Fall Back, Move Forward
Dan Rather, Texas football and an F4 tornado
We met in Columbia, Missouri. I was a senior, intent on a career as a well-known writer. He was in graduate school, trying to find a niche in political reporting.
That the University of Missouri — the “Harvard” of American Journalism Schools to this day — brought us together is no coincidence. I would say that in 1976, we two scribes in the post-Watergate era possessed both the grit and determination to make a difference.
Moker and I met through a mutual friend — he was John’s roomie; I was John’s TA in the J-School. Sparks didn’t fly that first time. I discovered that this kid from small-town Wisconsin sold his plasma for beer money. He learned that I was from the big city, but somehow couldn’t reconcile the fact that Dallas, Texas fell into that category. Oh, and I didn’t know the difference between Minnesota and his home turf. Upper Midwest? Where’s that?
We hung out a bit, and adapted a comfortable back-and-forth. We shared friends; but disliked quite a few of the other’s faves. He loved John Wayne, Johnny Cash and Elvis (ugh to all three from me!). I loved Broadway musicals and had just come off of a heady summer internship in the Big Apple (he hated NYC before he had ever visited, and disliked it even more after he’d been a few times). He could…
