The Poetry of Our Presence

by John Ettorre

This being the season for New Year’s resolutions, I’ve resolved to be more like Dean Baquet.

Dean happens to be a father, but he’s far better known for his day job—he’s editor-in-chief of the Los Angeles Times. By all accounts, he’s quite good at what he does. Two of the marquee names in his industry, the Times of L.A. and its cross-country rival, the Times of New York, have waged spirited battles for his services.

That’s all interesting. But what I found really interesting, and what made him my selection for 2005’s Father of the Year, is something very different. He won those honors simply for taking a vacation.

But not just any vacation. Here’s how it happened.

Dean had the #2 job at the paper, until his friend and mentor resigned over philosophical differences with the ownership. And so Dean was tapped for the top spot, which was sure to be the hot seat. Could he live up to the pressure?

In a coincidence of timing worthy of Hollywood, shortly after he took over leadership of the paper, one of the biggest news stories of the decade fell into his lap. Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast, leveling New Orleans. Only this wasn’t just any story of the decade for Baquet. In a further cinematic twist, he happened to be a native of New Orleans. So here he was, handed the story of a lifetime, just days after he ascends to one of the top jobs in his industry—and in a unique position to capitalize on his hometown knowledge in deploying staff to chronicle the almost Biblical destruction.

And then he chose to go and throw it all away, by honoring earlier plans he had with his son.

As he later explained it, he had promised his son that they would spend some time together during a week of vacation just as the Hurricane hit. And not even a story this large, this juicy, could manage to convince him to go back on his word. The gasp from his brethren in the news industry was almost audible. Why would a man do such a thing?

Working moms face a thousand of these decisions each month. But much of the culture expects working dads (is there even such a term?) to grin and bear it, and choose work priorities first. But Dean Baquet wasn’t having any of that. What captured my attention most about this story was how matter-of-fact he was when asked about why he would make such a choice. He seemed to think it was the easiest of calls.

While his position in the spotlight guaranteed that his decision would be noticed, the truth is that what he did may not really be all that rare these days. Think of all the stories you’ve heard from friends and family and neighbors about quietly heroic parents who sacrifice money, status or fame to take care of business with their children. And still, it’s become a conventional staple of media coverage to automatically doubt the high corporate or government official who says he’s leaving office in order to spend more time with his family. It’s inevitably interpreted as a cover story for some messier reason.

Sometimes there isn’t another reason. My wife constantly harkens back to a simple policy her dad maintained that continues to resonate in her heart to this day. He was a hyperbusy guy, responsible for a large staff and for raising several million dollars each year. And yet, he had standing orders with his secretary in the event of a call from any of his nine kids: notify me immediately, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. He always took those calls, and it made a lasting impression on his children, and through them, on his grandchildren.

Dean Baquet has done some remarkable things in his career, and I’m sure he’ll do many more. But by passing up the story of his life to tend to his pre-existing parental obligations, he helped infuse the story of his son’s life with something unforgettable, with a lasting poetry of his presence.

There will be other hurricanes, other juicy stories, and many more chances to leave his mark on his profession. But the truth is that we only get so many chances to imprint indelible memories on our kids. When they’re young, we think we have forever. A moment later, they’re teens, and seconds after that, they’re off on their own lives.

My father of the year, Dean Baquet, set an example that’s impossible to forget.

John Ettorre is a Cleveland-based writer and editor who has also worked in Washington, D.C. and Chicago. Over a 20-year career, his writing has appeared in more than 70 publications, including the New York Times. His online weblog, Working With Words, can be found at www.workingwithwords.blogspot.com. To reach John, send e-mail to: jettorre@voyager.net or leave a message at (440) 708-2994.