Remembering John

Chicago lost its leading voice on issues of race, poverty and urban affairs when John A. McDermott passed away on Aug. 17, 1996, from leukemia. McDermott, who was 70, was the founder and first publisher of The Chicago Reporter.

While John had retired from the publication, he remained its guiding light until his death.

While John had retired from the publication, he remained its guiding light until his death. He served as a mentor and teacher to the dozen young journalist who moved on to fruitful careers. All of them agree that McDermott was one of the last of a rare breed. Their reflections follow.
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Sharon McGowan
President, Desktop Edit Shop Inc.
Managing Editor 1978-1980; Reporter 1975-1978

In the days after his death, John McDermott was remembered as "Chicago's conscience," and a leader in the fight for social justice. But I will also remember him in a more personal way—John made my career as a journalist possible.

John hired me at the Reporter straight out of journalism school. He believed in me, although at the time my clips consisted of a few dozen articles about suburban board meetings.

John instructed, prodded, lectured, bullied, but most of all, inspired. He had a vision for the Reporter, and for the city, that he clung to tenaciously. The Reporter was to be hard-hitting, dispassionate, thorough. No institution, white or black, powerful or powerless, was immune from its scrutiny. Where a story led, we would follow. What an experience for a wide-eyed novice!

On Friday afternoons, John would open a bottle of Jameson's whiskey, reminisce and throw some darts. The camaraderie he encouraged made the news room unique, and when it was time to move on, John nearly had to push me out the door. He was so proud that I had landed a good job in the "downtown media."

We stayed in touch. A few months before he died John and I met for lunch, and we talked about his illness and how he refused to let it slow him down. He was taking on new clients and projects; he had just bought a boat. He said he intended to live for a very long time.

I regret that I didn't write about how much John meant to me sooner, so that he could read it. I wish I had known the deadline was so tight.
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Lillian Calhoun
Co-founder and Co-editor 1972-1976

John, an old friend, showed up one day in my Kenilworth kitchen and asked me to help launch a magazine on racial issues. To save money, we decided on a newsletter, printed in good, clean Helvetica, in a deep brown-black so the pictures would be lifelike. We chose extra-thin paper for inexpensive postage. Folded to letter size, it could fit into a busy executive's pocket or purse.

We eschewed rhetoric and concentrated on the numbers, using unemotional, quantitative methods. The stories were painstakingly written, with many loud but cheerful disputes over usage. On each publication day, John and I wrote scores of handwritten notes to local newspapers and electronic outlets. The media grew to accept our results.

John, a great raconteur, began to turn weekly staff meetings into guest appearances by scholars and public officials. The late Helena Appleton, our secretary, added wit and culinary expertise to these sessions. Her successor, Bertha Lev, brought warmth and a divine liver pate to the Friday lunches. Good-humored and lively, John was in his element, trading quips with the young staff, most of them graduate students.

Throughout, John and I stuck to the original goal of improved race relations, focusing on racial and economic justice. I left after 3/ years, John after 13, but not before realizing his dream of creating change in Chicago.
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Vernon C. Thompson
Executive Assistant to the President, San Fransisco, State University
Reporter 1974-1975

When I joined the Reporter as a Northwestern University senior in 1974, my first assignment fizzled. John was brainstorming a new assignment when he heard a siren blaring outside. I saw that legendary twinkle in his eye when he asked if I had ever written a fire story.

Thousands of routine fire stories are written each year, but John instinctively knew that many fires were in poor neighborhoods, and that minorities were dying at an alarming rate.

For months I chased this story—talking to firefighters, riding shotgun with a crazed WBBM radio reporter, conducting a computer study of coroner fire death figures, and then comparing those numbers with Chicago Fire Department records. I witnessed the fire death of a young man on Chicago's South Side.

In the end the story revealed erroneous fire department death figures, and exposed poorly designed fire prevention programs and personnel shortages.

A Washington Post reporter, localizing my story, said the article would get me a job there. A year later, I won a Post job out of a field of nearly 2,000 applicants.

These days, when young reporters turn up their noses at basic police and fire assignments, I still tell them about the legendary twinkle in John McDermott's eye.
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Doug Longhini
Senior Producer, WMAQ-TV Channel 5
Reporter 1973-1975

Growing up in a blue-collar town southwest of Chicago, my mother told me stories of an irascible, bare-knuckled brawler for justice, whose most famous fight took place in Hyde Park.

My mother reminded me over and over of Clarence S. Darrow's claim that lost causes were the only ones worth fighting for. By the time I started working for John McDermott, Darrow was long gone, and civil rights was anything but a Lost cause."

