My words should not appear in this space. This real estate belongs to my friend and mentor, Brenda Blagg.
Her column occupied this prominent spot of the Wednesday editorial page of this and its predecessor newspapers, The Springdale News and The Morning News, for more than 40 years. Alas, Brenda died last week after a remarkable 75 years on this Earth. Today, I'll try to do her proud and explain to you, dear readers, just what a wonderful person and superb journalist she was.
She'd be mortified by all the attention, by the way. Brenda Blagg, the journalist, was an observer and chronicler of facts, context, background and analysis. She did not desire to be a newsmaker. She preferred to leave that to the people she covered.
Yet, her family, friends and colleagues -- and they are legion -- couldn't resist telling her story immediately after the word of her passing last week. Expressions of grief, tributes to her life's work and remembrances of her generosity, both professional and personal, flowed to our email inboxes and on social media.
There was a news story in this paper and others. Commentators weighed in on her achievements and generous spirit. It seems everyone had a funny, sweet or enlightening Brenda Blagg story. Such was the impact of a life well-lived.
I met Brenda after she'd already made a name for herself in Arkansas journalism. It was 1984 when I went to work at The Springdale News. I had known of her since 1979, when I was a freshman journalism major at the University of Arkansas. I heard my professors and older classmates talk about the great community newspaper up the road, and their star reporter. Brenda's career was a point of pride among the UA journalism faculty -- she was a UA alum and former editor of the school paper -- and they loved to hold her up as an example of what can be achieved in community journalism. She'd ferreted out corruption in a local sheriff's office; found an office holder who'd moved out of the district he was supposed to represent; held public officials' feet to the fire on open records and public meetings. Everyone, it seemed, knew who Brenda was. I thought, she must be one tough, bulldog of a reporter.
When I got to The News, I was surprised to meet a completely different person. She was humble, quiet and generous with her time. She worked hard, often spending the night in her corner of the newsroom (more than once a new staff member was surprised to see her feet sticking out from under the desk early in the morning). She nurtured all the young reporters who came through the Springdale newsroom, even us sportswriters, with advice, direction and encouragement. Her kindness to her colleagues had no bounds.
She developed sources by persuasion and persistence. She knew where to look for information and how to get the documents that would tell the story she was pursuing. Though she rarely raised her voice, she could strike fear in the heart of a recalcitrant government official when she handed over a highlighted copy of the Arkansas Freedom of Information Act and pulled out a notebook and a pen.
She loved elections. In those days, The News produced voluminous guides for primary and general elections and Brenda served as their de-facto editor. She wrangled candidate questionnaires, mug shots, stories and sample ballots for months before they all came together in a chaotic frenzy just before it was to go on the press. It wasn't magic -- it was hours of hard work by a lot of people -- but it looked like it when it hit the streets.
A few years later, through a series of job changes and mergers, I ended up being Brenda's boss. But I was also still her student. Much of what I know about digging through public documents to find the real story came from Brenda. Her passion for open government and the FOIA was contagious. I caught it. I've found myself on occasion sitting before an Arkansas Legislative committee trying to head off another attempt to weaken the state's sunshine law and thinking to myself, "What would Brenda do?" If I could figure that out, I knew I'd have the right words to say.
For many years I was her column's first edit. She'd transitioned from reporter to full-time opinion writing and I was responsible for the editorial page. Her columns were inevitably concise, clear and cogent. She wasted no words and she had a firm grasp of all sides of the issue she was addressing. Her columns were more analysis than opinion. But even when she offered her opinion, it was in a civil, professional manner. She didn't want any extra noise between her readers and what she wanted to say. As our public discourse has become more caustic over the years, the difference between Brenda's work and others' became more striking. It also made it clear just how special her talent was.
If you've read this far (Brenda was usually done after 800 words; forgive me for plowing on for a few more graphs) you may think Brenda was all business. But the gal knew how to have fun. She was one of the instigators ("founders" is too formal for this group) of the Northwest Arkansas Gridiron Show, an irreverent, satirical look at public affairs.
The show first came about in 1978. In it, local journalists write and perform skits and parody songs about the people and events they cover. One of the show's mainstays were a couple of characters the Gridiron writers dreamed up called Letitia Mae and Elmer Stufflebeam. They hail from somewhere in the Ozark backwoods. They were a hoot and huge hit, and Brenda captured the role of Letitia Mae ("Aunt Titty" to her friends) perfectly. She was a slow-talking homebody who had a knack for telling the truth even if she garbled a few of the facts or names along the way. Letitia and Brenda were nothing alike. But it's hard to think about Brenda without hearing her voice speaking to her ever-silent partner, "Ain't that right, Elmer?" and then answering for him, "That's right!"
Her greatest strength, both as a person and as a journalist, was her ability to build relationships. The words it would take to enumerate all the kindnesses she showed to her friends, colleagues and even sources would fill several editions of this newspaper. This week, I've read or heard story after story about Brenda's generosity. Many were new to me, and I've known her 40 years. All of those stories, I'm certain, are true.
Her friendship with me is something I will cherish. I was once one of those young cub reporters who needed a bit of advice or a shoulder to cry on when things weren't going well. I got that from Brenda well into my career, as did dozens, maybe hundreds of others.
We all remember. We're all grateful. We're all richer for having known her.
I hope her readers will cherish her work as well. She did her job well and in the right way. The communities she served are better for having had Brenda Blagg watching out for them. A journalist couldn't ask for a better legacy.
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