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Citizen Journalism: What Is It?

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Edward R. Murrow’s Famous 1958 Speech on Media & Substance

Edward R. Murrow’s Famous 1958 Speech on Media & Substance
EDWARD R. MURROW
RTNDA Convention
Chicago
October 15, 1958

This just might do nobody any good. At the end of this discourse a few people may accuse this reporter of fouling his own comfortable nest, and your organization may be accused of having given hospitality to heretical and even dangerous thoughts. But the elaborate structure of networks, advertising agencies and sponsors will not be shaken or altered. It is my desire, if not my duty, to try to talk to you journeymen with some candor about what is happening to radio and television.

I have no technical advice or counsel to offer those of you who labor in this vineyard that produces words and pictures. You will forgive me for not telling you that instruments with which you work are miraculous, that your responsibility is unprecedented or that your aspirations are frequently frustrated. It is not necessary to remind you that the fact that your voice is amplified to the degree where it reaches from one end of the country to the other does not confer upon you greater wisdom or understanding than you possessed when your voice reached only from one end of the bar to the other. All of these things you know.

You should also know at the outset that, in the manner of witnesses before Congressional committees, I appear here voluntarily-by invitation-that I am an employee of the Columbia Broadcasting System, that I am neither an officer nor a director of that corporation and that these remarks are of a "do-it-yourself" nature. If what I have to say is responsible, then I alone am responsible for the saying of it. Seeking neither approbation from my employers, nor new sponsors, nor acclaim from the critics of radio and television, I cannot well be disappointed. Believing that potentially the commercial system of broadcasting as practiced in this country is the best and freest yet devised, I have decided to express my concern about what I believe to be happening to radio and television. These instruments have been good to me beyond my due. There exists in mind no reasonable grounds for personal complaint. I have no feud, either with my employers, any sponsors, or with the professional critics of radio and television. But I am seized with an abiding fear regarding what these two instruments are doing to our society, our culture and our heritage.

Our history will be what we make it. And if there are any historians about fifty or a hundred years from now, and there should be preserved the kinescopes for one week of all three networks, they will there find recorded in black and white, or color, evidence of decadence, escapism and insulation from the realities of the world in which we live. I invite your attention to the television schedules of all networks between the hours of 8 and 11 p.m., Eastern Time. Here you will find only fleeting and spasmodic reference to the fact that this nation is in mortal danger. There are, it is true, occasional informative programs presented in that intellectual ghetto on Sunday afternoons. But during the daily peak viewing periods, television in the main insulates us from the realities of the world in which we live. If this state of affairs continues, we may alter an advertising slogan to read: LOOK NOW, PAY LATER.

For surely we shall pay for using this most powerful instrument of communication to insulate the citizenry from the hard and demanding realities which must be faced if we are to survive. I mean the word survive literally. If there were to be a competition in indifference, or perhaps in insulation from reality, then Nero and his fiddle, Chamberlain and his umbrella, could not find a place on an early afternoon sustaining show. If Hollywood were to run out of Indians, the program schedules would be mangled beyond all recognition. Then some courageous soul with a small budget might be able to do a documentary telling what, in fact, we have done--and are still doing--to the Indians in this country. But that would be unpleasant. And we must at all costs shield the sensitive citizens from anything that is unpleasant.

I am entirely persuaded that the American public is more reasonable, restrained and more mature than most of our industry's program planners believe. Their fear of controversy is not warranted by the evidence. I have reason to know, as do many of you, that when the evidence on a controversial subject is fairly and calmly presented, the public recognizes it for what it is--an effort to illuminate rather than to agitate.

Several years ago, when we undertook to do a program on Egypt and Israel, well-meaning, experienced and intelligent friends shook their heads and said, "This you cannot do--you will be handed your head. It is an emotion-packed controversy, and there is no room for reason in it." We did the program. Zionists, anti-Zionists, the friends of the Middle East, Egyptian and Israeli officials said, with a faint tone of surprise, "It was a fair count. The information was there. We have no complaints."

Our experience was similar with two half-hour programs dealing with cigarette smoking and lung cancer. Both the medical profession and the tobacco industry cooperated in a rather wary fashion. But in the end of the day they were both reasonably content. The subject of radioactive fall-out and the banning of nuclear tests was, and is, highly controversial. But according to what little evidence there is, viewers were prepared to listen to both sides with reason and restraint. This is not said to claim any special or unusual competence in the presentation of controversial subjects, but rather to indicate that timidity in these areas is not warranted by the evidence.

Recently, network spokesmen have been disposed to complain that the professional critics of television have been "rather beastly." There have been hints that somehow competition for the advertising dollar has caused the critics of print to gang up on television and radio. This reporter has no desire to defend the critics. They have space in which to do that on their own behalf. But it remains a fact that the newspapers and magazines are the only instruments of mass communication which remain free from sustained and regular critical comment. If the network spokesmen are so anguished about what appears in print, let them come forth and engage in a little sustained and regular comment regarding newspapers and magazines. It is an ancient and sad fact that most people in network television, and radio, have an exaggerated regard for what appears in print. And there have been cases where executives have refused to make even private comment or on a program for which they were responsible until they heard'd the reviews in print. This is hardly an exhibition confidence.
The oldest excuse of the networks for their timidity is their youth. Their spokesmen say, "We are young; we have not developed the traditions nor acquired the experience of the older media." If they but knew it, they are building those traditions, creating those precedents everyday. Each time they yield to a voice from Washington or any political pressure, each time they eliminate something that might offend some section of the community, they are creating their own body of precedent and tradition. They are, in fact, not content to be "half safe."

Nowhere is this better illustrated than by the fact that the chairman of the Federal Communications Commission publicly prods broadcasters to engage in their legal right to editorialize. Of course, to undertake an editorial policy, overt and clearly labeled, and obviously unsponsored, requires a station or a network to be responsible. Most stations today probably do not have the manpower to assume this responsibility, but the manpower could be recruited. Editorials would not be profitable; if they had a cutting edge, they might even offend. It is much easier, much less troublesome, to use the money-making machine of television and radio merely as a conduit through which to channel anything that is not libelous, obscene or defamatory. In that way one has the illusion of power without responsibility.
So far as radio--that most satisfying and rewarding instrument--is concerned, the diagnosis of its difficulties is rather easy. And obviously I speak only of news and information. In order to progress, it need only go backward. To the time when singing commercials were not allowed on news reports, when there was no middle commercial in a 15-minute news report, when radio was rather proud, alert and fast. I recently asked a network official, "Why this great rash of five-minute news reports (including three commercials) on weekends?" He replied, "Because that seems to be the only thing we can sell."

