TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/082790/0827220.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 5.9 KB | 122 lines

                ╧                                                              PRESS, Page 63

The Straight and Fair Arrow

Hedley Donovan: 1914-1990


By THOMAS GRIFFITH


    When Henry R. Luce chose Hedley Donovan to be
editor-in-chief of his magazines (TIME, LIFE, FORTUNE, SPORTS
ILLUSTRATED), he described Donovan as a "mysterious and unknown
character." Luce was only half joking. Yes, Donovan was largely
unknown to the staffs of the bigger, weekly TIME and LIFE,
although he had successfully edited FORTUNE, the smallest but
not the least of the magazines Luce founded. Yet in
characterizing Donovan as mysterious, Luce was on to something.

    The mystery lay in Donovan's formidable presence, over 6 ft.
of reserve and taciturnity. What Donovan's children called his
Grim Look was often seen by his staff as a look of gathering
impatience at someone's logic that he found faulty, or at
writing that he considered careless, superficial, prejudiced
or dull. "I have a few bothers with this," Donovan would begin
in a low key, a sure sign of trouble ahead. He was not one for
bantering when serious work was to be done; only when it was
over did his colleagues glimpse his playful side, his hearty
capacity for pleasure, and enjoy his self-deprecating wit (he
would later subtitle his memoirs Forty Years in Journalism, Not
Counting My Paper Route). A man of considerable intellectual
gifts, Donovan all his life had been a straight arrow -- an
eagle scout, a Phi Beta Kappa at the University of Minnesota,
a Rhodes scholar at Oxford, a Navy Intelligence officer in
World War II. He was as exacting of himself as of others.

    The moment of transferring power from Luce to Donovan -- the
year was 1964 -- was a precarious one for a publishing empire
so much the creation of one strong-willed editor. Around the
office, out of his hearing, Luce was referred to as "the
proprietor" in ironic tribute to his dominance. Inside the
company and out, Luce's journalistic genius was widely
acknowledged, but critics often deplored his use of his
magazines to further his own crusades.

    Having decided to retire at 65 (he would live three more
years), Luce assembled the editorial staffs of all his
magazines at a grand dinner. As a press lord, Luce could convey
the keys to his office to Donovan, but could he also transfer
his astute popular touch? How would Donovan, editor of a
business magazine that in those days came out monthly, handle
the quicker rhythms and the flashier demands of TIME, LIFE and
SPORTS ILLUSTRATED?

    At the dinner Donovan made clear that he was ready to take
charge and that things would be different. "We do indeed have
some enemies to be proud of," he said, but also some
"unnecessary enemies whom we acquired rather carelessly." That
was as close as Donovan came to referring to election years
when Luce's Republican prejudices had poisoned TIME's political
coverage. Then came his pledge: "The vote of Time Inc. should
never be considered to be in the pocket of any particular
political leader or party." With that declaration Time Inc.
came of age. Most remarkable of all, the change of policy had
Luce's full approval: it had been Donovan's condition for taking
the job.

    For the next 15 years Donovan directed the transition from
an enterprise centered on one man's quirky creative genius to
a form of journalism that would be more responsible but risked
becoming institutionally dull, gaining in respectability but
losing something in flavor. Donovan had always admired the way
Luce "shared authority without diluting it." Now it was
Donovan's turn to preside over independent-minded editors and
an unruly, talented collective of writers, each cherishing his
own judgments. Donovan wanted to change TIME's "portentous and
all-knowing tone," and gradually did. Setting fairness as the
standard of the magazines he edited meant doing without the
enlivening sting of malice. Donovan thought the writing should
have "warmth without sloppiness; sharpness and snap without
cruelty; worldliness without vulgarity."

    As editor, Donovan enjoyed what he called his "box seat at
history" and the company and conversation of knowledgeable
Establishment figures. On his frequent travels to Moscow,
Beijing, Washington and points in between, his careful
preparation for interviews with heads of state often jarred
leaders from their pat answers and uncandid evasions; he never
settled for polite social visits. Tenacious in his beliefs,
Donovan was a hawk about Vietnam long after most of the staff,
including the editors, had turned against the war. Yet when
LIFE proposed to devote its pages to pictures of one week's
dead among servicemen in Vietnam, Donovan approved its
publication. Later, despite his political conservatism, Donovan
with his eagle-scout rectitude was appalled by Nixon's behavior
during Watergate. He authorized the first and only editorial
in TIME's history, urging President Nixon to resign.

    Perhaps Donovan's saddest experience as editor was the
shutting down of LIFE, which he regarded as part of the legacy
Luce had entrusted to him. Few noticed the wording: LIFE had
only "suspended" publication. Donovan had to wait six years to
revive LIFE more modestly as a monthly. On Donovan's watch two
successful magazines were born: MONEY and PEOPLE. The idea for
PEOPLE came from Donovan's friend and colleague Andrew
Heiskell, the chairman of the board of Time. Together the two,
Donovan and Heiskell, did more than anyone else in the company
to transfer to the next generation the qualities and standards
that made Time Inc. -- like the CBS of William Paley's era in
broadcasting -- a proud place to work.

    In April, Donovan contracted a staphylococcal infection that
spread to his bloodstream. Underlying lung problems added to
his difficulties. Last week, at the age of 76, he died.