My friend Ron won a Murrow Award last month. For those of you who don’t know about such things, the Edward R. Murrow Award is one of the most prestigious honors one can earn. It’s up there with a Peabody, and above an Emmy. What’s unusual about his achievement is that he didn’t win the one he thought he should.
Ron has been kicked around some in the last couple of years. He’s an old-school journalist in an era where those values are no longer just a luxury – at times they get in the way of “progress.” He took a stand on an issue of newsroom ethics and was promptly jettisoned. How dare he put sound principles over a financial arrangement!
Ron landed another television news job, and had it just long enough to relocate the family to Mississippi but not long enough to properly ascertain the incoming office politics that made him expendable. Fortunately, with all the packing and unpacking, Ron never lost either of his two greatest assets: his ability to write and tell engaging stories, and his brutal self-honesty. He needed both to win his Murrow.
Ghosts of Mississippi
Ron grew up in a time when the South was still reeling from the memories of Bull Connor and the civil rights struggle. He grew up in a place that taught the notions that merely living in the South inferred an inferiority of class, education, and morality. In the years I got to know him through countless email exchanges, phone calls, and tape swaps, Ron never let my zip code get in the way of our friendship… but then again, I was an atypical Southerner, a transplant.
The Mississippi Ron discovered was very different than the Mississippi he imagined. “Immersion therapy” has done wonders. However, this story isn’t about regional biases and how to overcome them — it’s about how Ron grew and looked past himself to earn his highest praise, and how he got it accidentally.
Going to Jackson
With the second job upheaval, Ron’s wife Karen picked up the slack. An old-school radio reporter in her own right, she landed with Mississippi Public Broadcasting, and fate eventually brought Ron onto the staff. His future winning entry was the sixth assignment he did, without yet having a full-time position. It was a story about children entering a contest, writing blues songs.
It’s a fantastic piece, and Ron wanted to enter it for Small Market Best Feature. His boss didn’t have much experience with the Murrow process, and entered all of the station’s entries in the Network level. Since Mississippi Public Broadcasting has five stations, they are a network, right? So instead of competing against the Tupelos, the Cupertinos, and the El Pasos – Ron’s little entry from the Delta was in with ABC, NBC, and NPR. And won. Two national Murrows, kicking with the big boys.
Selling Short
I joked with Ron that his award is the Accidental Murrow. His piece would have been a lock to win a regional award, and most likely would have won in the small-market radio category. He never wanted to run with the big dogs, but turned loose on their track he beat them all. He deserves it, because he’s that talented, that determined, that dedicated to the craft – and was open to change. Yet the only thing that stood between Ron and the validation of his excellence was himself.
Too often we stand in our own way, settling for less, settling for the sure. We sell ourselves short. Ron, thanks for reminding me to go long now and then. You can listen to his award-winning piece below, and by all means, share your tale of selling short in the comments.
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[tags]Ike Pigott, Occam’s RazR, Murrow, broadcasting, journalism[/tags]
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