year I graduated and went to work as a reporter/editor at UPI in Atlanta, a job he helped me obtain. I felt alone in the world, being an only child and having lost both parents, in a strange new city. McHam was a rock of encouragement and hope. David also is the central character in a circle of friends and professional associations who also have enriched my life.
Some of the things I learned from David: How to ask questions; questions are the key to understanding. The importance of the lead, and of accuracy. Write clearly, get straight to the point. How to think critically about turbulent times and complex situations. Always carry paper, pen and a dime. The joy of reading, e.g., Larry McMurtry.
These foundational skills that have helped me succeed at every career: As a reporter/editor for UPI, feature writer for The Anchorage Times, and reporter/editor for an alternative weekly, the Alaska Advocate. As director of the Division of Minerals and Energy Management, and later the Division of Oil and Gas, in the Alaska Department of Natural Resources. In politics as a 10-year Representative in the Alaska State House, executive director of the Alaska Democratic Party, founder and now chair of the Alaska Progressive Donor Table, founder and now vice chair of Alaska Women Ascend. And in conservation, as the first executive director of the Alaska Conservation Alliance and Voters, and now Arctic Policy Director for Pacific Environment.
Nancy Eubank Lewis, Baylor graduate, English major:
Because McHam was a hero to my brother, Dean Eubank, I was prepared to meet a god in my first journalism class, but I was surprised it was this scruffy, chalk stained, coffee breathed, shaky hand old guy. I was 19. What did I know? It only took a few classes for me to realize this guy was the real deal, and when he taught us Lincoln Steffens, I was dumbstruck. This prof is a genius!
So, I was a bit heartbroken yet not surprised when McHam gently advised me I needed to explore the world of literature writing rather than journalism. I just couldn’t avoid trying to make news a feature story. He was right, but he taught me the earthshaking importance of writing the facts–an art sorely missing now. Thank you, David.
Paul Harral, Baylor graduate, UPI writer and editor, newspaper editor, magazine publisher:
I first met David McHam and some of his students while I was working my way through Baylor University as a printer at the Baylor University Press, assigned to The Lariat on the night shift since I had trained as an apprentice at my hometown newspaper, the Shamrock Texan. I was pre-med at the time, but the students and McHam persuaded me to take a couple of classes in journalism.
McHam taught by example, and he saw everything as a teaching opportunity. Before cell phones, he emphasized that being able to communicate with the office was central and told us we should always carry a dime–the cost of a payphone call at the time–in our wallets or purses. Occasionally, he would demand us to show him a dime. That led to students occasionally saying that they were so broke that they spent their McHam dime.
McHam also taught a class one day on what to do when assigned a breaking story against deadline. The scenario was a major wreck and he wanted us to tell him what we would do first when we got to the scene. There were lots of responses, none pleasing to him. The answer, he said, was to ask people if they saw the wreck and to do that until we could an eyewitness if there was one available.
Those two lessons came together on Oct. 31, 1969, when a Marine scheduled for court martial named Raffaele Minichiello hijacked Trans World Airlines Flight 85 over California and demanded that the pilots take him to Rome, in his native Italy. The plane stopped in Denver to let passengers off. I was bureau manager for UPI in Denver and the overnight staffer called me at home. I headed immediately for the airport, where the first thing I did was change $20 into quarters, then the cost of a phone call. And when the passengers started coming off the plane, while other reporters were grabbing the first passengers, I started asking passengers if they had seen the hijacker. And I found one who had.
I’d like to say that was instinct, but it wasn’t. David McHam taught me to do that. One slight pleasure that night was telling my AP competition to bug off when he asked if I had extra quarters.
There are dozens of other stories I could tell, but those two illustrate his teaching technique. Until late in my career, I never took a job without consulting David McHam. My predecessor as editor of the Baylor Lariat was the late Edward K. DeLong, who went to work for UPI, and I followed in his path. We both carried the bylines of UPI Spacewriter during the Apollo days, and DeLong was head of the UPI Spaceflight Bureau in Houston. I was TDY during missions. And Lariat editors basically had standing job offers from UPI upon graduation.
Kristen Gazlay, SMU graduate, retired senior editor for The Associated Press:
There’s a reason David McHam is so revered by so many of his students–he sets high standards, but he roots for you to meet them and guides you along the way. He has a gentle, unassuming demeanor, and a sly sense of humor, but there is steel inside.
At the end of my career, I was editing The Associated Press’s very top enterprise and investigative pieces, some of which won Pulitzer recognition. All the while, it never escaped my notice that McHam (he was always McHam) had given me a mere B+ in his editing class decades earlier. I suspect he knew it would spur me to work even harder.
