Fulfilling and meaningful work

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05.19.05

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David Clausen, left, president of the South Dakota Newspaper Association, presents the group's Distinguished Achievement Award to Jack Marsh, executive director of the Al Neuharth Media Center.

By Jack Marsh
Executive Director, Al Neuharth Media Center

The South Dakota Newspaper Association presented its 2005 Distinguished Achievement Award to Jack Marsh, executive director of the Al Neuharth Media Center at the University of South Dakota, during the association's annual convention May 14 at Crazy Horse Memorial in Custer, S.D. Here are Marsh's remarks in accepting the award.

Thank you David Clausen, and thank you SDNA for this award.

As we gathered in the shadow of colossal Crazy Horse Memorial, I'm reminded of a candid comment by Ruth Ziolkowski, who is one of the most eloquent people I know.

Ruth says it's easier for her to carve a mountain than to speak in public.

Well, I also have a confession.

I'm more comfortable asking questions than giving answers; more comfortable writing speeches for Al Neuharth than writing my own.

Although I received plenty of journalism awards during my newspapering years, it's much different to be honored for individual achievement. The last personal achievement award that I recall was given to me when I was a college freshman 37 years ago.

So, when I tell you that tonight is a special and rare occasion, believe me, it is.

"It's humbling and a boost to the old ego to join the company of such past award recipients as statesman George McGovern, astronaut Charles Gemar, Senators Gladys Pyle and Tom Daschle, entrepreneur Al Kurtenbach, the remarkable Ruth Ziolkowski and my boss, Al Neuharth."

David, just what were you thinking? How do I belong among those Distinguished Achievement Award recipients?

Actually, there was another time when I was surrounded by the rich and famous. Let me tell you a story.

Al Neuharth is a lifelong fan of the New York Yankees. A huge fan. I'm a Yankee fan, too. Just not on the Neuharth scale.

A few years ago, he invited me to Yankee Stadium to attend the final game of the American League Championship Series between New York and the Seattle Mariners.

Of course, when Al Neuharth goes to a ballgame he doesn't sit in the bleachers. However, even I was surprised to find that our seats were in the front row of George Steinbrenner's luxury box.

The lineup in the box seats was as impressive as Joe Torre's batting lineup.

Seated to my right for all 9 innings: Donald Trump. Seated to my left: Al Neuharth and Billy Crystal. In the rows behind us: Yogi Berra, Rudolph Giuliani, Don Hewitt and others. Steinbrenner was there, too, but he watched the game from his adjacent suite, which was stocked with a full bar and an elaborate buffet for his guests.

Frankly, I was feeling like hot stuff on that cool October night (Oct. 17, 2000; NY 9, Seattle 7); imagining, albeit briefly, that this was my usual crowd.

During breaks in the action — which are frequent in baseball — people in the stands below looked up and pointed to the celebrities.

You could almost read their lips.

"There's the Donald. There's Billy Crystal. Hey, there's the mayor. Look, there's Yogi."

Then they pointed at me, with a quizzical look on their faces: "Who the hell is the guy in the middle, the one with the mustache?"

That brought me down to Earth in a hurry, and I've been there ever since. This profession has provided me with entree to meet, question, hear and even sit with the rich, the famous and the powerful. But at the end of the day, I'm just a nosey old reporter. No fame. Certainly, no fortune.

So, let me assure you. Although I treasure this award and the important work that it represents, it won't go to my head.

Each year on or about April 15, I enjoy completing page 2 of IRS Form 1040. There's a blank directly below Line 70, where Uncle Sam asks: Your occupation?

For the past 34 years, I've listed "Journalist."

I continue to do that today, though I haven't worked in a newsroom for seven years. Despite the public's low regard for journalists — we're ranked on a par with politicians, lawyers, used car salesmen and other scoundrels — I am proud to be a journalist and to practice our craft on what Neuharth calls the sacred soil of South Dakota.

The vitality of this republic and the health and future of our society depends on how well and how courageously we do our jobs, fighting for the free flow of news and information and exposing the truth.

Journalism. The Fourth Estate. The fourth unofficial branch of government. Our cherished profession is a high calling. We carry an awesome responsibility in exchange for the individual liberties guaranteed by 45 extraordinary words of the First Amendment.