In this kind of complex and confusing world, you can't tell very much about the why of the news in broadcasts where only three minutes is available for news. The only man who could do that was Elmer Davis, and his kind aren't about any more. If radio news is to be regarded as a commodity, only acceptable when saleable, then I don't care what you call it--I say it isn't news.

My memory also goes back to the time when the fear of a slight reduction in business did not result in an immediate cutback in bodies in the news and public affairs department, at a time when network profits had just reached an all-time high. We would all agree, I think, that whether on a station or a network, the stapling machine is a poor substitute for a newsroom typewriter.

One of the minor tragedies of television news and information is that the networks will not even defend their vital interests. When my employer, CBS, through a combination of enterprise and good luck, did an interview with Nikita Khrushchev, the President uttered a few ill-chosen, uninformed words on the subject, and the network practically apologized. This produced a rarity. Many newspapers defended the CBS right to produce the program and commended it for initiative. But the other networks remained silent.

Likewise, when John Foster Dulles, by personal decree, banned American journalists from going to Communist China, and subsequently offered contradictory explanations, for his fiat the networks entered only a mild protest. Then they apparently forgot the unpleasantness. Can it be that this national industry is content to serve the public interest only with the trickle of news that comes out of Hong Kong, to leave its viewers in ignorance of the cataclysmic changes that are occurring in a nation of six hundred million people? I have no illusions about the difficulties reporting from a dictatorship, but our British and French allies have been better served--in their public interest--with some very useful information from their reporters in Communist China.

One of the basic troubles with radio and television news is that both instruments have grown up as an incompatible combination of show business, advertising and news. Each of the three is a rather bizarre and demanding profession. And when you get all three under one roof, the dust never settles. The top management of the networks with a few notable exceptions, has been trained in advertising, research, sales or show business. But by the nature of the coporate structure, they also make the final and crucial decisions having to do with news and public affairs. Frequently they have neither the time nor the competence to do this. It is not easy for the same small group of men to decide whether to buy a new station for millions of dollars, build a new building, alter the rate card, buy a new Western, sell a soap opera, decide what defensive line to take in connection with the latest Congressional inquiry, how much money to spend on promoting a new program, what additions or deletions should be made in the existing covey or clutch of vice-presidents, and at the same time-- frequently on the same long day--to give mature, thoughtful consideration to the manifold problems that confront those who are charged with the responsibility for news and public affairs.

Sometimes there is a clash between the public interest and the corporate interest. A telephone call or a letter from the proper quarter in Washington is treated rather more seriously than a communication from an irate but not politically potent viewer. It is tempting enough to give away a little air time for frequently irresponsible and unwarranted utterances in an effort to temper the wind of criticism.

Upon occasion, economics and editorial judgment are in conflict. And there is no law which says that dollars will be defeated by duty. Not so long ago the President of the United States delivered a television address to the nation. He was discoursing on the possibility or probability of war between this nation and the Soviet Union and Communist China--a reasonably compelling subject. Two networks CBS and NBC, delayed that broadcast for an hour and fifteen minutes. If this decision was dictated by anything other than financial reasons, the networks didn't deign to explain those reasons. That hour-and-fifteen-minute delay, by the way, is about twice the time required for an ICBM to travel from the Soviet Union to major targets in the United States. It is difficult to believe that this decision was made by men who love, respect and understand news.

So far, I have been dealing largely with the deficit side of the ledger, and the items could be expanded. But I have said, and I believe, that potentially we have in this country a free enterprise system of radio and television which is superior to any other. But to achieve its promise, it must be both free and enterprising. There is no suggestion here that networks or individual stations should operate as philanthropies. But I can find nothing in the Bill of Rights or the Communications Act which says that they must increase their net profits each year, lest the Republic collapse. I do not suggest that news and information should be subsidized by foundations or private subscriptions. I am aware that the networks have expended, and are expending, very considerable sums of money on public affairs programs from which they cannot hope to receive any financial reward. I have had the privilege at CBS of presiding over a considerable number of such programs. I testify, and am able to stand here and say, that I have never had a program turned down by my superiors because of the money it would cost.

But we all know that you cannot reach the potential maximum audience in marginal time with a sustaining program. This is so because so many stations on the network--any network--will decline to carry it. Every licensee who applies for a grant to operate in the public interest, convenience and necessity makes certain promises as to what he will do in terms of program content. Many recipients of licenses have, in blunt language, welshed on those promises. The money-making machine somehow blunts their memories. The only remedy for this is closer inspection and punitive action by the F.C.C. But in the view of many this would come perilously close to supervision of program content by a federal agency.

So it seems that we cannot rely on philanthropic support or foundation subsidies; we cannot follow the "sustaining route"--the networks cannot pay all the freight--and the F.C.C. cannot or will not discipline those who abuse the facilities that belong to the public. What, then, is the answer? Do we merely stay in our comfortable nests, concluding that the obligation of these instruments has been discharged when we work at the job of informing the public for a minimum of time? Or do we believe that the preservation of the Republic is a seven-day-a-week job, demanding more awareness, better skills and more perseverance than we have yet contemplated.

I am frightened by the imbalance, the constant striving to reach the largest possible audience for everything; by the absence of a sustained study of the state of the nation. Heywood Broun once said, "No body politic is healthy until it begins to itch." I would like television to produce some itching pills rather than this endless outpouring of tranquilizers. It can be done. Maybe it won't be, but it could. Let us not shoot the wrong piano player. Do not be deluded into believing that the titular heads of the networks control what appears on their networks. They all have better taste. All are responsible to stockholders, and in my experience all are honorable men. But they must schedule what they can sell in the public market.

And this brings us to the nub of the question. In one sense it rather revolves around the phrase heard frequently along Madison Avenue: The Corporate Image. I am not precisely sure what this phrase means, but I would imagine that it reflects a desire on the part of the corporations who pay the advertising bills to have the public image, or believe that they are not merely bodies with no souls, panting in pursuit of elusive dollars. They would like us to believe that they can distinguish between the public good and the private or corporate gain. So the question is this: Are the big corporations who pay the freight for radio and television programs wise to use that time exclusively for the sale of goods and services? Is it in their own interest and that of the stockholders so to do? The sponsor of an hour's television program is not buying merely the six minutes devoted to commercial message. He is determining, within broad limits, the sum total of the impact of the entire hour. If he always, invariably, reaches for the largest possible audience, then this process of insulation, of escape from reality, will continue to be massively financed, and its apologist will continue to make winsome speeches about giving the public what it wants, or "letting the public decide."

