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Jesup, Georgia 31545

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

75

Conrad Fink will be irreplaceable as a journalism professor, friend

A great boxer leads with his best punch. Conrad Fink led with his eyebrows. You get one chance to make a first impression, and Conrad never wasted that opportunity. DINK Beneath his NeSMITH hedgerows of Chairman eyebrows, he had a devilish smirk, knowing you were thinking, Whoa, whens the last time he trimmed those babies? We were friends for 30 years, but I never had the nerve to ask him that question. I wish I had, just to hear his baritone heh, heh, heh: Not since you paid a nickel for a Coke, sonny boy. Last week, Conrad called. He didnt say good-bye, but I knew he was reaching out, one last time, from his hospital bed. Cancerthe Black Wolf, as he called itwas circling the ring, trying to land a knockout. At 79, the ramrod-straight Marine and wartime correspondent was still slugging but getting weaker with each breath. And then Saturday morning, the dreaded call came. What Herschel Walker did for the Georgia Bulldogs, Professor Conrad Fink did for UGAs Henry W. Grady College of Journalism and Mass Communications. There may be another sensation in the fabled silver britches, but Conrad is irreplaceable. Just ask his former students. Ask our son Eric, who idolized his mentor. The young newspaper publisher treasures Conrads note that was scrawled on his first assignment: Son of the South, you should take this paragraph behind the barn and shoot it. Conrads passion, permanent open-door policy and candor made his classes the preferred plums of aspiring journalists, especially those who had twinges of ink in their veins. Beneath those bushy eyebrows were baby-blue lasers that drilled deep. Some students would swear his stare could raise goose bumps on a corpse. Conrad made sweat drip into their socks or, more likely, into their flip-flops. After the first 50 minutes, the faint and undecided bolted. But the brave, who didnt flinch, had a chance to grow into first-rate editors and publishers. There are so many Conrad stories. I like this one. Occasionally, hed ride the circuit with me. Over the years, weve hired dozens of his Finkerized disciples. Those field trips reconnected him with members of his fan club. On one particular day, I was driving in the mountains. My hands were

My Opinion
MMM

In 2009, Conrad Fink visited one of his former students, Eric NeSmith, publisher of The Highlander, in Highlands, N.C. As a Marine, the professor was particularly proud to see Old Glory waving outside the newspaper office.

talking as much as my mouth. Conrad bunched his eyebrows into a wad and scolded, Look, pal, as a reporter, Ive covered lots of wars and survived. I dont plan to die this way, so put one or preferably both of your hands back on the steering wheel. Newspapers were our obvious bond, but we had two others: farming and barbecue. Some of our best debates were staged over mounds of hickory-smoked pork barbecue. And if I really wanted to get him revved, Id say, Just for you, buddy, were going to my favorite ribs joint. Ive got pictures of him grinning, with sauce from ear to ear. That made him happy, but not as happy as his beloved upstate New York apple farm. During the sum-

Eric NeSmith, center, remembers Professor Finks remarks scrawled on his college writing assignment. It read: Son of the South, you need to take this paragraph behind the barn and shoot it. Fink and his abundant eyebrows were legends as a wartime correspondent, vice-president of Associated Press, corporate executive and then newspaper management professor at The University of Georgia. Among his first students was Eric Denty, publisher of The Press-Sentinel.
mers, wed zing e-mails back and forth, jousting about whose tractor was better. He favored his almostantique Allis Chalmers over anything that pulled my Bush Hog. Id moan about my corn crop twisting from thirst, and hed counter that his hay was rotting in the rain. There was a time, if you stepped in horse manure in the Big Apple, pooh DNA could be linked to Professor Finks farm. He sold hay to the stable of New York Citys mounted police. And on go the storiesso many Conrad Fink stories. Im just glad I got to know the person behind those legendary eyebrows. What a man. What a friend. What an irreplaceable loss.
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com