Once, our roles flipped: I had the opportunity to hire him for a months-long stint in the AP’s Dallas bureau, filling in for vacationing employees. It was always such a kick to look out of my office window and see him sitting with his fellow editors. I resisted the urge to give him a B+ on his performance review.
David Pickle, Baylor graduate, former newspaper desk editor and public relations director for the NCAA:
In fall 1977, I was staffing the sports desk of the Waco Tribune-Herald for the afternoon paper (how much does that date me?). The phone rang and a woman on the line asked for me. When I told her I was speaking, she said, “Please hold for Dave Cawood at the NCAA.” Dave had been sports information director at Baylor before I was a student and had rapidly climbed the professional ladder to become director of PR at the NCAA. He knew everybody who was anybody in college sports.
Dave came on the line and got straight to the point. “We have a job opportunity here, and McHam thought you might be good for it,” he said. I headed for NCAA headquarters in Kansas City a couple of days later. Honestly, I didn’t really have to go because McHam’s endorsement had already cleared the way for me.
I took the job, the ultra-political Cawood put wind in my sails, and my NCAA career lasted 27 years. As an uncertain 25-year-old going in, that was impossibly beyond my dreams. But, as with so many students of his, McHam knew my interests and aptitudes and saw the potential for success. He never disappeared from my career, weaving in and out of the traffic of my life to encourage me or to let me know when I was off track. It’s not an exaggeration to say that I owe David McHam everything. As he did with so many of us, he put me on the right path and kept me there.
Phil Hardberger, Baylor graduate, retired trial lawyer and judge, former mayor of San Antonio:
I met David McHam on my first day of classes at Columbia Journalism School in September 1959. I was nervous and sat on the front row to not to miss anything. Sitting on the back row of the class was David McHam. When the class concluded someone tapped me on the shoulder, and asked if my name was Phil Hardberger. He said he was David McHam, one of my new classmates. He told me he was also a Baylor graduate.
This news was greeted with mixed emotion. Of course, I was glad to meet someone I shared something in common. But there was apprehension that he might be an evangelical zealot, such as Baylor sometimes produces. In so many words I told him of my fears. David began to laugh with his distinct ha ha, and said: “Come on. Let’s go get a beer.” We did. At the West End Bar. Then we had another. It was the beginning of a 60-year friendship.
After graduation, David and I, and a fellow journalism school graduate, Mirja Lappi-Seppala, decided to take a 10-day road trip from New York to Houston, where David was taking a job with The Houston Post. It was the best road trip of my life. David and I were returning to Texas because that is where we lived. Mirja, a lively brunette from Helsinki, Finland, wanted to “see the rest of America outside of New York” before returning home. David and I were going to be her guide on this voyage of discovery. Remembering the mad 2,000-mile trip, with constant deviations as the spirit and our madcap adventures guided us.
David, a gifted writer, spent just over a year at The Houston Post. But, surprising to me, he left the daily grind of the newspaper, and took a job as a journalism professor at Baylor. My first reaction was disappointment. I felt he should continue his writing, not teaching others. Time, though, proved me wrong. He was an inspirational teacher. He covered the basics well, but in addition he taught life itself. He made many disciples, and most remained his friends forever. He influenced others to tell the truth, to make, through truth and beautiful writing, a better America.
He kept up with his students, wrote them, talked with them, through their successes and failures. He was wise, thoughtful, nonjudgmental, and supportive. He was also fun to be around.
I have had a public life. I was a two-term mayor of San Antonio. But honestly, comparing myself with David, he has influenced more lives than I have. And the people who were influenced, influenced others through their writing. He grows old now, his teaching days at an end. But his caring life will live on in others.
Nancy Cook-Monroe, SMU graduate, freelance writer, public relations company owner:
As I studied course options upon entering SMU, journalism wasn’t a consideration. Its
formulaic structure and starchy language were way beneath me and my creative powers. And it was bound to reality to the point of boredom. Creative writing courses were a blast, and we even drank bloody Mary’s in Dallas Hall during class before Christmas break. So freeing.
But somehow, I swallowed my pride and signed up for Reporting 101. A few weeks in, I
waited after class for the teacher, David McHam, in the hall. I told him I was confused about journalism and whether it had any use for good, creative writing and thinking, i.e., if it were for me. The next semester, he brought to class Tom Wolfe, the Cubist Era Picasso of creativity in journalistic writing, which put that matter to rest. But in our hallway discussion, I felt David dismissed me as too clueless to bother with. He suggested that I keep at it and come back to talk in a year. Something like that.