I refuse to believe that the presidents and chairmen of the boards of these big corporations want their corporate image to consist exclusively of a solemn voice in an echo chamber, or a pretty girl opening the door of a refrigerator, or a horse that talks. They want something better, and on occasion some of them have demonstrated it. But most of the men whose legal and moral responsibility it is to spend the stockholders' money for advertising are removed from the realities of the mass media by five, six, or a dozen contraceptive layers of vice-presidents, public relations counsel and advertising agencies. Their business is to sell goods, and the competition is pretty tough.

But this nation is now in competition with malignant forces of evil who are using every instrument at their command to empty the minds of their subjects and fill those minds with slogans, determination and faith in the future. If we go on as we are, we are protecting the mind of the American public from any real contact with the menacing world that squeezes in upon us. We are engaged in a great experiment to discover whether a free public opinion can devise and direct methods of managing the affairs of the nation. We may fail. But we are handicapping ourselves needlessly.

Let us have a little competition. Not only in selling soap, cigarettes and automobiles, but in informing a troubled, apprehensive but receptive public. Why should not each of the 20 or 30 big corporations which dominate radio and television decide that they will give up one or two of their regularly scheduled programs each year, turn the time over to the networks and say in effect: "This is a tiny tithe, just a little bit of our profits. On this particular night we aren't going to try to sell cigarettes or automobiles; this is merely a gesture to indicate our belief in the importance of ideas." The networks should, and I think would, pay for the cost of producing the program. The advertiser, the sponsor, would get name credit but would have nothing to do with the content of the program. Would this blemish the corporate image? Would the stockholders object? I think not. For if the premise upon which our pluralistic society rests, which as I understand it is that if the people are given sufficient undiluted information, they will then somehow, even after long, sober second thoughts, reach the right decision--if that premise is wrong, then not only the corporate image but the corporations are done for.

There used to be an old phrase in this country, employed when someone talked too much. It was: "Go hire a hall." Under this proposal the sponsor would have hired the hall; he has bought the time; the local station operator, no matter how indifferent, is going to carry the program-he has to. Then it's up to the networks to fill the hall. I am not here talking about editorializing but about straightaway exposition as direct, unadorned and impartial as falliable human beings can make it. Just once in a while let us exalt the importance of ideas and information. Let us dream to the extent of saying that on a given Sunday night the time normally occupied by Ed Sullivan is given over to a clinical survey of the state of American education, and a week or two later the time normally used by Steve Allen is devoted to a thoroughgoing study of American policy in the Middle East. Would the corporate image of their respective sponsors be damaged? Would the stockholders rise up in their wrath and complain? Would anything happen other than that a few million people would have received a little illumination on subjects that may well determine the future of this country, and therefore the future of the corporations? This method would also provide real competition between the networks as to which could outdo the others in the palatable presentation of information. It would provide an outlet for the young men of skill, and there are some even of dedication, who would like to do something other than devise methods of insulating while selling.

There may be other and simpler methods of utilizing these instruments of radio and television in the interests of a free society. But I know of none that could be so easily accomplished inside the framework of the existing commercial system. I don't know how you would measure the success or failure of a given program. And it would be hard to prove the magnitude of the benefit accruing to the corporation which gave up one night of a variety or quiz show in order that the network might marshal its skills to do a thorough-going job on the present status of NATO, or plans for controlling nuclear tests. But I would reckon that the president, and indeed the majority of shareholders of the corporation who sponsored such a venture, would feel just a little bit better about the corporation and the country.

It may be that the present system, with no modifications and no experiments, can survive. Perhaps the money-making machine has some kind of built-in perpetual motion, but I do not think so. To a very considerable extent the media of mass communications in a given country reflect the political, economic and social climate in which they flourish. That is the reason ours differ from the British and French, or the Russian and Chinese. We are currently wealthy, fat, comfortable and complacent. We have currently a built-in allergy to unpleasant or disturbing information. Our mass media reflect this. But unless we get up off our fat surpluses and recognize that television in the main is being used to distract, delude, amuse and insulate us, then television and those who finance it, those who look at it and those who work at it, may see a totally different picture too late.

I do not advocate that we turn television into a 27-inch wailing wall, where longhairs constantly moan about the state of our culture and our defense. But I would just like to see it reflect occasionally the hard, unyielding realities of the world in which we live. I would like to see it done inside the existing framework, and I would like to see the doing of it redound to the credit of those who finance and program it. Measure the results by Nielsen, Trendex or Silex-it doesn't matter. The main thing is to try. The responsibility can be easily placed, in spite of all the mouthings about giving the public what it wants. It rests on big business, and on big television, and it rests at the top. Responsibility is not something that can be assigned or delegated. And it promises its own reward: good business and good television.

Perhaps no one will do anything about it. I have ventured to outline it against a background of criticism that may have been too harsh only because I could think of nothing better. Someone once said--I think it was Max Eastman--that "that publisher serves his advertiser best who best serves his readers." I cannot believe that radio and television, or the corporation that finance the programs, are serving well or truly their viewers or listeners, or themselves.

I began by saying that our history will be what we make it. If we go on as we are, then history will take its revenge, and retribution will not limp in catching up with us.

We are to a large extent an imitative society. If one or two or three corporations would undertake to devote just a small traction of their advertising appropriation along the lines that I have suggested, the procedure would grow by contagion; the economic burden would be bearable, and there might ensue a most exciting adventure--exposure to ideas and the bringing of reality into the homes of the nation.

To those who say people wouldn't look; they wouldn't be interested; they're too complacent, indifferent and insulated, I can only reply: There is, in one reporter's opinion, considerable evidence against that contention. But even if they are right, what have they got to lose? Because if they are right, and this instrument is good for nothing but to entertain, amuse and insulate, then the tube is flickering now and we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost.

This instrument can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and it can even inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise it is merely wires and lights in a box. There is a great and perhaps decisive battle to be fought against ignorance, intolerance and indifference. This weapon of television could be useful.

Stonewall Jackson, who knew something about the use of weapons, is reported to have said, "When war comes, you must draw the sword and throw away the scabbard." The trouble with television is that it is rusting in the scabbard during a battle for survival.

