The following blogpost was written by Sonya Cisneros, a former student of Phil Record, who was a consultant on ethics to the Center in addition to being a professional in residence at the Schieffer School of Journalism. Phil has many friends in newsrooms throughout Texas, so we thought you would enjoy reading Sonya’s piece on one of Texas journalism’s greats.
And just an additional professional note: Read Sonya’s piece as an example of a well-done personal recollection feature. Note her use of show, don’t-tell detail and dialogue and a small-moments narrative to make the story sparkle with life.
The question was simple: “Butterscotch or Chocolate?”
I managed a half-hearted smile. The last time I had eaten lunch at Carshon’s Delicatessen was with Phil Record, reporter, longtime editor at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, professor, and my friend. Phil died suddenly Oct. 31. He was 81.
He always always ordered dessert. “Don’t tell my wife,” he would say, as his fork plunged into meringue piled up-to-there. I will forever miss our lunch dates.
The first assignment Phil posed to my ethics class at TCU was to provide him with three “absolutes”––any truth relative to our lives. I know he gained particular pleasure from this exercise.
Some students offered, “I will never lie.” Others, “I will never steal.” Phil challenged many of us to rethink our answers or passionately defend our beliefs––to the point where some stormed out in frustration. The conversations in his classroom were not easy. He told us to expect that from the very beginning, when he introduced himself as the “M.O.B” (Mean Old Bastard, a nickname earned from an early student evaluation form for his class).
My absolute? “I will never stop learning.” That, he said, was a first time response for him. The lessons I learned from Phil––the importance of integrity, fairness and living as a model of Christian faith––transcend the classroom. They are the lessons I will share with my children one day. When I do, I will think of him.
Phil made time to help others.
Fr. Luke Robertson, T.O.R., a priest at St. Andrew Catholic Church, once said during Mass, “When you pray, move your feet.” There could not have been a better example of this than Phil.
It isn’t enough to wish the world better. Phil knew that. This year, Tarrant County Homeless Coalition reports 2,022 homeless people were identified in Fort Worth emergency shelters and transitional housing programs; 30 percent are children.
Who will help? Phil spent many hours mentoring the students at Cassata High School, which was founded to help young people who struggled to succeed in a traditional high school setting.
To say that Phil was an active member of St. Bartholomew Catholic Church is a gross understatement. Parishioners shared stories at his vigil of how he helped them find faith, comforted a young woman after her father’s death, or simply made a young boy feel welcomed and important.
I was stunned by these stories, not only deeply saddened that this great man, a journalism legend and personal hero was no longer with us, but at the profound impact he had on so many lives. One woman said, “Mr. Record was a saint, little ‘s.’” I am certain he was.
During our lunch dates, I usually begged him to re-tell the story about his involvement in the Warren Commission or about his early years covering the police beat. I also enjoyed hearing stories about his family whom he loved very much. I hung on every word.
The young women in his classroom once nicknamed him, “The Heartbreaker,” after he showed us photos of himself reporting from a crime scene. He bashfully protested and his face turned as red as the sweater he often wore. “There was only one––Pat,” he said. At that point, we all wanted to marry a man like Phil Record.
His life should be an inspiration to everyone to live better, to help one another.
I ordered chocolate pie that afternoon at Carshon’s. After that first, heavenly bite, I looked across the table at my friend, another former student of Phil’s. He and I both had tears in our eyes. God help us all be more like Phil.