But it once had been, and John had wrapped his whole moral fiber around it; he'd stood up and been counted, like Darrow. Both larger than life figures, both touched by that mysterious place I'd learned of from my mother... Hyde Park. So for me, John represented the heroic myths of my childhood.

By now, of course, many of those myths are busted out, rusted out or tarnished beyond recognition. But John remains a true hero to me, one of the most truly principled men I've ever met.

And I'd bet that when John bumped into Darrow in heaven, the first thing he said to the crusty old litigator was, "What's with this lost cause baloney, anyway?"
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Roy Larson
Director, Center for Religion and the News Media Northwestern University
Publisher 1991-1994; Editor and Publisher 1985-1990

Receding my old Catholic friend and colleague, I recall the words of the Protestant theologian Reinhold Niebuhr A self-avowed Christian realist, Niebuhr eschewed the excesses of both "cynicism and sentimentality." And so did John.

In 1972, the year the Reporter was born, the battle for civil rights was far from over, but it was getting harder to racy foot soldiers to march in the streets. The times demanded new strategies designed to reach achievable goals.

John peddled the Reporter in corporate board rooms, news shops, churches and community centers, promising investigative reporting—not placards or preachments. Even conservative, establishment policy makers could be reached, he argued, if irrefutable data proved it was in their enlightened self-interest to change.

In the last 25 years, the first 14 under John's leadership, the Reporter has done two things exceedingly well. It has published solid investigative stories on issues related to race and poverty that no one else would do. And it has been a professional proving ground for some of the nation's best and brightest young journalists, many of them minorities.

Has Chicago changed for the better as a result of the Reporter's work? We who have been affiliated with the Reporter like to think so. But, as usual, we are willing to get out of the way and let the facts speak for themselves.
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Ronnie Scheier
Managing Editor, Between Rounds: A Webzine For Physicans for Managed Care, Philadelphia
Co-managing Editor 1984-1985; Reporter 1980-1984

John was a man of immense dignity. His exacting standards could be seen in the precision of his bearing, from the meticulously trimmed goatee to the trademark bow tie. John cared deeply for those whose careers he had nurtured. He never ceased advising, guiding. John embraced his own physical and intellectual strength but applied it always to a purpose greater than himself, and he sought to ensure that we bore the same self-confidence and exercised comparable vision.

If the enduring influence of John's example has allowed me less latitude in my own conduct and career choices, I treasure him the more for this. He brooked no shortcuts in work or thinking.

I have been an editor for some time now, and John sits upon my shoulder always as I insist that writers leave no relevant angle untouched; that absolute accuracy be their mantra and clarity of logic and expression their foundations; and that inspiring every effort they make be a drive to right a wrong, improve someone's plight or create a more just community.
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Lawrence J. Tell
Vice President, The Investigative Group International, New York City
Reporter 1978-1980

"Bull's-eye"

That's what I always remember about John. Everything you did at the Reporter had to be a bull's-eye. No room for equivocation or error. Either you were on target, or he didn't print it.

Maybe that's why John never seemed to mind when we threw a few rounds at the Reporter's dart board, no matter how raucous the game. We were practicing our aim and accuracy.

In 1978, John put me in charge of his annual survey of corporate Chicago's performance on race issues, and I ended up with my first journalism award. Every

time I look at the metal "Stick-O-Type" award that sits on my desk today, I remember how much I owe to John's teachings.

John taught his young reporters to be 100 percent accurate. I'll never forget how proud he was when a City Hall insider confided that a Reporter story on the 1979 school and city fiscal crisis was right on target.

After moving to New York and more mainstream journalism jobs, I saw John only twice again: once at the Reporter's glorious 20th birthday celebration; and in New York, on St. Patrick's Day, at the Algonquin Hotel Bar. As John and I soaked in the atmosphere of the famed writers' hangout, we talked of building a string of "Reporters" in other cities.

Of course, there has been only one Chicago Reporter, just as there has been only one John McDermott. But there are many Chicago reporters John sent forth throughout America, and I am proud to be one of them.
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Ben Joravsky
Staff Writer, Chicago Reader
Reporter 1982-1985

John gave me the biggest break of my career when he hired me in 1982. He was the fairest and most loyal boss I ever had. He let me cover almost any story I wanted—even set up a political beat to satisfy my request. He stood by me when I made mistakes. He broke out his Irish whiskey to toast my health when I got married, bought a house, and had my first child. He made the Reporter feel less like a job and more like home.