Spotlight Interview: Bill Minutaglio

Bill Minutaglio, Writer, Columnist, Author, Editor, Professor

Beauty, as the saying goes, is in the eye of the beholder, and to my beholding eye, Bill Minutaglio, as a stylist, is one of the most beautiful writers in America. His words are nothing less than dazzling. Currently a professor of journalism at the University of Texas at Austin, Minutaglio has been nominated twice for the Pulitzer Prize and once for the National Book Award, and, as a longtime staff writer for The Dallas Morning News, won numerous awards for feature and column writing. He's published five books, including “City on Fire,” which has been optioned by Tom Cruise (as well as deemed in the July 2004 issue of Esquire as one the greatest tales of survival ever told), and “First Son,” an acclaimed biography about President George W. Bush. He's written for many elite publications, including the New York Times, Los Angeles Times, Talk, Details, and Outside, been interviewed on both network and cable TV by, among others, Katie Couric, Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, Chris Matthews, and Bill O'Reilly, and is the former Texas bureau chief for People.

Please visit his Web site at:

http://www.billminutaglio.com
Click here

The following is my exclusive newsletter interview with Mr. Minutaglio:

Mike: What, in your opinion, are the most common misconceptions writers have about editors?

Minutaglio: Well, most writers are probably like a writer I knew in Texas who once told me: "I hope that just once, before I die, I get to work with one good editor." You should enter the editing process knowing that there are truly very few great editors out there. You shouldn't automatically assume that an editor knows better than you about what constitutes a good story. You shouldn't automatically assume an editor has any clue about how difficult the reporting and writing process can be. YOU SHOULD NEVER BE INTIMIDATED BY AN EDITOR. You should break through the misconception that you can't engage in friendly discussions with an editor about the nature of an assignment, how a story should be put, reported and written, etc. Talk to editors, cajole them, debate with them. Editors will respect you for it--and it will empower you. That said, most writers seem to think that editors simply stop their whole world and focus on a writer when he/she calls or sends in a story. Most editors these days are overworked, hurried, harried. They don't have a lot of time. So, you should be responsive, be on your game, be ready, be smart and be informed.

Mike: What's the best advice you can give inexperienced writers trying to break through?

Minutaglio: I'm a great believer in the "message in the bottle" theory—you float out as many ideas to as many editors, publications, as possible. Putting together a clip package is a hassle—but you have to do it. You have to have a good-looking one ready at all times. Then, you have to screw up your courage and send out letters and make calls and shoot out e-mails to editors. You have to get on their radar. You have to suggest that your work is distinguished and invaluable-you have to, really, flatly state it when you send your query letter. You have to let an editor know that you bring a certain level of expertise, a quality that no one else can bring to a story. If you are starting out, don't be afraid to take on any assignment—I promise you, it won't be held against you later in life, later in your career. Be kind to your colleagues—that sounds trite, but it's gospel: if you develop friendships with other writers, you will be paid back with job tips, recommendations, reporting help, etc.

Mike: What can you tell writers about query letters?

Minutaglio: Most query letters are, well, ill conceived—starting with a basic problem...the story itself does not belong in the particular publication. It might be a good idea for another magazine...but not the one where it is being pitched. Think long and hard about whether your story is being aimed at the right magazine. Would that newspaper or magazine EVER run a story like this? Has it run anything even remotely similar—in content and tone–before?

I believe you should outline the story ASAP, mention your credentials and why you are the ONLY person who can do this, and then suggest you will follow up on the query letter in two weeks. Editors, I've found, seem to have a harder time rejecting letters that come in snail mail. E-mails are often quickly disposed of. They all LOOK the same. The electronic signature looks like all the others. They look uniform. And it makes it easy for an editor to give you a uniform kiss-off. I think snail mail works better for editors you don't know yet, editors you are trying to court. Don't get flashy, twitchy, in your query letter either—somebody in some journalism school is teaching people that they have to write these witty query letters or job applications that sounds like outtakes from SpongeBob Squarepants teleplays—don't get cute and clever in your query letter. Be enthusiastic, be serious, and be clear. Get to the point of the story.

Also, and this is a must, make a nod to the fact that you understand the mission of the publication you are trying to pitch your story to-mention that you think this story will appeal to the demographic, the readership, for X, Y and Z reasons. Suggest, if you can, some familiarity and admiration for the publication. If you saw a story that you liked in a previous issue—one that appeals to the same demographic your story will appeal to—then mention that story. Editors want to be loved and appreciated, and this will show them that you have taken the time to study their publication, their work.

You must read back issues—that's going to be the best way to see what the editors want. Go to a bookstore and read the magazines. Buy 'em if you can. Try to figure out, by studying the magazine, the right editor to pitch your story to—too often great ideas get sent to the wrong editor at the right magazine. The story gets dumped because an editor will not pass it along to the right person. Happens a lot, trust me.

Hottest topics: MONEY. Crime sagas never go out of fashion-maybe it's a commentary on our times, but people love to read stories about how the mighty have fallen. Forget politics. Triumph over tragedy stories, in any field, will almost always work. HEROES.

You must inure yourself to the possibility that you will NEVER hear back from an editor. It's almost a blessed day in paradise these days when you actually get a form letter or form e-mail rejecting your story. Brace yourself for it. But don't be afraid to follow up on it.

Mike: Tell us your most entertaining, and possibly illustrative, story about being an editor and/or writer.

Minutaglio: Well, I wrote a major profile for a major newspaper-updating the life and times of iconic John Connally (former Secretary of Treasury, etc.), who in 1963 was shot while riding in the doomed motorcade the day President John F. Kennedy was killed in Dallas. Two editors were going to work on the story. The first one looked at my 4,000-word piece and studied it for a long time and then finally said he had a "radical idea"—"I think we should move your first five paragraphs to the very end of the story and make that your ending." I was pissed, but as a young writer I didn't say much as the editor hit some computer keys and moved the paragraphs from the beginning to the end.

Later that day, the second editor called me into his office and said he was going to do the final editing now that the first editor was through with my piece. He looked at my piece and studied it for a long time and then finally said he had a "novel suggestion"—"I think we should move the last five paragraphs of your story to the very top and make that your lead."

What could I do?

I told the second editor it was one of the most brilliant editing suggestions I had ever heard and that I had to agree with him-he was a genius and we should go ahead and move those paragraphs.

