A Journalism of Humanity A Journalism of Humanity A Candid History of the World’s First Journalism School Steve Weinberg © Copyright © 2008 by The Curators of the University of Missouri University of Missouri Press, Columbia, Missouri 65201 Printed and bound in the United States of America All rights reserved 5 4 3 2 1 12 11 10 09 08 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Weinberg, Steve. A journalism of humanity : a candid history of the world’s first journalism school / Steve Weinberg. Includes bibliographical references and index. Summary: “Founded by Walter Williams, a newsman who lacked a college education, the University of Missouri’s School of Journalism is regarded as among the best in the world.
Weinberg uncovers the history of the school’s first 100 years, revealing the flaws as well as the virtues of the Missouri Method”—Provided by publisher. University of Missouri—Columbia. School of Journalism— History.4071177829—dc22 2007043025 ø This paper meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, Z39. Designer: Kristie Lee Typesetter: The Composing Room of Michigan, Inc.
Printer and binder: The Maple-Vail Book Manufacturing Group Typefaces: Adobe Garamond and Times The book’s title comes from “The Journalist’s Creed,” composed by Walter Williams, founder of the University of Missouri Journalism School. Toward the end of the creed, which is posted in newsrooms and individual offices around the world, Williams wrote, “I believe that the journalism which succeeds best, and best deserves success. is a journalism of humanity, of and for today’s world. ix One Journalism Education? Who Needs Journalism Education?.
1 Two The Founder: Walter Williams. 4 Three Inventing the First Journalism School, Out of Nothing, in the Middle of Nowhere. 13 Four Not Merely a Student Newspaper: The Missourian and the Missouri Method. 31 Five Bricks and Mortar during Peace and War.
55 Six Battling for Hegemony as Journalism Education Spreads. 66 Seven More Than Print: Adjusting the Missouri Method for the Broadcast Era. 98 vii viii Contents Eight Translating the Missouri Method to Faraway Places: From China to the Beltway. 117 Nine The Dilemmas of Scholarship in a Vocational Setting: Master’s Degrees and PhDs.
132 Ten Reaching Out to the Profession: Midcareer Journalism Education. 174 Eleven The Missouri “Mafia”. 212 Twelve Present and Future: The Dean Mills Era. 222 Sources and Acknowledgments.
263 Preface Rilla Dean Mills, dean of the University of Missouri School of Journalism since 1989, approached me about reporting and writing this centennial his- tory—the first of its kind because the school he directs was the first of its kind. That Mills approached me instead of a different author says much about him. First, Mills is well aware that I have spent my career primarily as an investigative journalist. In fact, I moved to the University of Missouri campus in 1983 to ac- cept the executive director position at Investigative Reporters and Editors (IRE).
IRE is a membership organization that includes some of the most talented in- vestigative journalists from around the world; it is one of many professional groups with headquarters at the Missouri Journalism School. Second, Mills is also well aware that, although I respect him as a human be- ing, we have disagreed about his management style and his management deci- sions. What sort of dean would approach an investigative reporter and faculty dis- senter to write the history of the institution he directs, then agree to a promise, in writing, of editorial independence? The answer: a dean who is unafraid of an unvarnished institutional history. Mills knows, in addition, that I am a loyal alumnus of the Journalism School (BJ 1970, MA 1975) and the father of a more recent graduate (Sonia, BJ 2002).
I believe that, despite its shortcomings, the Missouri Journalism School has made a positive contribution in the realms of newspapers, magazines, radio, television, photography, advertising, public relations, and online information. He quite likely understood that I would not savage my alma mater; I hope readers agree that I have written a candid but ultimately constructive history. From the start, I calculated that the primary audience for this book would be current and former Missouri Journalism School students, staff, and faculty. De- spite that premise, I harbored no intention of writing a book that would appeal only to insiders.
I hope it will appeal also to anybody else who cares about jour- nalism—as an academic enterprise and as a conveyer of knowledge. ix x Preface I examine the Journalism School in the context of its home university, the city of Columbia, the county of Boone, the state of Missouri, the nation, and the world. The school is located in Columbia, Missouri, to be sure, but its rich his- tory transcends mid-Missouri by thousands of miles in every direction. In addi- tion, I examine the Journalism School in the context of professional education, as well as the context of the employers it feeds with practitioners of the journal- istic craft.
Some sections of the book will strike readers as negative. I cannot alter certain realities. For example, the Missouri Journalism School has always been part of a university with a reputation for racism and sexism. It should come as no surprise to readers that a university that failed to admit an African American student un- til 1950 and failed to hire an African American professor until 1969 spawned a Journalism School that sometimes acted just as shamefully.
While I hope the book will be judged as thorough, it is not intended as ency- clopedic. Many famous and infamous students, staff, and faculty have spent time on campus. Most of them will not receive even a brief mention, however. To chronicle the exploits of every deserving member of what has become known as the Missouri “Mafia,” bound together by their devotion to what has become known as the Missouri Method, is impractical.
