Miss(ing) Molly
Yeah, I'm late on the boat for this one. But, all the same, Molly Ivins was a Texas icon. Like it or not ... and that includes members of her own side of the great divide in Texas. At her worst (according to my own vantage point), the lack of detail given to nailing facts was certainly a shortcoming. As was the occassional wild(er) leap of fanatical liberalism. More directly, I recall being involved very tangentially with some support for the 2002 statewide ticket. It wasn't entirely clear that Tony Sanchez would have a smooth path to the nomination for Governor. Molly's objection to his nomination was that all we Texas Democrats had to do was wait for Hispanics to start registering to vote and we'd get someone more amenable to the most liberal of causes. It was as if the 1998 election never happened ... Hispanics couldn't be seen voting for a Republican in the eyes of the "Wait for Demographics" crowd. Ever. It's enough to wonder if Molly ever reviewed the 2004 returns in South Texas.
It's often said that the more extreme ideologues in our society (within a certain boundary, at least) are said to be following their conscience. Such things are never said about people who look at the range of opinion and conclude that the best path forward falls somewhere inbetween the 40 yard lines of civic thought, however. There's something intrinsically wrong with that. Nevertheless, many of the obits penned on Molly's behalf mention the word "conscience." So be it.
For my own taste, the true sign of conscience on the part of Molly Ivins was something she never got enough credit for: her ability to personify a cause or a struggle in the portrait of a single human being. Her 1992 book, "Molly Ivins Can't Say That, Can She?" offers a brilliant example on page 255. The chapter covers the story of Beulah Mae Donald. Beulah Mae Donald was the mother of Michael Donald, who in 1981 was hung from a tree and beaten, his throat cut three times just to make sure he was dead ... and then taken to a tree across from his murderer's home to be displayed - hung from a tree. All on the same night that klan members were seen burning a cross near the Mobile County Courthouse.
It took two years - and the involvement of the FBI - before a single arrest was made in the case. The end of the story is that Beulah Mae Donald won a $7 million dollar settlement and since the Klan's "cash-poor, white-sheet-heavy" portfolio didn't have such bankable assets, Ms. Donald walked away with the deed to the Klan headquarters in Tuscaloosa.
Ivins' treatment of the story centered on the richness of Beulah Mae Donald's life juxtaposed against the wretchedness of the events that intersected with it. It's impossible to read the tale and come away with the word "screed" or "polemic" etched in your mind. It was a tale told well in a way that leaves you with a better understanding of the people involved in this sad moment. It was Molly Ivins at her best.
Growing up in the south around the time of this particular story, it's a moment that you don't see treated very thoroughly in most media outlets. Certainly not with the touch that Molly Ivins gave it. That's the Molly Ivins I'll remember most ... and now miss the most.