The support of a mentor is what gave me my strength and the belief I have in myself. Without someone taking the time to say, 'you can do this', I might never have tried. And that is why I owe everything I will ever have to Conrad Fink.
Every once and a while someone enters our life who supports us, encourages us, and wants too see us succeed because they believe we have what it takes. I met Conrad Fink during the fall of 2010 and the courage he showed me will last a lifetime.
You may be thinking, what could a Hispanic, college-aged girl from a rough neighborhood ever have in common with a white, 80-year-old former vice president of the Associated Press? Well nothing. I can honestly say that Conrad Fink and I probably had very little in common besides our love of writing and the thirst for democracy and social justice.
The first time I took a class with Conrad Fink, I was more than nervous. His classrooms are set up around a round-table, where everyone is expected to participate, and where everyone is vulnerable to his criticism, which hits like a nun with a ruler.
Rumor was that Conrad Fink was a grouchy old tyrant, who thought he knew everything about journalism and writing. There were some who even refused to take his classes because of the level of effort he expected from his students. Being the perfectionist that I am, I thought I was up for the challenge. And so my goal for the semester was to work hard and impress Conrad Fink.
Hours were spent, perfecting opinion pieces and coming up with ideas for future editorials.
"You've got good ideas, Villarreal." He said to me once after class. "I've been in this business for a long time, and I can tell you're different." He said. "You take the time to think about the world around you, something your other classmates don't do. Take that, and run with it." He told me and goddammit I did. That was one of the best moments of my life because a legend was telling me I had something special. I couldn't let him down.
When I went home that night, I was determined to write a new column that was going to blow him and the rest of the class away. I wrote about something controversial, but extremely timely. There was a young girl who'd been gang raped and the boys who allegedly committed the act had documented it with their cellphones and were putting up all over social media. This way my story. My chance to be heard. My chance to voice my concerns about sexual violence and social media. I showed the story to my editor and she wanted to run it the very next day. "Wait," I said. "Let me show it to Fink first."
Since the semester started, I'd made a habit of doing my homework on the floor outside Fink's office, waiting for him to be done teaching so I could badger him in to helping me with my writing. He never complained about me taking up all his office hours, in fact I think he was impressed that I wanted his opinion so often. He noticed everything. Even how I carried a notepad with me everywhere, something I'd been doing since fifth grade.
But when I showed Fink my story that day, after waiting for him for a few hours, he was furious.
"Did you watch the video?" he asked.
"No of course not," I replied. "It's child pornography. It's illegal."
"It doesn't matter," he shouted. "You don't write an article about a football game without having seen it. You don't do this Villarreal!"
"Fine," I shouted. "I'll take that part out, but it's going to run tomorrow."
Fink balled up the story and threw it. "No one should ever read this." he shouted. He accused me of not knowing the basic rules of reporting and he was right.
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| Conrad Fink (Associated Press) |
"Okay," I said, picking up the story. "I won't let it run." I said trying not to cry. I grabbed my things and left, feeling awful for missing something so big and for letting Fink down.
When I got home that evening, I sent him an email, apologizing and attached a news article that had gotten attention a while back, hoping to gain his trust back. The next day he gave me a signed copy of one of his books, saying that he knew I was going to have a great career. He believed in me and it was because I didn't crack when things got tough, because I was still willing to try again even though I had failed the first time.
Fink knew that I wouldn't quit and for a long time after his death, I felt guilty. I wanted him to see me publish my first book, to prove that all his effort was not wasted, but he died before that could happen. For those of us who don't believe in the afterlife, I have to push everything that Fink taught me to others. That's how his legacy will live.
Love,
Kris
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