When the story ran, the first editor accosted me: "How the hell did you move those damned paragraphs back to where you had them after I specifically had changed them?"

I simply told him: "I didn't touch 'em at all. An editor did."

The cautionary tale is that many editorial decisions are entirely subjective.

I could, of course, regale you with the tale of a great Wall Street Journal writer—someone widely recognized for his great writing skills—who happens to be one of my best pals. In his first job interview, he went to a newspaper managing editor's office with his clips. He sat in the editor's office and watched the editor actually fall asleep as he read the clips. My buddy sat there for 20 minutes, hoping the editor would wake up. Finally, he tiptoed out of the office—and he sheepishly told the secretary that he was in a job interview, the editor was reading his clips and somehow the editor went to sleep. The secretary laughed and said the editor had narcolepsy. My buddy wanted to believe her. Despite that awkward beginning, he went on to great things.

Mike: What should the relationship between writer and editor be at its best?

Minutaglio: Trusting, trusting, trusting. One of the best editors I ever had—who went to write several best-selling books—told me: "The reason I really like you as a writer, is that I know when you come back from a story it is going to be different than the one we envisioned." That is ultimate trust and ultimate understanding—he was an editor who knew NEVER to bring cemented preconceptions to a story. He TRUSTED me to bring back the right story, the best story—not the story he thought was out there, but the story I KNEW was out there. The best editors are encouraging, understanding, and laudatory. Writing is a lonely, lonely game-and the best editors know that the best writers are often insecure. How could they not be? They operate in an isolated environment, staring at a screen. Editors should be like big, boundlessly encouraging dogs. They should lay it on in terms of encouragement.

When I have done some editing, I am stunned at the reaction I get to some simple praise—praise that, really, is just the same kind of social nicety I might lay on the person giving me my coffee at Starbucks: "Thanks, this is great." Saying those simple four words to a writer—a writer who is usually starved for money and attention—is like manna.

When I worked at the biggest newspaper in Texas, one of my favorite editors said to me: "I don't like to see my writers. I like to know that they are out on the streets, talking to people."

I wound up respecting that editor—she earned my respect by her trust, her intelligence. There is a fine balance with editors—you want one who will give you a long leash, but who also has the ability to pull you back in when you stray too far. It is like finding a doctor with a good bedside manner—you want an editor who will heal your copy, make you feel better, encourage you...and who can do it in as painless a way as possible. But to get to that stage, you have to trust your doctor/editor. You have to really believe they know what they are doing, that what they are recommending is actually good for the story, for your career.

Look at it this simple way: At the end of the day, it is your name that's going on the story. Most readers—99.9 percent—won't have a clue who edited the story. And most of them won't care. You'll be judged, not the editor. Remind yourself of that fact in the editing process—and, if you must, remind the editor.

Mike: What's the best way for a novice writer to approach an editor and quickly get his/her attention?

Minutaglio: Don't play games and write some hokey cover letter that reads like bad advertising copy. One of the best ways to approach an editor is through another writer—I can't emphasize that enough. Write a fan letter to a writer who happens to be writing for the editor you want to work for. Most writers are enormously flattered to hear from anyone, and they are enormously flattered when you seek their advice. After praising their work, ask them, directly, about the editor—ask them how to break into the publication. Ask them if they'd like you buy 'em lunch. Ask them to put in a good word for you. Once you know the best way to approach the editor (e-mail, drop by the office, snail mail), do it ASAP, try to invoke the name of the writer who set you up—but only if you are sure that writer didn't get on the dark side of the editor. One of the best things to tell an editor is that you CAN MEET A DEADLINE. YOU WILL NOT SCREW UP THE DEADLINE. YOU ARE DEADLY SERIOUS ABOUT DEADLINES. You also want to convey to the editor that you are the consummate reporter—most editors like to think that they can take care of the writing at some level, that they will massage the prose into brilliant copy. They have, really, very little control over the reporting. So you have to be prepared to tell editors you are a bad-ass reporter. You are, in fact, the only reporter who can accomplish the particular story.

Also, don't adopt a tone of over-familiarity. Editors are sometimes perpetually wary—they serve several masters and they operate under the belief that they have to please the corporate gods above them, and they have to deal with high-maintenance egotistical writers on the other end of the spectrum. Editors sometimes tend to operate with a healthy dose of skepticism about you—until they get to know you. They view each new writer through this prism: What will he/she do for me? Will this new writer improve my standing at the magazine or newspaper? Will I win praise for finding this new writer? What's in it for me? Perhaps this is an unfortunate outgrowth of the media age in which we live, but many editors now simply want to know "what value will this writer bring to me and this publication?" And "value" often means several things—how will this writer boost readership, get my publication some buzz, sell some copies of my publications, etc.

Speaking of that kind of thinking, when you are composing your cover letter to editors, you absolutely should toot your horn now and then -- mention the awards you might have won, the big editors you worked with, the big publications you worked with. Editors need to know that you are "pre-approved"—that someone else out there once took a chance on publishing your work.

Mike: What did you do as bureau chief? And since you've done both writing and editing, what's the difference?

Minutaglio: I didn't do hands-on editing. I was more of an assignments editor, I guess, than anything else...I assigned people to do different bits of work, based on their expertise, etc. I think editing, in many ways, is less about ego-gratification—writers obviously get all the glory. There's greater stability, and often greater money, in editing. Editing, I think, used to be really valued—but these days so many editors are "acquisitions editors"—a term I heard when I began writing books. Editors these days—at newspapers, magazines, publishing houses—are frequently put in the position of, first and foremost, "acquiring" someone to write a piece or a book. They spend more time doing that—finding someone, cutting a deal, imposing deadlines, handling contracts—than actually sitting down and crafting and editing a story. I've been lucky to work with a handful of editors who are good at giving praise (most important ability in an editor, I think) and then really working with the usually, overly sensitive writer to craft and sculpt a story. I've always felt that editors and writers are really going to be 2 different personalities—one is the thoroughbred, the other is the jockey. It's a big ride, a big dance, and they bring different dimensions to the table. Most people remember the great horse—but not too many people remember who was aboard Secretariat. You now know Seabiscuit, but most people still probably can't remember the jockey (or the trainer—another kind of editor).

Mike: What are editors looking for from writers?

