Theodore "Ted" Lincoln Hargrove

A FOND FAREWELL TO A ‘MENSCH’ OF A MENTOR

This past Thursday, my alma mater, Michell College, a two-year institution in New London, Conn., informed me via an email with the subject line “Remembering Faculty and Staff” of the passing of my journalism instructor there, Theodore “Ted” Hargrove, a week before at the age of 92—sad tidings I somehow expected the message to convey before I actually saw him heading the list of those who had left the scene.

It also invited those who received the message to “please reach out” should they “have a story to share” about how someone on that list “guided or mentored you.”

In fact, that’s exactly the role Ted played in my life —that of a guide and mentor in what would become my chosen profession largely due to his influence. It is also a vocation to which I have continually returned, despite branching off into other types of writing, so that here I am at the age of 80, still putting into practice the disciplines he instilled in me well enough so that, armed with a mere Associate in Arts degree, a membership in the Quill and Scroll Society, a journalism award from the New London Day and a year’s worth of copies of the student newspaper, Thamesana, to which he had appointed me editor in chief, I had everything I needed to enter the world of professional journalism.

As I think back, I can’t help realizing how fortunate I was to have had such a genuine, non-nonsense teacher who knew how to convey both the demands of the newspaper business and the gratification that came with being able to live up to them, from the rigorous requirements of reporting to the rules of good headline writing (and, yes, there are indeed rules that I still observe today, even if they’ve been largely cast aside in today’s digital world).

One of the cardinal rules of good journalism—maintaining impartiality (which I see all too often breached in today’s reporting)—was something he demonstrated by his own example, although it was perhaps not that apparent to us at the time. But in retrospect, I now realize that he never allowed his own opinions to color his classroom instruction, and it wasn’t until sometime later that I Iearned they were decidedly conservative. But once having made a point of the importance of staying objective in covering the news, he was remarkably indulgent toward what I might today consider my somewhat sophomoric screeds (I was, after all, a sophomore at the time), just as long as they were labeled “editorials,” and even took to referring to me as “our crusading editor.”

All that might have been more than enough to expect from a mentor, but Ted’s influence on me was something that turned out to extend well beyond the classroom and his role as faculty adviser to Thamesana. In his role as college PR director, he was the number-one booster of the Mitchell soccer team, the Pequots (whose roster included a number of foreign-exchange students as well as talent from the southeastern Connecticut area) and he somehow managed to transform me, a nerdy kid with zero interest in organized sports, into an avid soccer team fellow traveler, meaning that whenever the opportunity presented itself, I soon found myself excitedly riding along with the players to matches all over southern New England, snapping my share of black-and-white photos of the action well before the days of cellphone cameras (“You seem to have gotten an Ed Ziobron goal here,” I recall him telling me one day while reviewing the developed results, referring to one of our team’s top stars, with that particular photo having ended up in both the paper and the yearbook, Thames Log.)

But my newly awakened awareness in this area didn’t end with graduation. In time, I not only came to share Ted’s enthusiasm for Major League Baseball and the Boston Red Sox (although few fans could have come anywhere near his level of zeal for the team), but even to write an essay on how I thought its recruitment rules should be changed, the published version of which I sent on a whim to another aficionado of the sport, Andy Rooney, only to have him send me back a signed personal note (despite his claim that he never gave autographs). I also credit Ted for something else I was surprisingly able to do—that is, use the journalism rules and techniques he taught me, coupled with having cultivated my cognition of competitive sports, to put together, write and edit several editions of a newspaper-style newsletter for a minor-league football team in Connecticut, where I resided at the time, even though when asked to take on the project, I knew little about the game and almost never watched it.

As often happens with mentors, over the years, Ted and I remained in touch, both before and after he retired (to Maine, not Florida) and what always distinguished the messages I received from him, whether in the form of correspondence (and later emails), occasional phone calls and annual Christmas cards, was a wry wit that I had heard flashes of at times in my student days, along with hints of an indignation at contemporary conditions that penetrated his characteristic Yankee stoicism.

Looking back on our email exchanges, two replies particularly stand out. One was in response to my having sent him a photo of my state press card in 2019 after re-entering the business he had so meticulously prepared me for at a time when most people retire, along with the message: “Thought you might like to see the evidence of my being “pressed” back into service after all these years (and once again putting into practice all the disciplines I learned in your class, which the people coming out of college today seem to be sadly deficient in).

“Impressive. I bet you wear this on your pajamas, too,” he replied, adding, “On inadequate education: I see it daily, everywhere. Even among the intelligentsia and purported teachers of the language. And I get angry. Best regards, Ted.”

The second was on a subject I thought would particularly resonate with him: a story I wrote about a two-year college in our coverage area that dropped its athletic program (despite its having earned several distinctions) after having done likewise with its newspaper, along with the message: “If we did dedications on our stories the way we do on books, I’d have dedicated this one to you,” which I signed, “Your humble acolyte.”

“Dear Humble Acolyte,” he replied. “I’d have appreciated such dedication although saddened by such an apparent lack of interest in athletics and in a college newspaper. While not characterizing the administration’s attitude as hypocritical, your report certainly does reflect hypocrisy as well as mismanagement. How un-American that young people appear to be more interested in “social media” and that the college’s board didn’t even vote on the dissolution of athletics. They (the governing board) should be horsewhipped and the student body given a stiff dose of what it means to live the good life.”

He then added, “P.S. While you admit to remaining an acolyte, may I suggest that when you say “disinterest” you mean lack of interest. (Anything to keep you humble.)

I might add that for many years, I had a favorite “inside joke” with Ted—one that reflected his aversion to cliches and stilted and repetitive language, of which an example he particularly liked to cite was the term “various and sundry.” So, whenever the occasion arose —usually on a Christmas card, but sometimes in a phone call —I was sure to use it at least once.

During the course of my education, I had various and sundry teachers, some whose instruction and personalities were more memorable than others— but only one real mentor, whose lessons I have attempted whenever possible to pass on to others still plying this currently beleaguered profession (something I’m sure my current, much younger boss will vouch for).

Thanks, Ted, for enabling me to learn the who, what, why, where, and how of my chosen profession within the course of a single course—and for the many years of friendship and banter that followed.

Bill Bonvie
Mitchell College, Class of ’64

At Mitchell College.

Authentic.

Ted was great friends with my Dad through Kiwanis and became close to the whole family

Ted was such a kind and amazing friend. He shared the same birthday as my dad(month & day) so there was many celebrations!
He is missed.