Tough kid on crutches laughs last and loudest

By Gregory Favre

Who is Timothy J. McGuire, besides being the incoming president of ASNE?

Above all, he is a devoted husband and a father of three, a husband his wife Jean calls “loving and patient,” and a father his daughter, Tracy, calls “very kind,” and his son, Jeff, says is “my inspiration.” His other son, Jason, who was born with Down Syndrome, calls him his “best buddy.”

He is the editor of the Star Tribune in the Twin Cities, guiding one of the nation’s largest and finest newspapers and providing, as one of his colleagues, Kent Gardner, says, “never-ending learning opportunities in journalism, leadership, ethics, religion, law, labor relations, family relations … and dramatics.”

He is a lawyer, whose only practice is in the newsrooms when there is a tough legal question on the table. As a teen-ager, he thought he wanted to be a practicing attorney, but now he says, “Thank God for unanswered prayers.”

He is a lay preacher in his Catholic congregation, whose personal search for spirituality has been a journey, like much of the rest of his life. And he participates in a weekly prayer group.

He is the possessor of one of the largest laughs and loudest sneezes in captivity, including the zoo. Or as Diane McFarlin, publisher in Sarasota and soon-to-be ASNE vice president, puts it, “He laughs loud and often. His sneeze can clear a room. He’s got an oversized intellect and a mouth to match. He’s also got a colossal heart.”

He is a student who “didn’t study at all” and yet graduated with a 3.0 GPA from Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, Mich., but has since learned to love the pursuit of knowledge. In addition to his law degree, which he earned while working full time, he is now a candidate for a master’s in Catholic studies.

He is a country music addict who recognizes all the stars of the Grand Old Opry and can recite many of the down-home lyrics, and who, obviously, vehemently disagrees with the saying, “Country Music is to Music as Military Justice is to Justice.”

He is, in the parlance of the true railbirds, a “BDHer,” (Broken Down Horseplayer). As his friend Pat Dawson, a marketing executive in Minneapolis, says, “It’s a game of intellectual intoxication for him. And he is very good at it.” And that’s why he will be the first president of ASNE who delivers boxes of losing tickets to his tax accountant each year to somewhat offset his multithousands in winnings at the track and the casinos.

He is a dedicated fan of the sweet science of boxing, which probably dates back to the days when he was the runt of the crowd and the brunt of a lot of cruel barbs, but he never conceded an inch.

And, oh, yes, in case you haven’t noticed, Tim was born with an affliction known as Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita (AMS). He had 13 surgeries in his first 16 years, living with a cast or crutches and spending practically every summer in the hospital.

A tough kid on crutches

But as his lifelong friend Tim Fallon, a consultant and trainer in the human relations field, says, “He was a tough kid on crutches. He played tackle football and had to be in the thick of things. Of course, he would always hold on to his biggest friend, Mike Hackett. But he never felt sorry for himself. He simply never went there and he always asked more of himself.” Hackett recalls, “Tim was always able to deal with people and able to laugh in difficult situations. But he would often lip off and wouldn’t shut up.”

Or as his mother, Anita, says, “His dad and I trained him to be independent, but not quite as independent as he is.”

There is no doubt that it was this streak of independence instilled by his mom and dad, who never babied him, coupled with the incredible care given by a marvelous doctor named Donald Durman that helped get Tim to where he is today.

“Dr. Durman,” Anita McGuire recalls, “always told us that if he falls down, let him get up, don’t pick him up. He said if you treat children with Tim’s problems differently, they will become spoiled brats.

“Tim was a challenge for Dr. Durman. If he needed a procedure, he would put him in the hospital. Tim’s dad and I were not wealthy and Dr. Durman would do all this and sometimes charge us only $75 a year. He told us that many people with the same affliction are mentally incapacitated. Often, he would laugh and say he hoped Tim wouldn’t become a lawyer and sue him.”

Perhaps it was Tim’s father’s own background that made it easier for his parents to treat him just as they did their other children who would come later, one girl and three boys, one who died at birth.

