David Klatell.
Ok — I’ve been thinking about it since the moment I heard. And I figured it out. Klatell lived a double life. There’s the life you know, as…
Ok — I’ve been thinking about it since the moment I heard. And I figured it out. Klatell lived a double life. There’s the life you know, as a teacher and based on the students who proudly call him a mentor and a friend — he was successful beyond any measure. His students flourished in his classes and took his ethics and his passion out into the world. They made great journalism, and that made him proud, and that made them strive to be their best. It was the kind of relationship that students and teachers reach for and rarely achieve. So in his day job — his ‘Clark Kent’ persona, he was superb.
But then there’s the secret double life, the caped crusader. His private Batman garb. So here it is.
David Klatell was from the day I met him, until the last time we shared a drink at the Parlour on 86th on a cold March afternoon, a student.
Yes, that was what made him so special.
Curious, open-minded, youthful, excited about the twists and turns in the road ahead. Unlike many of his peers, he never for a moment wrung his hands about the future of journalism. But he wasn’t a particular fan of gadgets or sites or apps. Instead, he was remarkably and endlessly enthusiastic about the story, and the storyteller.
My relationship with Columbia began because he was, in his inquisitive student persona, always interested in embracing new things. Our brand of video journalism was untested, and plenty of the old guard saw us as the antithesis of what the J-School stood for. David had no patience for this and welcomed me to the campus. Together we crafted the BNN Scholarship for Video Journalism in 1998, and for years together judged some extraordinary work. It was a big check for our little company — but one I wrote with absolute joy. He bridged a divide, between the school and the emerging new elements of the craft, between students and working journalists, and as an extraordinary connector of people and projects.
Klatell was a tremendous friend, generous, funny, and always willing to avail himself and provide guidance and friendship. Ok, maybe he didn’t like my hat, or how they made a gimlet at the Parlour — but on the stuff that mattered he always tempered his extraordinary intellect and insight with a self-effacing warmth that made everything better.
To say he’ll be missed would be the understatement of the century. There’s a whole generation of journalists that owe their moral compass to this extraordinary man. I count myself proudly among them.
