I never really imagined—or truth be told, hoped—that I’d get the chance to converse with The Maury Show‘s Maury Povich.
And while I fortunately didn’t make my celebrity debut divulging contentious personal problems and mystery pregnancies on national daytime television, I did, last Tuesday night, get to enjoy a civilized, drama-free and celebration-filled dinner with Maury.
A fellow University of Pennsylvania Quaker (fitting for someone whose career is premised on forging peace between warring parties), Maury graduated back in ’62. But after nearly half a century, he hasn’t forgotten about his alma mater; in fact, he, along with his wife/seasoned journalist, Connie Chung, just gave us a million bucks.
For the guy who I’d only previously known from my days spent home sick in the third grade when I would lie to my mom that I was watching the more age-appropriate The Price Is Right, this gift—and the guy behind it—was a very nice surprise.
As foreboding discussions of “the future of journalism” (and transitively, my occupational future) begin feeling more prevalent in the news than the news itself, this $1 million endowment to support Penn’s journalism programs through the Kelly Writers House offered a reassuring respite. Not only does it guarantee that our catering will remain excellent, but, perhaps even more importantly, it represents faith that there will be a place and maybe even a job or two for young journalists ten years down the line. Or it at least does a good and much-appreciated job of fooling me into thinking so.
Either way, Penn’s quaint Writers House has served as more of a classroom than any lecture hall for me over the past three years. It’s home to a small and intimate community but breeds big and far-reaching things. The proof of this is comes through in the opportunities I’ve fallen into, among them one-on-one apprenticeships with two professional writers; four seminars with working journalists who bring to class their seriously cool journalist friends; a grant to travel the country this summer reporting a story about prisons; not to mention constant events and speaker series featuring great food and some incredible writers, a fair deal of whom are Penn grads themselves. The network’s everywhere, as I learned when I first connected with my editor at Glamour when doing some freelance work last year. Turns out she found her husband (also once a journalist) at the Writers House during her Quaker days. In addition to being an adorable tale, I’ll admit that the prospect of meeting my husband has since served as yet another alluring incentive to frequent the place.
Back at the Writers House on Tuesday evening, as we celebrated Maury’s gift and listened to his and Connie’s words about the importance and future of journalism, the man I formally knew chiefly as the messenger of the line “You ARE the father” earned a new spot in my heart.
So once again, while I never so much as thought I’d be among those to say this, it is certainly in order: thanks a million, Maury.