Minutaglio: Totally situational question. Depends on who the editor is and, especially, what publication he/she is working for. That said...all editors want someone reliable. No flakes allowed. The days of editors indulging someone's eccentricities, funky demands, etc., are over—nobody gets indulged, a la Hunter Thompson, other than, well, probably Hunter Thompson. YOU HAVE TO MEET YOUR DEADLINE. You have to project a sense of authority, discipline AND creativity all at once. You have to tell them that you are the best reporter, the most responsible reporter, and yet you can bring a new angle, a fresh view, to the story unlike anything ever seen. It's an art form, a tricky balance -- you want to be authoritative but creative. You don't want to seem like a dinosaur from Ye Olde Print Age—you want to be fresh, smart, intelligent. Editors are endlessly worried about what's in store for the future. Virtually every publication is consumed with "editorial meetings" to discuss The Digital Age, online journalism, the Web, etc.—editors, because they are inherently linked to the business-side of most publications, are afraid for their lives. They are moving in uncharted waters—and every day they read some new story about dwindling circulation at various publications. And they worry a lot. And frankly, you might be able to make that work to your advantage -- many editors simply aren't conversant with the New Media, with the Digital Media. And if you can suggest to them that your story will appeal to new readers, to New Media readers/consumers, that you have a handle on how to deliver news to this shifting demographic and readership...then editors will probably be receptive. They don't have the answers to the New Media conundrum—and if you suggest you do, then it should give you some leverage, some cachet, some interest.

Mike: How do you define great writing?

Minutaglio: Some writer friends and I used to operate from a simple premise: Try to think of writing as jazz....in the sense that there for many jazz musicians, the challenge each time they step up to play is how to do it in a completely original way. Improvisation lends itself to that technique. As writers, we would sit before the blank screen and say: How do I write this story, how do I tell this story, in a way that has never been told before?

In other words, great writing, by definition, is distinguished writing -- it is distinguished from other forms of writing, other stories on the subject you have tackled.

SIDE NOTE: YOU ARE A FOOL IF YOU DON'T ACCUMULATE EVERY FAIRLY DEFINITIVE, FAIRLY GOOD, STORY EVER WRITTEN ABOUT THE SUBJECT YOU ARE GOING TO REPORT AND WRITE ON. IN OTHER WORDS, IF YOU ARE DOING A PROFILE OF KANYE WEST, PEDRO MARTINEZ, JOHN KERRY—ANYBODY—THEN YOU BETTER READ ALL THE GOOD STORIES THAT HAVE ALREADY BEEN DONE. IT'S NOT JUST TO FIND OUT SOME NECESSARY BACKGROUND INFORMATION—NOT ONLY TO LEND ACUTELY INTIMATE DETAILS TO YOUR STORY BUT TO SEE HOW YOU CAN DISTINGUISH YOUR STORY FROM ALL THOSE STORIES BEFORE IT.

To me, it's very rare to find newspaper and magazine stories that are brilliant from the first word to the last word. I define great writing as a serious of flourishes that add up to some sort of sense of fulfillment—at the end of the story, you feel something. Sadness. Triumph. Tragedy. Some emotional dimension is sated. I happen to like stories that almost sail across a bittersweet sea—and might even end with a few more questions raised than answered. I happen to be wary of writing that is so bold and declarative and intense that it shouts out that the world is best viewed in black-and-white—that this story contains the whole, complete, unfettered truth…that this story answers all the questions. The simple fact is that writers will never capture reality perfectly. We can try to come close to it. Some come closer than others. But great writing is still ultimately going to be an attempt to faithfully describe—as opposed to perfectly depict. It's a subtle but important difference.

I like writing that suggests there is always something you can't quite grasp, that life is bittersweet, that there are eternal mysteries, that life is defined by things we know...and by things we don't know. It's hard to get this across, but I think great writing has an air of mystery in it, an air of humility, a sense that the writer is confident in all of the facts and all of the reporting...but is aware, at the same time, that life takes unexpected twists and turns, that interview subjects sometimes say what they think a reporter wants to hear as opposed to the nitty-gritty, often mundane, reality.

I like writing that can capture the evanescent way life moves, the way life is uncertain, the way you have to constantly have some form of faith...in yourself, in your craft, your family. I like a bittersweet ending to a story. Life, despite what some politicians and editors think, is not written in black-and-white—life is lived in the gray zone, filled with ups and down, a damned rollercoaster really. And I think great writing somehow always reflects that in some way. If you find me one person who says he is perfectly, eternally blissful then I will tell you they aren't really truthful—I think great writing reflects a bit of the uncertainty in life.

This reminds me of a scene in a Woody Allen movie where he's walking down the street and being, as usual, a schleppy New York Neurotic...and he's wondering why he can't be happy, why other people seem to be happy, etc. He spots an unbelievably attractive, bright, sunny-looking young couple walking across the street—and he decides to go up to them and say something like:

"Excuse me, I hate to bother you, but you both seem so happy, can you tell me how you do it?"

The happy-smiling couple looks at him and the woman replies:

"I'm very shallow and empty and I have no ideas and nothing interesting to say."

The guy she's with then says: "And I'm exactly the same way. Well, we have absolutely no opinions on anything."

Mike: How do print magazine editors view online clips and/or self-published book authors?

Minutaglio: I guess my answer is that online clips are now as good as old-fashioned hard-copy clips. I have seen some online clips that, when printed out and put in a clip book, seem to resonate better with editors. If you are in an e-mail exchange with editors, then you can send them links to your stories. Things have changed so fast that this method is pursued all the time. As for self-published books, I think the sense that these are just vanity projects is beginning to wear off. As the publishing world becomes more self-directed and anyone can publish a webzine, a blog, a book—I think younger editors are more at ease with work that has been created AND published by the same person. And, I think that sense of ease is quickly spreading into the upper reaches of mainstream publications.

Mike: What does an editor really do?

Minutaglio: Send out rejection notices.

[He laughs] Just kidding.

More and more, many editors are turning into "acquisition editors"—in other words, they are bound up with budgets, buying stories, etc., as opposed to sitting down with writers and crafting stories to perfection. An editor wears several hats. Some editors are good at finding story ideas. Some editors are "assignments editors"—I used to do this, wherein I would try to find writers around the country that could do particular stories. Some editors are "line editors"—editors who simply go over a story, line by line, and fix the language. Some editors, and I have only worked with a handful of these, have some sort of cosmic, almost intuitive, ability to artfully mold and sculpt your work. They have a big picture sense—they get where you are trying to go. They understand what you are trying to accomplish. They hear your voice—even though the words on the page might not yet reflect what you want to say. They know you well enough to cajole changes out of you—or to generate good work from you.