Tim’s father, James McGuire, who died in 1998, spent much of his childhood in an orphanage. He was one of eight children, and when his mother died and his father had no job in the middle of the depression, several of the kids were put in orphanages.

Many years later, when Tim brought home a tape of “Angela’s Ashes” for his father to listen to, his dad refused. “Listen to it — hell — I lived it,” he said.

Maybe that’s why it was important for Tim to go to Ireland a few years ago and to make the trip to Limerick on the day that Frank McCourt would be there to sign copies of Angela’s Ashes. He was interviewed by an Irish TV station and that night there was McGuire on TV all over Ireland talking about his view of the book and about his dad. He swears that he didn’t have tears in his eyes.

Perhaps there wasn’t a tear or two, but who could have blamed him if there had been.

A president with plans

Some of his dad’s friends, after seeing Tim as a child, suggested that he should be put into a mental hospital. To which Tim now adds, in his own self-deprecating sense of humor, “Some people think an error was made.”

Thank goodness they didn’t. The world of journalism would have missed out on one of its best and brightest, a leader who during his year as ASNE president hopes “to help editors find ways to take personal responsibility to create a better future for their newsrooms and their newspapers.”

And at the end of his presidential year, he hopes that ASNE members will have seen him “as an incredibly active president” who talked about and did something about the issues that really matter to our industry.

“Being president of ASNE,” he believes, “is a bigger deal than leading other organizations because of the special togetherness we share and because it is such a precious gift to be able to do what we do.”

He is adding one new committee and keeping all the others. “The new one,” he says, “is Craft Development to help all of us improve the writing, photography, graphics and editing in our newspapers. I also want us to focus in on the individual kind of behavior. The latest readership study shows that readers think we are not very nice people. We need to use the study to help editors reconnect with readers and others. And diversity, credibility, freedom of information and ethics will continue to be important elements in our work.

“We are heading into tough times and a lot of frustrations and I hope we can help editors deal with those frustrations in a positive way. I know that editors are feeling like victims as times get tougher. Together we need to learn to deal with the challenges in the workplace.”

Life lessons

Tim has dealt with challenges all of his life. He was always striving to be accepted like everyone else. He wanted to be in the “in” crowd and if that meant he would have to drink a little bit more than everyone else, he would do that, a habit he quit long ago. Or if he had to be more outrageous than anyone else, he would do that, a habit he hasn’t quite fully abandoned. Competition is extremely important to him, especially when it comes to matching brainpower.

“Debate for me was an intellectual exercise, and it” he says now, “was my chance to be a middle linebacker. I wouldn’t have the drive I have now without that sense of competition I grew up with.”

And he may not be as sensitive as he is if he hadn’t had friends who “treated me wonderfully.” Yes, there were those who taunted him. Even now, he vividly remembers that day when he tried to climb a fence wearing his braces and he got caught up and some of the kids yelled and laughed at him. But there also was that time when his true friends would stop talking when he approached them, and Tim started getting paranoid. Had they forsaken him? No. They were plotting to raise money to buy him a transistor radio as a present before major surgery. “An incredible experience,” he says.

All three of his siblings, 5 to 15 years younger, share one memory: They didn’t see Tim as being different physically.

His sister Mary Beth, a teacher, says, “One day when he took David (a brother) and me to the playground, kids came and they made fun of him.

“He told us that there would always be people like that, people who don’t know the person they are making fun of and that you should never judge another person like that. That made a big difference in my life.”

Or as brother David, a developer, says, “He had a lot to overcome, but he did it with style.”

And then there was the lesson he taught his brother Marty.

Tim’s mom and dad made him get a paper route as a youngster. As he grew older, he recruited Marty to work for him.

Marty, who is now Director of Public Services in Midland, Mich., remembers that he got his start in management working for Tim.

“I delivered and he collected,” he recalls. “And he made more money than I did. It was abundantly clear to me that management had its distinct advantages.”