Even compiling an accurate list of all faculty, all staff, and all students since 1908 has proved impractical. I real- ize that every faculty member and every staff member, including those who came and went quickly, touched the lives of at least a few students. I also realize that every student touched the lives of at least a few faculty and staff. But given the size of the cast—tens of thousands—I must focus on the relatively small per- centage who had the most significant impact on the largest number.
My own attachment to the Missouri Journalism School, continuing one way and another since 1966, obviously has influenced—consciously and subcon- sciously—some of the passages you are about to read. When I possess firsthand knowledge of people and occurrences, I have allowed that knowledge to inform the narrative. I am acutely aware that my firsthand knowledge is open to inter- pretation by others with different values and vantage points. Now, an explanation about the organization of the narrative.
Many institu- tional histories rely on relentless chronology. That tactic demonstrates a certain logic. On the other hand, rigid chronology can end up being stultifying—and confusing when numerous streams and themes are flowing through an institu- tion simultaneously. This book relies heavily on chronology through Chapter Three.
Until the death of Walter Williams in 1935, the history of the Missouri Journalism School Preface xi is straightforward. It revolves around Williams himself, the Missourian, and, to a lesser extent, instruction in advertising—the business side of journalism. After Williams’s death, numerous individuals shared authority for the school’s direc- tion. Furthermore, advances in technology brought photojournalism, radio news, television news, the diversification of the magazine world, public relations prac- tices to accompany advertising in a mix newly termed strategic communication, online journalism, and then convergence journalism.
After Chapter Three, the book becomes more thematic and less chronologi- cal—although, within the themed chapters, chronology is observed as faithfully as practical and unifying narrative threads do appear. Those narrative threads in- clude the continual struggle of the Missourian to survive financially, the search for an appropriate magazine vehicle to teach students, the difficulty of keeping up with technology in broadcasting and photojournalism, the feeling among those in the advertising/public relations sector that they are second-class citizens in a school called “journalism,” the tension between vocational training and aca- demic scholarship, as well as sexism and racism. Dean Mills arrived at the Journalism School in 1989. He is mentioned throughout the text.
But I have saved most of what has happened at the Jour- nalism School since his arrival for the final chapter. I encourage readers to use the Index if it seems somebody or something ought to be mentioned but cannot be found in the most logical chapter. For example, not everything about KOMU-TV is found in Chapter Seven, even though that is the primary chapter about television instruction at the Missouri Journalism School. Steve Weinberg October 2007 A Journalism of Humanity One Journalism Education? Who Needs Journalism Education? It is fortunate that Walter Williams carried the genes for dreaming big, be- cause only somebody with that ability would have tried to start a journalism school when and where he did.
From the time of Williams’s birth during 1864 until the opening of the Uni- versity of Missouri Journalism School during 1908 as the world’s first, employ- ment in the realms of newspapers, magazines, advertising, and public relations received little respect—often not even from those practicing the craft. Reporters, editors, and those who worked on the business side of periodicals tended to drift into their jobs without training, with little formal education, and with scant in- terest in measuring the reactions of consumers. If somebody broached the idea of a journalism school, the reaction among practitioners was almost always neg- ative. As for academics, they tended to sneer at journalism; they certainly never entertained a serious thought of it becoming part of the academy.
If journalists needed to learn the craft, they could do so on the job, according to the conven- tional wisdom. It apparently never occurred to those spouting the conventional wisdom that it made little sense. Obtaining the broad knowledge necessary to understand the workings of a complicated and often inexplicable world required all the educa- tion a brain could absorb. Communicating that understanding usually called for practice, practice, and more practice with a talented mentor.
Before the Missouri Journalism School opened, few such mentors existed. Those who did often lacked the time at work to serve as a mentor. It seemed logical to Williams from 1 2 A Journalism of Humanity an early age that a university could broaden an individual’s all-around knowledge more efficiently than could any other institution, and that mentors could be hired by a university to teach the vocational elements. Prior to the University of Missouri becoming the first campus to open a full- fledged journalism school, it and a few other campuses dabbled in journalism ed- ucation—usually on the initiative of an English professor or business professor or agriculture professor or one of the institution’s public relations employees or an actual journalist serving in an adjunct role.
Such isolated courses, unsurpris- ingly, barely made a dent in the ignorance and callowness of practicing journal- ists. In his American Journalism: A History, 1690–1960, Frank Luther Mott, un- questionably a great scholar, devotes only a dozen pages scattered among nine hundred to college education. The first reference does not appear until page 405, a clear indication that the training of journalists through higher education oc- curred only as an afterthought during the nineteenth century and into the twen- tieth. Four years after the Civil War ended, with Confederate general Robert E.
Lee having assumed the presidency of Washington College (later known as Wash- ington and Lee University), scholarships became available to students stating they intended to enter the newspaper world.