Judith Crist: 1922-2012

Four days ago, in my "morning pages" (my non-blog writing), I riffed about how film critic Judith Crist, who I had the pleasure to study with many years ago in journalism school, told me to limber up my prose style, to shake myself like a runner prepping for a race.

Yesterday, Judith Crist died. She had taught at Columbia for 50 years. Generations of students are mourning her death. She was a brilliant critic and a devoted teacher.

When I was accepted into her class, Personal and Professional Style, I was shocked and delighted. If getting into J School was the cake, getting into her class was the icing. “Crist’s class,” we called it. And it was nerve wracking. Never before or since have I had such a reliable stomachache. Every week, like clockwork, right before and during her class.  And no wonder: She had no tolerance for inelegant, insincere, pedestrian writing — and she would let you know it. 

But oh, when she liked your stuff, well, there was nothing better. And even more importantly, she  zeroed in on what was wrong with our prose (see above for what was wrong with mine!) and helped us start to fix it.

In Crist’s class, writing mattered.  In RW 1 and my other classes, reporting ruled. Good leads, snappy kickers, clean copy — yes, they were taught and idealized. But they were always secondary to the facts and quotations I managed to assemble.

But in Crist’s class tone and voice were the focus. We were writing editorials, for God’s sake, opinion pieces. We didn’t have to attribute everything. We could loosen up a bit. Never let down our guard and never, ever, do sub-par work, of course, but we could let our imaginations wander into metaphor. We could pull up the rug and study what was swept underneath.

Decades later, I'm still writing, still pulling up the rug, still trying to limber up.  Thank you, Mrs. Crist. Rest in peace.