Devastated, I shouldered into a bathroom and cried for my loneliness and confusion, my
fear of the future. It was my sophomore year, and I needed to stitch together some existential meaning for my life. (I was taking philosophy, too….) It involved writing, but how?
By the time I came out, the hallway was empty, except for David. He was standing
outside the bathroom, now serious. He said he understood how important this all was, and that I could talk to him anytime.
If he regretted that invitation given the number of times I showed up at his basement
office in McFarlin Auditorium, he never once hinted at it. There and in the classroom, especially in the Literature of Journalism he taught with Betty Lynn, his wife, he showed–not told–that good writing is good writing, whatever its genre. Betty Lynn read aloud Flannery O’Connor and Carson McCullers. When I studied in Spain one semester, I took the class independently. David meshed assignments to read Tom Robbins with Washington Post writers. Freeing, indeed.
For all this, David, my parents who paid my tuition thank you; my sportswriter husband
thanks you; and my various editors and PR clients thank you. But I thank you the most.
Beverly Narum, Baylor graduate, retired newspaper journalist, instructor at Sam Houston State University:
This is one of my favorite life lessons from McHam: After a Lariat staff meeting, in which I’m guessing we had not had our best performance, Ann Thompson asked why you never complimented us on work well done. You slammed your hand on the desk and replied, “Do you think anybody’s going to compliment you once you get out in the real world?” (OK, that may not be your exact quote, but that was my take on it.) Many times in my career my mind echoed back to that comment (exclamation?). I never worried much about what my editors thought about my work. I just knew that I did good work because I learned from the best.
Will Norton, Overby Center senior fellow, former dean in journalism at the University of Nebraska and University of Mississippi:
David McHam has left a legacy of hundred, indeed thousands, of skilled writers and in-depth men and women. He got to know them well and, because he focused on their strengths while being aware of their weaknesses, he helped them become better writers and used great teaching methods to help them develop intellectually.
Because I had visited more than 100 media programs, I realized how uncommon Professor McHam was. I concluded that he was the greatest media educator I had met. Thus, when I was president of AEJMC I presented him with the President’s Award. After I made the presentation, I was amazed at how many members of AEJMC asked me about him. They had not heard of him. They did not know about him because he did not promote himself. Instead, he focused on his students and their development. What an example of what a teacher ought to be.
Tony Pederson, Baylor graduate, Overby Center senior national fellow, professor emeritus in Journalism at SMU, former executive editor Houston Chronicle:
Before I started teaching at SMU, I asked David what the key was to his teaching success. He said he always looked at a student as an individual and set a standard for the student that was higher than the student set for himself or herself. I said, “That means if you’re teaching 20 different students, you’re teaching at 20 different levels and with 20 different standards.” He said, “That’s right.”
My favorite McHam story is from the years when he took Baylor students to New York and Washington during the December break. We visited news media organizations and had visits with news professionals. We visited the Supreme Court in Washington. I took the trip my senior year in December of 1972. Most of us hadn’t been to New York. Many of us, including me, had never been on an airplane. New York was a rough place then, and McHam had us scared to death. He told us to make sure we had a cheap Timex watch so that when we got mugged, we’d have something to give up and perhaps wouldn’t be beaten by the mugger.
The first day we’re all nervous and following McHam likes ducks after their mother. We wouldn’t let him separate from us. We’re on the subway in the early morning, all packed around him. The doors are still open, and he suddenly looks at his guidebook with the subway maps. He says, “I think we’re on the wrong train.” He jumps off just as the doors were closing, leaving a dozen terrified students alone on the train. It meant that we had to read the maps ourselves and figure out the subway system. That’s how he taught.”
Christopher Shelton, University of Houston graduate, audience producer, Houston Chronicle:
The first thing I learned in the UH journalism community is that everyone has a David McHam story. The local high school sports beat writer tells you how much he improved by taking McHam’s classes in college. The sports editor at the student newspaper says he wouldn’t have gotten his internship without McHam’s tutelage. The well-known NFL beat writer says McHam is good friends with Dave Campbell – the one whose name is on the yearly Texas high school football bible.
I had high expectations before I stepped into his classroom. Fortunately, he lived up to the billing. The quickest lesson I learned was that simpler writing is smarter and better.
