Ironically, it was around this past Thanksgiving that I received a jarring message from my former journalism profession/mentor/friend Dr. Nelson. He informed me that he had cancer, and not much time left.
We reunited online many years ago after too many years apart. I managed to tell him what he meant to me, and also included my Thank You letter to him in my ebook A Bucket List for Thank Yous.
Dr. Nelson passed away Tuesday, January 23, 2024.
Rest in peace, Doc Nellie.
Here is my Thank You letter to him, with the song that always reminds me of him.
To Dr. Richard Nelson
“King Tut,” Steve Martin
I’d be lying if I said our relationship started off on a positive note. I sat as a freshman in Newswriting 101, ready to embark on my journalism journey at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater.
You strolled in with your rigid gait wearing a suit and fedora. I didn’t know much about you aside from the most important fact to me: You were the head of the Kettle Moraine Press Association — an association of high school newspaper and yearbook advisers — and thus the point man for my ire.
Just a few months earlier I applied for the first KEMPA scholarship, awarded to an incoming high school senior. I didn’t get it.
I studied the profile of the person who did receive the scholarship and, for the life of me, couldn’t fathom any reason I was not superior in my journalism training. Forget the typical high school newspaper and yearbook experience. I worked for the community newspaper, too, writing one or two stories each week!
So I sat there with the proverbial chip on my shoulder. Oh, Dr. Richard Nelson, I have something to prove to you.
That’s what ran through my head on an endless loop as you stood before us and spoke about the basic elements of journalism that shape the foundation. Knowing AP style, how to spell, and correct grammar are the key to good reporting and writing.
Truth Revealed
I scoffed. Are you kidding me? Writing is writing. Editing is editing. Is this editing or writing?
Before I could debate the topic too much in my head, you handed out a test. It was an AP Style and spelling test. We would take it at the beginning of the class to see where we stood. We’d take it again as the final exam to see if we improved, and thus learned anything from you.
As with most tests, I zipped through it. Never one to hem and haw, I’d always jump at my first instinct and stick with it.
The next class we got the results. You did manage to single out the highest score, one Art Kabelowsky, who already had a reputation as a sports writer well ahead of his time. Art’s score was one of the top first try scores ever. You also pointed out, without naming names, there were some absolutely atrocious scores.
That would be me.
I paged through a test awash with red, embarrassed that anyone might be looking over my shoulder. Truth was, most tests looked the same.
Devastated would be an understatement. From the time I began writing for my Dad in grade school, I knew this is all I ever wanted to do: write for a newspaper.
As the term marched on, we had an assignment each week. Sometimes we’d cover a city council meeting, or a student council meeting, or a mock police report.
Each time, my prose sang, yet atop the paper I’d see D or worse. You lost a half grade for each editing error. Misspell a word and your A became A-. Forget an AP Style rule and that A- became a B+. And on and on.
Spelling never was a strength of mine. And I never knew what kind of editing my stories received at the local newspaper. I’d just see them in print and know that they pretty much matched what I sent in, at least in tone.
I kept hammering hard, attempting to spell better. But the old adage of “He don’t know what he don’t know” applied to me in spades.
Shattered Dreams
By midterm, I was failing in the only class that really mattered to me. All my dreams were crashing down around me.
Just about that time, my assignments started coming back with more comments written at the top. “Great story that would make any newspaper proud, but style holding you back.” Things like that.
At the time I planned to be a double-major in Journalism and Secondary Education. As such, you were my advisor, since you headed the education side of journalism. We met to prepare my second term schedule, with me desperately hoping it did not include a second run in Newswriting 101.
That’s when you told me that I finished as runner-up for the KEMPA scholarship. That I was talented, but had a lot to learn. If could get a handle on style and spelling, there was no telling how far I could go in the field.
As I recall, the scholarship was a whopping $500. I told you how disappointed I was that I didn’t get that.
That’s when you told me you had a better option. I could work for you in the Journalism department, specifically for KEMPA. I’d write, edit and layout the KEMPA newsletter. Work on the high school conferences held on campus, as well as the summer camps as a counselor. I’d come to Board of Director meetings to record the proceedings.
Besides, you said, you’ll end up making a lot more than $500.
Teachers Can
That, in a nutshell, was the reason I wanted to teach. None of my teachers in high school seemed to notice my passion for writing. My high school was renowned as one of the top schools in the nation. The overachievers received all the attention. The underachievers had triage teachers looking out for them. The majority in the middle were invisible. I wouldn’t let any student be invisible. You wouldn’t allow that, either.
I never slacked off when it came to writing, but after that meeting my determination elevated exponentially. I couldn’t wait for the final exam. And when it came, I was ready.
When you handed out the results, you noted that in addition to Art’s stellar score, there was another just as good. And, it represented the greatest improvement from the first test you had ever seen.
That’s when I knew I could make it, and I knew how to make it. With hard work, determination and humility.
I worked for you for four years. As my sophomore year ended, although I wrote for The Royal Purple, the student newspaper, I wasn’t really “in” with the upper class students who ran the show.
When Barb Uebelacher decided to run for editor, she didn’t know any of the sports writing underclassmen. You introduced her to me. I became her sports editor.
When I graduated, I searched the nation for a job. Then, surprisingly enough, in your hometown, just a few miles from Whitewater, the sports editor position opened up. You put in a good word for me.
When I interviewed there, the editor basically said, if Dr. Nelson recommends you, that’s all I need to hear.
So thank you, for believing in me when I had doubts and for challenging me when I needed it most. While I abandoned the teaching dreams, I’ve always relied on those tenets as a manager to get the most out of my staff. And that always reaps rewards, for my staff, and me.
