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A Life, Shared
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Don is mourned by the breakfast crowd at Young's and the Bagelry. By his fellow Wildcat hockey fans. By the close to 700 people who crowded into Johnson Theatre on Jan. 27 for a service to celebrate his life. By composition scholars, who will honor him at their annual conference in March. By readers of his books and his Boston Globe column, "Now and Then." By the journalists he coached and by the journalists of tomorrow, who study in the Donald Murray Journalism Lab at UNH.

He is mourned by his daughters, Hannah Starobin '81 and Anne Nestelberger '75, and their husbands and Don's three grandchildren. The daughters know too much of mourning, having lost their sister, Lee, when she was 20, and more recently, their mother, Minnie Mae. The loyal guardian of the family, Minnie Mae came so fiercely to life in her husband's Boston Globe columns that the newspaper's readers responded to her death in 2005 as if she'd lived next door.

Don Murray had to write. He had to experience everything twice—once through living and again through writing. There's no such thing as writer's block, he'd say. Do truck drivers have truck driver's block? No, so shut up, put your rear in the chair, and write. When he died, his friends and followers wrote lines and lines. Here's a small sampling. Find the rest at http://www.unh.edu/journalism/donmurray.htm.

Jane Harrigan is a professor of journalism at UNH.


Kevin Sullivan '81, Washington Post reporter, Pulitzer Prize winner: "Don Murray is the reason I am a journalist. Period. When I met him, I couldn't imagine anything more fun than being him. So I set out to follow in his footsteps, and it has been every bit as much fun as he promised."

Lou Ureneck '72, chair, journalism department, Boston University: "I learned basically one thing from him: There's joy in the work, and the harder you work, the fuller the joy."

Tom Newkirk, UNH professor of English: "As much as Don tried to describe his process of writing, it was its unexpectedness that truly fascinated him . . . . A writer could choose a word that would set off an unanticipated set of associations and lead to a digression, a new possibility, a new focus, perhaps to the true heart of what needs to be written."

John Christie '70, publisher, Kennebec Journal and Morning Sentinel: "He believed in words and sentences and paragraphs and spoke of them so passionately that, as Yeats wrote of the great poets, 'One believed he had a sword upstairs.' 'I know writers,' he said. 'I am a writer. I'll write with you, and we'll both be writers.'"

Meg Heckman '01, reporter, Concord Monitor: "As a student at UNH, in a journalism lab bearing his name, I learned, per Don, that journalism is as simple——and hard——as these three things: You ask. You listen. You write."

Jon Kellogg '70, editor of the Waterbury (Conn.) Republican—American: "He helped me to learn how to think on my feet. He opened the joy of writing to me. He insisted, in whatever I was doing, that I get to the point."

Tom Osenton '76, adjunct professor of marketing and Don's housemate: "During the final months of his life, I would often find him sound asleep at the computer in his office——fully dressed in a bright shirt with ink stains on both pockets . . . . Startled, he'd wake up and almost always give the impression that he had just fallen asleep. 'I've done some good work on our project this morning,' he'd say, out of guilt for having catnapped for 10 minutes. He felt this overwhelming need to pull his weight in this life."

Lisa Miller '80, '88G, UNH associate professor of journalism: "I met so many people through Don; he loved bringing people together. He saw people in a way we couldn't quite see ourselves but wanted to. He treated students as writers, so they became writers. He touched people in a deep way by being able to see their best selves."

Don Murray '48, from his second—to—last "Now and Then" column in the Boston Globe (his last column was published three days after he died): "I have an obsession. I write. I draw. I try to capture a fragment of life and reveal its wonder to you. I never get it quite right, but there is a joy in the trying that makes me young. My New Year's wish for you, old and young, is that you find in the year ahead something you can't do."


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