David Carr’s gift

There are nights when I spend hours reading old emails from David. To inspire me, to remind me someone believed in me, to — what exactly? It always starts with one email, just one, but soon I’m reading another and another. His advice was everywhere.

David’s words were almost never capitalized. He wrote in short sentences, misspelled words — he didn’t have time to make his writing pretty. It just had to say what he meant. His words were harsh but beautiful.

In 2008, I sent David some of the first articles I wrote for the Brown Daily Herald. He responded, in part:

“work on those ledes to maximize engagement and pull reader in. whole time you are reporting and thinking about the story, should be thinking about how you can walk into it. yer ledes are a little flat, in other words.

[…] and you are going to have to cut the mr. carr shit if we are corresponding. it’s david or carr, but never mister.”

When David died a year ago, I didn’t know what to do. Gone was the person who had saved me the August before college, who made me realize I wanted to do something. Gone was the person who had made me want to be a reporter. Gone was the person who encouraged me most.

Without David, I would not have met my husband. I would not be working at the Times. I would be half the person I am today. David gave me purpose. I wanted to impress him, dazzle him, make him proud of my words.

After I graduated from college, I worked in finance. I had asked David what I should do when I got a job offer at a financial firm, and he replied, “Beyond my experience. Couldn’t say.” So I left journalism, but David wouldn’t let me forget it. He emailed me once every few months, asking for help with something. Could I find a number? Could I check something for him?

I used to say David was my angel — every time I had coffee with him or talked to him at his desk, something good happened that day. He was, in some way, looking out for me always. I want to think he still is, but he would probably tell me to stop thinking and look out for myself.