I am deeply sad tonight. That’s all. I was stirring a pot of beef barley soup late this afternoon, watching the little TV on the kitchen counter from the corner of my eye when the announcement came on NBC network news. Molly Ivins died today at her home in Austin, Texas. Her 7-year battle with inflammatory breast cancer is finally over.

People here in my home state of Utah know Molly from her syndicated political column in The Salt Lake Tribune. She always had a healthy fan base — even in Utah — where I’m quite sure thousands of people would give up a firstborn child in exchange for a Republican political majority for life.

For months now, as Molly fought her cancer again, her liberal voice has been missing from the Trib. The paper published her last column in mid-January. Molly urged people to stand up against George W. Bush’s chicanery in his war and his “surge” of troops for Iraq.

At least she died at home, in Austin, the politically progressive hotbed of Texas, the state capital and the best place to live in that huge state. It is the place where — long before Bush gave her material for “Shrub” and other treats — Molly learned the real meaning of “deep in the heart of Texas.” Truly, Texas state government makes all other political and civic centers look like a pallid dress rehearsal. And it was there, in Austin, that Molly unearthed her most real and insane characters, soaked up the best quotes and used metaphors like this one for Bill Clinton: “he’s weaker than bus-station chili.”

I loved Molly Ivins for all the reasons readers of newspapers, magazines and political satire did — her mind was quick and sharp, her analysis honest and solid. She brooked no crap from Texas’ good ol’ boys and Molly’s voice? Oh, her voice. It was a scalding knife straight down through butter. It wasn’t until I had the privilege of writing my own regular column for the Salt Lake Tribune from 2002 until just last month that I totally understood her talent.

Because Molly — belting out her opinions for two decades — showed me that women must be bold in print if they expect any respect. If you are lucky to have the power and ink to put your voice in print, the guidance you might extract from Molly Ivins was always simple: Shoot the moon. Speak your truth. Risk. Do not wilt. Be the boss.

I loved her for that. And every time I got hate mail from a reader accusing me of being “Utah’s Molly Ivins,” I chuckled and walked a little taller that day. Because what, for a progressive female columnist, could be a finer compliment?

I had the privilege of meeting her once, in 1994. We both were working for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Molly had her own comfortable office in the paper’s Austin bureau (why not? She was a nationally syndicated columnist, and having worked for the Minneapolis Tribune, the New York Times, the Texas Observer and the Dallas Times-Herald, Molly Ivins was unquestionably the Star-Telegram’s franchise).

I had stopped in the Austin bureau while covering a 1994 U.S. Senate race between Republican incumbent Kay Bailey Hutchinson and Democratic challenger Richard Fisher. I walked by her office door, saw her working at her computer and stuck my head inside. Told her my name. Told her she was my idol. She smiled, tossed her head back with a little chuckle and said, simply, “well, thank you.”

This is what the greatest professionals do. They accept compliments. They acknowledge others’ gratitude without a lick of arrogance. Molly Ivins — hawk-eyed political critic, righteous feminist and really fun woman — knew her power and felt good in her skin.

So as I work through the news of her death and the too-early demise of one of my biggest heroes, I am entertaining one fabulous image:

Molly Ivins, walking into a party on some puffy cloud in heaven hosted by former Texas Governor Ann Richards. The two of them were pals for years. Both died of cancer — Richards, late last year. If there is a heaven, and a god, there’s got to be a big ol’ Texas party going on right now. Complete with big steel tubs of ice-cold Shiner Bock (yes, I know Richards was a recovering alcoholic, but aren’t all imperfections forgiven in the next world?) barbecued goat, a Texas swing band in the corner and spent peanut shells littering the floor.

For quotes, memories, and other thoughts on Molly Ivins, go here, here, here, here, and here.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 31st, 2007 at 10:00 pm and is filed under All, Politics, Media, Culture. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

I am deeply sad tonight. That’s all. I was stirring a pot of beef barley soup late this afternoon, watching the little TV on the kitchen counter from the corner of my eye when the announcement came on NBC network news. Molly Ivins died today at her home in Austin, Texas. Her 7-year battle with inflammatory breast cancer is finally over.

People here in my home state of Utah know Molly from her syndicated political column in The Salt Lake Tribune. She always had a healthy fan base — even in Utah — where I’m quite sure thousands of people would give up a firstborn child in exchange for a Republican political majority for life.

For months now, as Molly fought her cancer again, her liberal voice has been missing from the Trib. The paper published her last column in mid-January. Molly urged people to stand up against George W. Bush’s chicanery in his war and his “surge” of troops for Iraq.

At least she died at home, in Austin, the politically progressive hotbed of Texas, the state capital and the best place to live in that huge state. It is the place where — long before Bush gave her material for “Shrub” and other treats — Molly learned the real meaning of “deep in the heart of Texas.” Truly, Texas state government makes all other political and civic centers look like a pallid dress rehearsal. And it was there, in Austin, that Molly unearthed her most real and insane characters, soaked up the best quotes and used metaphors like this one for Bill Clinton: “he’s weaker than bus-station chili.”

I loved Molly Ivins for all the reasons readers of newspapers, magazines and political satire did — her mind was quick and sharp, her analysis honest and solid. She brooked no crap from Texas’ good ol’ boys and Molly’s voice? Oh, her voice. It was a scalding knife straight down through butter. It wasn’t until I had the privilege of writing my own regular column for the Salt Lake Tribune from 2002 until just last month that I totally understood her talent.

Because Molly — belting out her opinions for two decades — showed me that women must be bold in print if they expect any respect. If you are lucky to have the power and ink to put your voice in print, the guidance you might extract from Molly Ivins was always simple: Shoot the moon. Speak your truth. Risk. Do not wilt. Be the boss.

I loved her for that. And every time I got hate mail from a reader accusing me of being “Utah’s Molly Ivins,” I chuckled and walked a little taller that day. Because what, for a progressive female columnist, could be a finer compliment?

I had the privilege of meeting her once, in 1994. We both were working for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Molly had her own comfortable office in the paper’s Austin bureau (why not? She was a nationally syndicated columnist, and having worked for the Minneapolis Tribune, the New York Times, the Texas Observer and the Dallas Times-Herald, Molly Ivins was unquestionably the Star-Telegram’s franchise).

I had stopped in the Austin bureau while covering a 1994 U.S. Senate race between Republican incumbent Kay Bailey Hutchinson and Democratic challenger Richard Fisher. I walked by her office door, saw her working at her computer and stuck my head inside. Told her my name. Told her she was my idol. She smiled, tossed her head back with a little chuckle and said, simply, “well, thank you.”

This is what the greatest professionals do. They accept compliments. They acknowledge others’ gratitude without a lick of arrogance. Molly Ivins — hawk-eyed political critic, righteous feminist and really fun woman — knew her power and felt good in her skin.

So as I work through the news of her death and the too-early demise of one of my biggest heroes, I am entertaining one fabulous image:

Molly Ivins, walking into a party on some puffy cloud in heaven hosted by former Texas Governor Ann Richards. The two of them were pals for years. Both died of cancer — Richards, late last year. If there is a heaven, and a god, there’s got to be a big ol’ Texas party going on right now. Complete with big steel tubs of ice-cold Shiner Bock (yes, I know Richards was a recovering alcoholic, but aren’t all imperfections forgiven in the next world?) barbecued goat, a Texas swing band in the corner and spent peanut shells littering the floor.

For quotes, memories, and other thoughts on Molly Ivins, go here, here, here, here, and here.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 31st, 2007 at 10:00 pm and is filed under All, Politics, Media, Culture. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.