Having a good editor is like having a good relationship. It takes time. It's completely frustrating and sometimes, when it works, completely exhilarating.

Hunter S. Thompson and GONZO Journalism

Clay Felker Remembered

Clay Felker Remembered

Tom Wolfe: I'll never forget being in the studio of Jacques Lowe, a photographer, and John F. Kennedy had just been assassinated ...And so everyone was either stunned or mourning or wondering, "God, can we go on," and next thing I hear is "clump-clump-clump-clump -clump-clump-clump" up the stairs. It was about a three-story walk-up, and it's Clay saying, "Jacques, Jacques, where are the pictures, where are the pictures?" Clay knew that Jacques Lowe had taken the only pictures of John F. Kennedy and Robert Kennedy talking to Lyndon Johnson, trying to persuade him to run as vice president. So Clay's already thinking ahead to Johnson's administration. He's not ringing his hands over Jack Kennedy. The news, suddenly, is really Lyndon Johnson, because he's going to be the new president.

Gloria Steinem: After Martin Luther King was murdered, I was in my living room walking around, feeling like a part of the world had come to an end. Clay called me up and said, "You call yourself a reporter! Get up to Harlem and report!" He always had his mind on the story. Clay accumulated writers; writers would follow Clay anywhere.

Shelley Zalaznick: I don't know anybody who understood the city better. Really. He always understood this was a city that could change your life. I don't know anyone with a finer appreciation of that terribly important function of the city.

Richard Goldstein on Clay Felker in 1977

From The Village Voice January 17, 1977, Richard Goldstein on the editorial genius of Clay Felker:

About Clay Felker

When I was a young writer subsisting on tuna casseroles on the Upper West Side, I received an invitation to lunch from the World Journal Tribune's Sunday magazine, which was called New York. We met The Player's club off Gramercy Park, took in an auction at the Parke Bernet, and ended up shopping for furniture at a store called Fabulous Fakes. He was a tall, sanguine man. I had trouble keeping up with his walk, not to mention his ideas. He wanted me to write about the pop culture of Saigon, to report on the songs the troops were playing in the fields. I had just convinced the army to exclude me from those hostilities, so I turned the assignment down. But I had learned something about Clay Felker that afternoon: He had the power to convince you there was nothing dangerous or absurd about a story on the 10 most powerful headhunters, and the drive to put you on a plane for New Guinea before you could think of way out.

When the paper folded, he vowed to start New York up on its own. I figured he'd have it out within a month, but it took him two years. In the thick of it, he lived in a sauna of uncertainty. When he came to dinner, I thought I'd impress him by lighting incense and turning up the stereo. But my wife sat him in our only comfortable chair and rubbed his neck until he relaxed. Starting a weekly magazine is pretty hard in any case (otherwise the newsstands would be groaning under the weight of the egos), but in those days there were no such thing as a city magazine. New York was the first and best and Clay Felker is the reason why.

People say he loved power and celebrity, and that is true enough; and people say he couched his instincts in demographics, and that is also true. But he was a great editor; he could spot a lead like bear pawing water for trout, and he could cut copy with the dispatch of a butcher trimming flank. He never told me what to write or how to write it, and he published my copy when his face turned beet red at the sight of it. Anyone who has written for what can be called the “corporate press” will appreciate my preference for Clay Felker's impulses—even when they were censorious—over the assassination-by-committee which is custom at the slicks.

To say his staff occasionally parted company with those impulses would be an understatement. The quarrels between Clay and the rest of the us at The Voice were legion during the two years he acted as publisher and editor-in-chief. More than once I thought we would end up slugging it out, but he never threatened me with more than apoplexy, as he never fired anyone who spoke out against him. In fact, he understood the value of his severest critics to be precisely their disloyalty.
He left the Voice a stronger, more unified newspaper than it was when he arrived. He left it with a sense of its own integrity which must be seen in part as a consequence of his restraint. I hope that doesn't sound too eulogistic, because I suspect that Clay Felker is out there raising money again. To which I offer the traditional salutation to people from Missouri who chose to make New York their home: Mazel tov. —Richard Goldstein

Visionary/Editor Clay Felker, Dead at 82

Clay Felker, 82; editor of New York magazine led New Journalism charge
By Dennis McLellan, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
July 2, 2008

Clay Felker, the innovative founding editor of New York magazine who was widely considered one of the great post-World War II magazine editors in the U.S. and a key figure in the emergence of New Journalism in the 1960s, died Tuesday. He was 82.

Felker, who had been married to bestselling author Gail Sheehy since 1984, died at his home in Manhattan after a long battle with throat cancer, said a spokeswoman for New York magazine.

"American journalism would not be what it is today without Clay Felker," Adam Moss, the magazine's current editor-in-chief, said in a statement. "He created a kind of magazine that had never been seen before, told a kind of story that had never been told."

As an editor, Felker was known for having what Newsweek magazine once described as "a Gatsbyesque drive, a zest for power and an uncanny knack for riding the trendy currents of Manhattan chic."

"He ranks with Henry Luce of Time, Harold Ross of the New Yorker and Jann Wenner of Rolling Stone in that these are all people that brought out magazines that had a new take on life in America," writer Tom Wolfe, a New York magazine alumnus, told The Times on Tuesday.

Describing Felker, Wolfe said, "He at first seemed very bluff and even could be gruff, but he created an atmosphere in which everybody wanted to do their very best for Clay.

"Everybody said he'd tell a writer he liked, 'I'm going to make you a star.' I never heard him say that, but that was the atmosphere he created in your mind."

Felker began his rise in the magazine industry as the enterprising features editor at Esquire, beginning in 1957, after several years as a writer and reporter for Life magazine.

"Clay was always widely enthusiastic about writers and ideas," John Berendt, a former editor at Esquire, told Marc Weingarten, author of "The Gang That Wouldn't Write Straight," a 2006 book about the New Journalism revolution -- journalism whose practitioners used literary techniques to produce factually accurate stories that read like fiction.

Felker, Berendt said, "could sniff out a developing story before anyone else. He was always out, going to parties, schmoozing, trying to match the right writers to the right stories. He had his finger on the pulse of things, just an amazing sixth sense about trends."

After seeing singer Sammy Davis Jr. perform on "The Ed Sullivan Show" in 1959, for example, Felker suggested that writer Thomas B. Morgan spend time hanging out with the entertainer for what became an insightful profile, "What Makes Sammy Jr. Run?"

