Stirring It Up with Molly Ivins (42 page)

Fast-forward to the 1990s.

“The school of public affairs had a dinner—I have no idea what was served, but John Hickenlooper, who owned Wynkoop Brewery before he went on to become Denver's mayor [and now Colorado's governor], wanted to do something special,” Zeik said. “So we decided on a Texas theme and he created a special beer bottle for Molly as a favor to me. It was probably a regular twelve-ounce, but it had a label featuring a caricature of Molly in the center, with a wraparound that said, ‘Molly Ivins Can't Drink This, Can She?' a takeoff of the success of her book by a similar name. Then, on the bottom it said, ‘What
ales
this lady?' There were about two hundred people and they all got to take a bottle home. I still have mine. Of course everyone was dressed in jeans and boots and Molly came waltzing in in a fancy ball gown. It was hilarious.”

It was Molly's mix of fearless wit and razor-sharp intellect that combined to make her way with words so dynamic. It especially endeared her to the Conference on World Affairs (CWA), held annually on the campus of the University of Colorado in Boulder.

Molly held a handful of organizations near and dear. One, as we all by now know, was the
Texas Observer
. Another was the American Civil Liberties Union. But the third was CWA, a festival of ideas not unlike Aspen's annual convocation of critical thinkers—except that Boulder's is free at 5,430 feet, and 2,700 feet closer to sea level.

Each April more than one hundred participants representing an eclectic range of backgrounds gather in Boulder for what the
New York Times
once characterized as a “week-long extravaganza of discussion and debate” with more than two hundred panels, plenaries, and performances. Conference participants discuss issues on an impromptu basis—a refreshing alternative to the high-priced gatherings of academia and the business world. Davos it ain't.

Past participants have included author Studs Terkel, poet Andrei Codrescu, '60s radical Bernardine Dohrn, architect Buckminster Fuller, film critic Roger Ebert, Israeli diplomat Abba Eban, photographer Annie Leibovitz, Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, Pulitzer Prize–winning economist Paul Krugman, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, publisher I. F. Stone, former Black Panther Huey Newton, artist Louise Nevelson, news commentator Rachel Maddow, and—well, you get the picture.

Roger Ebert, who participated in the CWA for almost forty consecutive years, once characterized the five-day event as “the Conference on Everything Conceivable.”

Every other year one person was an assured presence: Molly. She first learned of the campuswide event during her Colorado tour of duty. She wrote about the conference, having already buddied up to founder Howard Higman, himself a character of no small note. He liked Molly's spunk and admired her writing skills. She was just the kind of spirited iconoclast the conference welcomed. There was a hitch, however; residents of Colorado can participate in the conference only peripherally, as moderators or volunteers. But when Molly left the
Times
, returned to Texas, and was no longer covering it, she became immediately eligible for full-fledged participation. She was an instant hit.

For almost twenty-five years she drew standing-room-only audiences who flocked to hear her compelling stories and informed commentary. She loved meet-and-greets with students; she took as much time as she could with
anyone who wanted to talk to her, especially young people. She once characterized CWA offerings as a “whole new way of looking at old questions . . . that can transform the way you look at everything else.”

Every year Jane Butcher, a moving force behind
Mother Jones
magazine and CWA's success, hosts a blowout party for participants and their guests.

Envision a room crowded with people from all over the world—documentary filmmaker Alice Elliott chatting with Laurent Guérin, a photojournalist from Taos; Simon Hoggart, Parliamentary correspondent for the
Guardian
of London, sharing a point of view with Washington, DC–based Jurek Martin, a columnist for London's
Financial Times
; an ebullient Kenneth David Kaunda, former president of Zambia, chatting with a circle of admirers; and former Pentagon analyst-turned-pacifist Daniel Ellsberg (who released the Pentagon Papers) talking to Pulitzer Prize winner Richard Aregood, former editorial page editor of the
Newark Star-Ledger
.

Several participants had a remembrance or two revolving around Molly and food, especially Aregood, who, while not quite a foie-gras-and-truffle aficionado, would pal around with Molly for food from another dimension.

“Molly must have intuited that I wasn't exactly a haute cuisine type,” he said. “That led to an Ivins profundity that I've always relied on. One night at Threadgill's, she insisted that I have a chicken-fried steak. I demurred until she changed my mind with impeccable Ivins logic: ‘If you do it now, you don't have to ever eat another one.' That's exactly how it worked out, and it's a great mantra to use whenever you have to do something about which you're dubious. She and I and the poodle would drive for an hour or more in the pickup for barbecue, another of my passions, ending up at a place I've long since forgotten the name of, with barbecue so wondrous it turned the butcher paper underneath translucent and me somewhere beyond transcendent.”

Fellow Texans participated in CWA as well: author, commentator, humorist, and political progressive Jim Hightower; Michael Stoff, author and a distinguished associate professor of history at UT; author Lou Dubose; and—whaddya know—Elliott Naishtat.

One year I moderated a media panel, a welcome task that was accompanied by an invitation to the post-conference party, hosted by ardent supporters Jane and Charlie Butcher. After Charlie died in 2004 Jane soldiered on, although there was some concern that his death might cause this annual celebratory evening to be deferred. But no. The conversations, music, and dancing were back the following year—albeit tinged with a touch of melancholy.

The centerpiece for the annual spread featured an absolutely killer baked salmon, huge fillets that dominated each side of a seven-foot-long dining table. It had a richness of flavor derived from a luscious blend of white wine, fresh thyme, basil, tarragon, rosemary, shallots, celery leaves, and lemon. Accompaniments for this luxe offering featured curried peas, as well as noodles tossed with sour cream, blue cheese, butter, parsley, onion, and garlic. The spread was the embodiment of elegant simplicity. It seemed rude not to have seconds. You hoped no one saw you return for thirds. After all, volunteers had been planning this food for weeks in advance. It wasn't right not to eat it. It was one of Molly's favorite meals. Jane says the planning committee tried to change the party's menu over the years, but to no avail. Small wonder.

In rummaging through Molly's random recipe collection—that series of folders labeled “Soups,” “Salads,” “Meat,” “Fish,” “Appetizers,” and “Desserts,” I stumbled on a handwritten note from Jane with recipes for that CWA dinner—sent at Molly's request. So even if you don't live in Boulder and you're never asked to moderate a CWA panel, host a family, address a plenary, or serve on a committee, you can still have your own if-I-had-been-there-this-is-what-I-would-have-eaten meal, thanks to Jane's generosity and Molly's insatiable appreciation for good food.