So all of my journalism teachers are short, stout, gray-haired, vaguely Irish and very Bostonian old white guys who have been journalists since the good old days.
My favorite of these three men is the shortest, the squattest and tends to come to class in a power suit and a power tie, (power) suspenders and his glasses on a chain around his neck.
(After a student introduces herself as from San Diego)
“Let me tell you my impression of San Diego. You can’t find a place in the city that’s not nice and lovely and perfect… for homeless people.”
(After suggesting he spike his tea with whiskey for the next class)
“My wife doesn’t want me to drink anymore. She thinks people over 70 shouldn’t drink.”
(pause)
“I’m thinking of getting rid of her.”
….crickets
“Damn I hate young people.”
(After another teacher stops in and asks to borrow some AV equipment)
“I never say no to an Israeli because they’ll just take it anyway.”
He actually told us not to quote him on this one… whoops.
He tells us all sorts of stories from his days as a journalist, which were pretty illustrious. In one class he can take us from Vietnam, to Moscow, to the heyday of ABC news or NPR’s copy room, to South Lebanon and back. One story today involved a situation where he was approached by someone who wanted a story to run on ABC, until less than an hour later the head of the CIA came by to ask him not to run it.
Secretary: Mr. Zelnick, [insert name of CIA head honcho here] would like to see you, can I send him up?
Zelnick (with much self-importance but a twinkle in his eye): Hmm.. Yes, I happen to have a few minutes available.
LOVE. HIM.
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