Felker also tapped novelist Norman Mailer -- and gave him free rein -- to cover the 1960 Democratic convention in Los Angeles, at which John F. Kennedy was nominated for president and Mailer produced a lengthy, thought-provoking piece of literary journalism, "Superman Comes to the Supermart."

And Felker gave Gloria Steinem, then a little-known freelancer, what she calls her "first serious assignment" as a writer: a report on the then-new contraceptive pill.

After researching and writing her story, Steinem recalled in a 2005 piece on Felker in California magazine, a publication for UC Berkeley alumni, "Clay blue-penciled my pages on the history of the pill, told me I had left people out, and made the memorable comment: 'You've performed the incredible feat of making sex dull.' "

Felker, Steinem wrote, then "sent me out to do interviews and a total rewrite. That was why I produced in 1962 an article on sexual politics and new science that prefigured the women's movement. I had a great editor."

After losing a battle for the editorship of Esquire to Harold Hayes, Felker left the magazine in 1962.

The next year, he was hired as a consultant at the New York Herald Tribune, where he helped remake Today's Living, the magazine supplement of the newspaper's Sunday edition.

Renamed New York -- and with Felker taking over as editor -- the revamped Sunday supplement became a weekly showcase for the talents of Wolfe and his Herald Tribune colleague, columnist Jimmy Breslin.

Within two years, the city-oriented New York was considered the hottest Sunday read in town.

Helping fuel New York's reputation were stories such as Wolfe's controversial 1965 send-up of the staid, in-house culture of the New Yorker magazine and the idiosyncrasies of the 40-year-old literary institution's low-profile editor, William Shawn: a two-part, more than 10,000-word piece written in what Wolfe has described as a "hyperbolic style."

The first installment ran under a blaring, tabloid-style headline, "TINY MUMMIES! The True Story of the Ruler of 43rd Street's Land of the Walking Dead!" and featured an illustration of Eustace Tilley, the New Yorker's monocle-wearing Victorian dandy icon, wrapped up like a mummy.

In a 1997 interview, Felker described Wolfe's "incredible piece of reporting" as "the making of New York magazine."

When the Herald Tribune merged with the New York World Telegram & Sun and the New York Journal American in 1966 to become the New York World Journal Tribune, Felker was appointed the paper's associate editor, overseeing its Sunday literary supplement while continuing as editor of the Sunday magazine.

After the World Journal Tribune folded in 1967, Felker acquired the magazine name New York for $6,575, lined up financial backers and relaunched New York as an independent magazine in 1968 -- with Wolfe, Breslin and other Herald Tribune vets joining him and innovative graphic designer Milton Glaser.

Targeting his new publication at educated and affluent or upwardly mobile New Yorkers, Felker stated that his mission was to produce a "weekly magazine that communicates the spirit and character of New York."

New York's hip and sophisticated blend of stories focusing on the city's culture, politics, business, and life and style -- along with its eye-catching illustrations -- spawned countless imitative city and regional magazines around the country.

"I call it an eternal magazine formula," Felker told the New York Times in 1995. "I used to compare it to what the conversation is at a round dinner table or a dinner party that well-informed people talk about."

Always, the emphasis was on good writing. And Felker, widely regarded as a "writer's editor," attracted many of the era's best, including Sheehy, Pete Hamill, Nora Ephron, Peter Maas and Aaron Latham.

As an editor, Felker recalled in the 1995 interview, "I had been experimenting along with several other editors in town with something that was then called the New Journalism and is now called Literary Journalism.

"These were people who could do that, using the traditional techniques of English literature in a different form -- which I have always felt communicates not only the facts but the emotions. And these people were those who connected emotionally with our particular kind of audience."

During his tenure at New York, Felker helped launch Steinem's feminist magazine Ms. by inserting a 30-page preview excerpt in a December 1971 issue of New York and funding the new magazine's first stand-alone issue.

In 1974, New York magazine's parent company bought the Village Voice, the Greenwich Village weekly newspaper, and Felker eventually named himself its editor-in-chief and publisher.

He also expanded to the West Coast, founding Los Angeles-based New West magazine in 1976 but displeased his company's board of directors by reportedly spending four times his original $1-million estimate to launch the new magazine.

In early 1977, Felker lost control of the New York Magazine Co. after a hostile takeover by media mogul Rupert Murdoch.

Embittered over having New York magazine "sold out from under me by money-grubbing little men" -- as he described the situation to Newsweek -- Felker made a comeback later that year by acquiring Esquire magazine with the financial backing of Vere Harmsworth, head of Britain's Associated Newspaper Group Ltd.

Felker vowed to restyle the ailing magazine to "appeal to the interest of sophisticated men."

But in 1979, with strained finances due to the expense of turning the magazine from a monthly to a biweekly and drops in advertising and circulation revenue, Associated Newspapers sold Esquire.

Among Felker's numerous post-Esquire ventures were stints as editor of an unsuccessful afternoon edition of the New York Daily News and the magazines Adweek, Manhattan, inc. and M.

"Journalism," Felker told Newsweek in 1977 after losing New York magazine, "has been my life."

Born Oct. 2, 1925, Felker grew up in Webster Groves, Mo., an affluent suburb of St. Louis.

Journalism was a natural career choice: His father was managing editor of the weekly newspaper the Sporting News and editor of Sporting Goods Dealer, a monthly trade publication; and his mother was a former newspaper women's section editor.

After graduating from high school in 1942, he went to Duke University in Durham, N.C., where he worked as a reporter on the school newspaper, the Chronicle.

A year later, he joined the Navy and became sports editor and a writer for the Navy newspaper, the Blue Jacket.

After graduating from Duke in 1951, Felker was hired as a sportswriter at Life magazine.

He later turned one of his Life features, a profile of baseball legend Casey Stengel, into the 1961 book "Casey Stengel's Secret."

"I enjoyed writing," Felker later told Weingarten, "but it wasn't my real ability."

In 1994, Felker began teaching a course called "How to Make a Magazine" at the Graduate School of Journalism at UC Berkeley, where the Felker Magazine Center was established the next year, with Felker as director.

Felker's first two marriages, to Leslie Aldrich and actress Pamela Tiffin, ended in divorce.

In addition to Sheehy, Felker is survived by his sister, Charlotte Gallagher; his daughter, Mohm Sheehy; his stepdaughter, Maura Sheehy Moss; and three step-grandchildren.

dennis.mclellan@latimes.com