The little universe John created was far more entertaining than any article he ever ran. He attracted a wide range of colorful characters. The best of the bunch was Helena Appleton, John's secretary, one of the most generous people I've ever met. I have a sweet memory of sitting on the grass in Grant Park with Helena and her husband, Junior, laughing at Junior's antics, eating Helena's fried chicken, and hearing Ella sing. May they all rest in peace.

John was a pretty conservative guy, but he was open-minded enough to hire a bunch of headstrong, outspoken, liberal young writers. Many of my closest friends are people I met because John hired them to work at the Reporter. I'll always be indebted to him.
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Ed Bergstraesser
Public Relations Director, Chicago Office, MCI Telecommunications
Circulation Manager 1983-1985

Cast aside total quality management or any other organizational theories. John's style of "benevolent paternalism" is a model for any non-profit angling for recognition and funding. But this is too stiff.

John relished the role of peter. He served us lunch on Fridays and bailed me out of an Obstructing justice" charge by bringing on the ACLU. He brought us out onto the lake in his sloop—where he controlled the rudder and tap. For many of us, he was our first and best boss. For all of us, he was a true friend.
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Sandy Bergo
Producer, WBBM-TV Channel 2
Reporter 1973-1975

Only someone as presumptuous and supremely confident as John could have created the Reporter. Who else could start up a publication that ran story after story challenging the affirmative action plans of the city's major institutions?

In retrospect, it seems impossible.

John was equally presumptuous giving advice. Especially unsolicited, personal advice. Have children, he said. "It enriches your life." No one pushes family these days, certainly not to young, career-oriented women. But for John it was a crusade. I disregarded the advice at the time, but later remembered his words, and understood how right he was.

John was a lot of fun to work for. He delighted in our journalistic coupe, big and small. He didn't need management seminars to learn how to lead or motivate the troops. His enthusiasm infected us.

It's hard to believe he's really gone.
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Kathleen "Kay" Humphries Grannum
Associate Creative Director, E. Norris Communications, Inc.
Reporter 1975-1976; Circulation Manager 1980-1983

"Kathleen is a perfectly lovely, Irish-Catholic name," John would say. "If Theresa and I had a daughter, that's probably what we would have named her!" But my suspicion is that it was strictly his compulsive need to play into and comment on my personal life. Whatever it was that made John take a paternal interest in me—in all of us—is something for which I will forever be grateful.

In 1973 I was fresh out of college when John hired me as a temporary typist for the Reporter. After a couple of months, John and Lillian Claxon offered me the chance to become a reporter. It was a bonafide chance to write—to see if I had the stuff—and get paid (such as it was)!

John seemed to know everyone and everything. His grand sweeping gestures used to mesmerize me as I'd listen to him effortlessly recall names, organizations, events and dates. I loved and was infuriated by him. John critiqued the men I dated, told me what I should or shouldn't be interested in, even had the gall to say when I wasn't ready to accept a more lucrative job offer.

I felt he was out of control and told him so. He thought I was rebelling and told me so. He was so politically incorrect I could have screamed. But he was my friend and I respected him. When John and Theresa attended my wedding in October 1995, John was excited that I was finally doing it (as was my own father) and that he actually approved of my choice of a husband! He hugged me warmly and said with that huge, Irish smile, "Kathleen, what a perfectly lovely, joyous affair. We're so glad you had us." Well, to you, John... the pleasure was all mine. I miss you!
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Kevin B. Blackistone
Sports Columnist, Dallas Morning News
Reporter 1983-1986

The note. I remember it all too well. It awaited me on my desk those mornings I wandered into the office closer to the lunch hour than breakfast.

"We start work here at 9," it declared. Signed, "John."

Then he would exit his office, turn left toward my cubicle and greet me.

"Kevin, my son," as he was fond of beginning, that bow tie peeking from beneath the red bristle of a beard on his chin. "How can you root for those Redskins? Is that what they call them?"

I was forgiven. As was everyone in John's world. Poor or rich. Black or white. Powerful or powerless. Oppressed or oppressive. Timely or tardy.

John had a passion for people. He employed whites, blacks, Hispanics, Protestants, Jews, straights, gays, artists and sports fans.

Almost all were young idealists who were certain that bow ties and pipes were relics of the past.

John forgave us all. As my former colleague, Ben Joravsky, told me recently, "John had a tremendous belief in redemption."

If only more of us did.
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Laura S. Washington
Editor and Publisher 1994-present
Editor 1990-1994; Reporter and Co-managing Editor 1980-1985

It was the worst thing that could happen to a cub reporter. I had just finished a difficult profile of a controversial local developer. Most of his associates were reluctant to talk about him, pro or con. Still, the weeks of digging paid off, and I produced a piece that I was very proud of.