Journalism is the only career I ever considered, and I feel fortunate that it's my life's work. It's in my blood. It's an addiction of sorts, for which I have energy and passion. Journalism is important, fulfilling and meaningful work. Call me an oddball if you wish, because I look forward to Monday mornings and the start of another workweek.

A big factor is the quality organizations where I've worked and the opportunities they gave me: 27 years with the Gannett Company and the past seven years working for Al Neuharth at the Freedom Forum. I still marvel that I'm paid to do what I love.

Speaking of love, my family is here tonight. My college sweetheart and lifelong partner, Betty Marsh. Our daughter, Colleen Marsh. Our daughter, Beth Jensen, and our son-in-law, Matt Jensen. No one could ask for a more wonderful family. They are caring, talented, supportive of one another and thoroughly loveable.

And I do love each of you very much.

Like other nomadic journalists, I uprooted the family a few times and always appreciated their adventuresome spirit. Moves can be traumatic for a family, yet none of them ever squawked.

The Marshes are Easterners, born and bred in New York and New Jersey. We moved here 12 years ago, and today we are South Dakotans by choice.

South Dakota is a small, sometimes underappreciated and overlooked state. Except for the cold and windy weather, most folks from the big states don't have any expectations about South Dakota. We could become complacent and no one else in the country would probably notice or care. Settle back. Fish for walleye in the Spring. Relax in the Hills in the Summer. Shoot birds in the Fall. And fatten up on hot apple pie and cinnamon ice cream at Al's Oasis in the Winter.

The outstanding journalists in this room, representing many others back home, and effective organizations such as the South Dakota Newspaper Association don't settle for mediocrity. Our state's small size is not an acceptable excuse.

Government secrecy, and discrimination and injustices against Native Americans have been among our state's most shameful characteristics.

SDNA and its leadership said enough is enough. Today, the journalists and media executives in this state deserve the credit for the recent progress we've seen in government openness and in reconciliation between Native and non-Native people.

Those leaders include such people as Arnie Garson, Larry Atkinson, Tena Haraldson, Stewart Huntington, Tim Waltner, Dave Bordewyk, Dave Clausen and several others.

The initiatives of your First Amendment Committee, South Dakotans for Open Government and Attorney General Larry Long's non-partisan task force have resulted in groundbreaking work and reforms. You are watchdogs in the best sense of the word, helping to protect the public from the excesses of government and ensuring that the people have the information to hold their officials accountable.

The initiatives of your Minority Affairs Committee, and some outstanding journalism produced by your newspapers, have provided a national model for our profession and industry.

It began here at Crazy Horse in April 2000 with the first Native American Newspaper Career Conference. That program has mushroomed to become the largest gathering of Native journalism students in the country. It has introduced journalism as a career option to about 600 Native students. It has brought much-needed employment diversity to our newsrooms and has inspired several other spin-off programs here and elsewhere for Native journalists. Most important of all, today we have better journalism with more thorough, accurate and fair coverage of Native people and Native issues.

I am pleased to be associated with you in this room, your staffs and with the South Dakota Newspaper Association. It's been a privilege for me, for my assistant Janine Harris, and for my other colleagues at the Freedom Forum to work in partnership with you on our diversity and First Amendment priorities.

I wish my father were here tonight so he could share this honor with me and meet all of you. I'm 56 years old, but I still miss my Dad and I always will. He was my finest teacher and, along with my wife, Betty, one of my two greatest champions. I learned from his many successes — and his shortcomings.

John Marsh's passions in life were family, public service and justice. He and my mom raised four children. He held elected office in New York State for 38 years, first as a district attorney, then a trial judge and finally a presiding justice of the state's district appellate court.

He stood straight and tall, 6 foot 2, 155 pounds, distinguished looking with thick white hair, a mustache and always — always — dressed in a suit, tie and a starched white shirt. He had the look of a judge, as though he came directly from central casting.

My dad personified integrity. He demonstrated that public service is an honorable pursuit and he set a high standard by which I judge those who take the oath of public office.

While others just assumed that I would follow my father into the legal profession and get into politics, my father helped me to discover another path. I'm blessed that I caught the journalism bug.

Any success that I have achieved in my work life is a credit to him and other mentors who had the patience to show me the way and to keep me in line

My dad schooled me about the responsibilities and importance of a free press and encouraged me to pursue my dreams — whatever they were.

A dozen years after his death, he's still a role model for me. Every day, I strive to live up to his example.

He preached or practiced these fundamental principles: