February 8 , 2007 Issue

One of journalism’s brightest lights went out last week when Molly Ivins died. I feel like I lost a friend, even though we never met. There are very few people in this world I admire and would aspire to be, but Ivins was one of them.

Her knowledge of current events and the political process was without peer. She must have spent a lot of time researching issues and making an effort to understand how those issues would affect the little people and then relating those facts to her readers. Reading her columns once a week has been part of my routine for years.

Since moving here, where liberal opinion is seldom seen in the newspaper, I read her columns online and I never failed to learn something. I also purchased her books. In short, I was an avid and adoring fan of the way she could put words together. Her fusion of facts and humor are some of the finest examples of the written word ever. Moving to Texas at an early age, she was fluent in Texas-speak, even calling one of her books You Got to Dance With Them What Brung You. This book detailed what political lobbyists get in return for their generosity to the election coffers of political candidates across the board, from state to national offices.

Every now and then I would smile thinking of this 6-foot tall Texan with the mile-wide smile, sultry voice and a deep guffaw of a laugh. When she appeared on any talk show, I watched. I tried to imagine what the tony Smith campus co-eds might of thought of her in the early 1960s, when women seldom wore pants in public and panty girdles were in most every young woman’s lingerie drawer. Somehow I don’t think Molly was compliant with the fashion of the times. I do believe she was an exemplary example of comfort over form.

In one of her books, she wrote a column about how some detractor or another of the more conservative bent had accused her of being a lesbian, possibly because she never married and did not reproduce. Ivins tossed off the accusation in typical Ivins fashion, saying she wasn’t interesting enough to be a lesbian and never married because she just didn’t have the time or the inclination. What better way to diffuse a buffoon that to toss a left handed compliment to a lifestyle so abhorred by many?

A lot has been written about her since she died and most writers have acknowledged the way she used humor to temper her barbs at politicians. She was skilled at skewering pomposity wherever she found it — in both Democrats and Republicans. A card carrying proud liberal, she did not fail to point the stupid finger at Clinton for his sexcapades, nor anyone else she found to exemplify the worst antics politics had to offer.

The world of journalism is poorer for her loss.

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We are attempting an experiment in readership participation here and asking our regular readers to nominate their favorite area chefs. The idea is to profile one each quarter within these pages. We first made the invitation in the last issue.

Those who want to make a nomination should do so in 50 words or less and either email the submission to thebeachcomber@earthlink.net or send it by regular mail. The address is directly opposite the cover art credit on this page.

Get cracking readers. We will not only profile the chef with the best nomination, but we will dig up some sort of prize for the person making the nomination — particularly if the winning chef doesn’t offer to feed them.

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