A Moment in Time: Bob Levey Reflects on His Tenure at the University of Memphis

The moment I'll remember longest occurred one cold November evening in 2007. My journalism class was debating dialects. The question: Can a journalist quote someone fairly if he “cleans up” ethnic speech, or illiterate speech, or a regional accent?

We landed on Southernness. Almost every student in the class had been born and raised in the South, spoke with either a Rebel purr or a full-blown case of Dixie. Students had strong opinions when I asked if when writing a story, a reporter should ever change “y’all” to “you.” Our discussion split the room. It grew animated. Students were raising their voices and raising their temperatures. Just the kind of classroom action I had hoped to spur when I signed on at the University of Memphis as Hardin Chair of Excellence in the fall of 2006 after a long career at The Washington Post.

After half an hour of debate, Rachel Rucker, raised her hand. “Bob,” she asked, “do y’all laugh at us up North?” No, Rachel, we don’t. And we certainly don’t now that I have spent three years in the South, in Memphis, at the U of M. My journalism pals in Washington are sick of hearing me rave about the University, the students, my colleagues and the city itself. My three years in the Department of Journalism have been among the most rewarding years of my career. My students, who came in all shapes and sizes, have been the chief reason.

I taught journalism majors but also Japanese majors, graduate students but also undergraduates, full-time students but also part-timers, 19-year-olds but also returning 44-year-olds with four children. The common thread is that they want careers in The Biz, they are hungry to learn what they'll need to know and they are confident that a University of Memphis degree will help them get there.

One of the toughest tasks in journalism is dealing with unfamiliar people and unfamiliar situations. One student was having big trouble with both. He regularly camped across from me during office hours, bemoaning how much courage it takes to call a stranger, or walk up to someone on the street and get him to talk to you. The big assignment of the semester was looming. I gave the age-old advice novelists often hear: Write what you know. He nodded and trundled off. I made a mental bet with myself that the student would turn in a paper that was threadbare in concept and skinny in execution.
 Shows you what I know.

The student spent an entire eight-hour all-night shift with a Memphis police officer (whom he had never previously met). The ride-along produced an exchange of gunfire, a 100-mile-per-hour chase and a pat-down search of three ex-cons who were suspected drug dealers. To set up the ride-along, the student did what journalists always do. He took a deep breath, straightened the collar on his shirt, walked into his local police precinct and explained what he wanted. The result was an A paper and a lesson that I hope will stay with him: Never give up. Never sell yourself short. Never underestimate your ability to come back with a great story in your notebook.

Chao Lin, a reporting student of mine, faced special obstacles. He had been born in China. He grew up in a tough part of Frayser, a problematic low-income neighborhood in north Memphis, once one of the city’s first shining suburbs. He came to the U of M to become a sportswriter. Trouble was, he didn't quite get what a reporter does. Chao was brimming with enthusiasm. But he didn’t understand how to build a source, how to tease out of a source what you need and how to find supporting material on the public record. I worked with him across many non-classroom hours and through several rewrites. When I gave him a B for the course, I wanted to file a note alongside that single letter. It would have read: “This student did more to achieve this B than any student I’ve ever had, and maybe any student anyone has ever had.”

Just before he graduated, Chao won the Outstanding Broadcast Student Award and was invited into the journalism honor society Kappa Tau Alpha at the journalism department’s 2009 spring banquet. Some old guy at a corner table clapped very vigorously when Chao came forward to accept his award.

I wish that I could have continued as Hardin Chair for many more years. Alas, all good things come to an end. As I look back, I also look forward. The journalism program at the U of M is excellent, spearheaded by top-flight young faculty and an excellent chair. It will do very well in the years ahead if it remembers the old virtues—fairness, accuracy, thoroughness—and remembers why those virtues became old: They are the essence of journalism, and the essence of journalism education. The people in this Department of Journalism understand that. Their students will understand it, too. As for my role, it was a pleasure to be part of that conversation.

Bob Levey was Hardin Chair of Excellence in the Department of Journalism from 2006 until 2009. He spent 36 years as a reporter, editor and columnist at The Washington Post.