Then, the phone rang.

The angry caller claimed I misquoted his mildly critical comment about the developer. He was yelling, demanding a retraction. Even worse, he was connected with a major funder of the Reporter. He spouted all the usual cliches: "yellow journalism," "sloppy reporting," "out of context," etc.

I finally got off the phone after telling him I would double check my interview notes. I was in tears—my young career was over. The Reporter was headed for financial ruin.

I dug out my notes and found the quote it was right there, in black and white, and in context.

I slowly walked down the hall to alert John to the phone call, dreading his reaction. But he already knew. The gentleman had shouted at him, too. John asked only one question: "Are you sure about the quote?" Yes, I checked my notes.

He nodded, told me not to worry, and said those words of support he would repeat, again and again, at every turning point in my professional life: "Laura dear, I have great confidence in you." Thanks to John, that confidence was never misplaced.
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Stephan Garnett
Freelance writer
Reporter 1975-1976

In the summer of 1975, while researching a story on inequities in Chicago Park District spending, I was attacked by a mob of young white men in Marquette Park and beaten severely.

John was deeply disturbed by the beating, for I had gone to Marquette Park at his suggestion. I resented him for a long time after that horrible experience, although I could never isolate what about his attitude had bothered me. Then it came to me: John was supportive but never sympathetic.

He knew something I have since learned. To be a reporter, to dedicate yourself to a story and see it through to its end, requires more than skill or intellect or even perseverance. It takes courage. Reporters have to take risks. It's all part of the job. John taught me that.

The last time I spoke to John I told him I was still writing and hunting down stories. That's what I always liked about you," he said. "You never let those guys beat the spirit out of you."
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Tom Brune
Zone News Editor, Seattle Times
Managing Editor 1981-1983; Reporter 1978-1980; Circulation Manager 1975-1977

One of my treasured possessions is a neatly typed note from managing editor Sharon McGowan to John A. McDermott about his comments on the third draft of a story I had written for the Reporter.

The note, attached to the fourth draft, I warns John that we did not incorporate many of his suggestions, though we responded to each of his questions. It closes I with a request to meet early Monday, adding an exasperated but restrained "so we can proceed."

In a memo dashed off in black felt-tip pen, John responded: "Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam!" For the greater glory of God!

I can almost see his round face with the bare pate above and bearded jaw below—grin with amusement as he wrote it. For John, that inscription was, after all, the point of the whole exercise.

I went to work for the Reporter right out of college in 1975, and stayed longer than most. That's because John had created a publication, and community, where I could thrive, allowing me to grow as a journalist and as a man.

My career is deeply rooted in all that I learned at the Reporter. Although John and I disagreed on some political issues, he never wavered on his friendship with me, or any of the dozens of others who have passed through the Reporter.

When I left Chicago in 1995, he helped organize a farewell, but could not make it because he was ill. I had no idea how ill. But I feel now as I did then: very grateful for his friendship and support, and very sad that he is not here to thank.

Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam!
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Rev. Brenda Eatman Aghahowa, D. Min.
Staff Associate Minister, Congregational Church of Park Manor
Reporter 1978-1980

I have spent most of my nearly 40 years of existence trying to get balance in one area of my life or the other.

I first felt off-kilter as one of the few African American students attending a predominantly white girls prep school in suburban Cleveland.

Through a weekly recharge from the fiery, spirit-filled services of my black Baptist church, I uncovered my own riches and regained my balance and dignity in a world that had labeled me "underprivileged" and "inferior."

As I grew older, I would rock and reel for brief or lengthy periods after significant life experiences, then regain my balance. So, what has any of this got to do with John McDermott? Plenty! The experience of reporting on institutional racism under John's editorship for a church-related publication has been part of nearly every major decision I have made in my spiritual pilgrimage for the last 15 years.

After the Reporter, I did some public relations work for black decision makers around town, then joined a Pentecostal congregation. The church's Bible teachings enriched me spiritually, but disconnected my faith from my everyday struggles as an African American.

The Holy Spirit nudged me to divinity school and a new denomination. I learned that faith that is balanced pays attention to our personal relationship to God, as well as to our social responsibility to our "neighbor," who is anyone in God's creation, and not just folk with whom we are comfortable.

Because of John's vision, I can now clearly discern the distortions and hypocrisy of Religious Righters, who speak of a Family agenda" but advocate cuts in crucial social programs that sustain those least able to fend for themselves.

Thank you, John, for helping to broaden, deepen and give balance to all that I now do in God's name as a clergy person. Surely, the crown that you wear in heaven has many jewels.
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