Today I’m a 30-something audience producer for the Houston Chronicle, but I was a 20-something taking his first journalism class at the University of Houston in 2012. Then, I was inspired by big names that used big words–columnists like George Will, Charles Pierce and Richard Justice. I was obsessed with scouring the dictionary for SAT words. I’d hold them in my memory bank and shoehorn them into my articles for the school paper, The Daily Cougar.
But after taking his feature writing course, I learned that the good writers can often break down complex topics in plain English. McHam showed me great pieces from writers like columnist Leon Hale and novelists like Walker Percy. He had us read The Elements of Style by Strunk and White. He also helped me see that I didn’t have to prove my intelligence with words like quixotic, acquiesce and conniption. People will see my strong lead, solid story structure and good quotes and know that a smart guy put it together.
I also learned that McHam is a great mentor. I’ll never forget how it felt to know that he believed I could thrive in the news industry, despite how competitive it is. He read my stories in the student newspaper and told me when I had a good quote or lead. He supported my bids for internships at the Houston Chronicle and Houston Business Journal and his recommendations were a big reason why I received those opportunities. And it extended past his classroom. McHam was one of the first people I contacted when my son Carson was born two years ago. My life and career are so much better after meeting McHam, and I personally know several other people who would say the same.
Thanks, Mr. McHam!
Rebecca Hennes, University of Houston graduate, deputy audience director subscriber engagement for the Houston Chronicle:
David McHam was instrumental to my success as a journalist. He nurtured my love for writing early on in my college career. I interned at my hometown paper while I was taking his college journalism classes and it always amazed me how he never missed a story I wrote. He would cut out clippings of my stories and leave them on my desk before class. Once I graduated, he always kept an eye out for my byline and would email me every time I had a story published. I still treasure my college notebooks from his classes to this day. Not only was he an amazing journalism professor, but he is also one of the kindest people I have ever met.
Kim Thai, University of Houston graduate, writer and Emmy-award-winning producer:
When I think about the mentors in my life who have affected my career path and trajectory the most, Prof. McHam is always at the top of the list. During the first few weeks of one of my first reporting classes with him, he encouraged us all to get business cards with our name on it with a designated title of either “reporter” or “writer.” I remember questioning the assignment at the time but did it anyway. What was genius about this task was that even though I didn’t consider myself a writer, I was telling myself–and others–that I was. It was the epitome of “fake it till you make it” and it worked.
This assignment was a prime example of Prof. McHam’s teaching style–brilliant, unassuming, supportive, light, kind of sneaky and most importantly, a deep understanding of how powerful words can be. That was really the starting point of me seeing my own potential–all because of Prof. McHam. If not for him, I would have never reported for the Associated Press before I even graduated from UH; or gone to Columbia Graduate School of Journalism; or been in media for 15-plus years, writing and working for brands and organizations I couldn’t have even dreamt of.
And even now, when my imposter syndrome rears its ugly head, I think about that first business card and still pull from McHam’s faith in me as a writer to help me put pen to paper. Now when I mentor future storytellers, I often tell them to go make a business card. And hope that they feel even just a tenth of the faith that I felt from Prof. McHam. If we could all be so lucky! Thank you, Prof. McHam, for believing in me all those years and so many other students. You changed my life. And I’m forever grateful.
Tom Belden, Baylor graduate, retired newspaper reporter:
When I was a freshman at Baylor in 1965, I had no idea what I would major in, much less what I would eventually do for a living. I was invited to join one of the men’s social-service clubs but decided not to, sensing it was not a good fit at a time of serious soul searching about my faith and my future. In the fall semester of my sophomore year, I took the introductory journalism course, taught by both Dave Cheavens and McHam. Within a month I was hooked. I knew I wanted to be part of this exclusive fraternity, this group of earnest, whip-smart students who worked for The Lariat and practically worshipped this young crewcut professor.
By the start of the next semester, I was on the staff of The Lariat and knew I had found my calling. In the mysterious process so many McHam students experienced through his years of mentoring, he was teaching us not what to think but how to think. He knew what so many of us needed before we did. He led me through successive steps in my journalism education, culminating in a year as editor of The Lariat in 1969-70. When I still wasn’t quite ready for fulltime work, he urged me to apply to Columbia’s Graduate School of Journalism, and his letter of recommendation helped get me in.
For the rest of my professional life, as a reporter at UPI for four years, a 19-month detour working in newspaper market research, two years at The Dallas Morning News and three decades at The Philadelphia Inquirer, David was a constant source of advice and support. What I and many others have also found, to our delight and benefit, is that he is the most loyal and generous friend imaginable. I am deeply honored to have been asked to help tell the McHam story.