It seems that Tim has always been in management. In high school, he won both state writing and speaking contests and the publisher of the Mt. Pleasant Times-News, now the Sun, read a story about it and asked him if he wanted to write sports. The Mt. Pleasant basketball team won the state championship that year and Tim’s friend Mike Hackett, now a lawyer, was the star of the team. “I was all-state,” Mike says. “I think it was because Tim was a sports writer and I had my own publicist at the paper.” Tim says Mike was simply that good. Later, he started writing police briefs and headlines.

Then he was off to Aquinas, even though he wanted to go to Michigan State. But mom and dad McGuire were afraid that if he went to State he would become a hippie. Instead, at Aquinas, where he had a full-ride scholarship, he acquired the nickname, Rodent, which was different from his high school nickname, Sex (we won’t go there).

It was as Super Rodent one Halloween night that Tim made his biggest splash at Aquinas. He dressed as Super Rodent, had a few too many alcoholic beverages and, while in the restroom, decided he would leap up on the sink. Well, you can imagine that sight. He leaped and he landed and down went Super Rodent, sink and all.

But he overcame that moment of infamy to be named the 1992 Outstanding Aquinas Alumnus.

Building a family and a career

A few years after Aquinas, he arrived at the Ypsilanti (Mich.) Press as city editor and met a young talented journalist named Jean Fannin, who would become his partner in life.

“Jean’s influence on me has been profound,” Tim says. “She has complete faith in me. She brought certainty to my life that I had searched for over a long time. I feel guilty about her giving up her career when we got married because of the nepotism rules, but our three children wouldn’t be as great as they are if she hadn’t been there for them. She made a career of being a partner and a parent.”

At 24, Tim became managing editor in Ypsilanti and at 26 managing editor of the Corpus Christi (Texas) Caller. Two years later, he was named ME of the Ledger in Lakeland, Fla., taking that paper morning from afternoon and bringing on board staffers such as Will Corbin, now editor of The Daily Press in Newport News, Va., and Keith Moyer, publisher of The Fresno (Calif.) Bee.

In 1979, Steve Issacs, editor of the Minneapolis Star, hired him as managing editor. The Star and Tribune merged in 1982 and Tim floundered in the new setup.

Then Joel Kramer entered his life when Kramer was named editor of the Star Tribune. He eventually named Tim as his managing editor and later editor when Kramer became publisher.

“There are three things that stand out about Tim,” Kramer, who is retired and is now doing philanthropy work, says. “His strong ethical base. It is there all the time and plays out in private even more than in public. His creativity. He is always looking for the innovative way to do things, or as he says the “holy shit” way. He is the enemy of boredom and drudgery. And, finally, his sense of humor. At stressful times, you can always count on him for a tension-breaking laugh. It used to be biting humor and had an effect on others, especially when there was a power difference. But Tim has mellowed over the years.”

Mellowed? Or maybe it’s that he has learned some lessons along the way.

“When I was young and I was told how valuable experience was,” Tim says, “I used to think that was hogwash. But it is a blessing. I survived to this day despite the stupid things I did as a young editor, not recognizing back then how much you need people to make you a success.”

Pam Fine, the Star Tribune’s managing editor, is one of those people who helps Tim succeed. And she is a major fan.

Their first meeting was in a restaurant in Atlanta, and Tim shared his life’s story with her.

“I fell in love with the guy before we finished the main course,” she says. “I realized very quickly that whatever he lacks in physical agility, he more than makes up for in mental facility. His first question that night was, ‘So tell me, how does your brain work?’ I’ll tell you, after working beside him for seven years, my brain works a helluva lot better now than when he posed that question.”

Or listen to Sherrie Marshall, his former News Content Editor and now editor of The Macon (Ga.) Telegraph: “He’s forceful and demanding and that probably keeps some staff members at arm’s length. But he’s fair. If you don’t know something, it’s best not to try to pretend you do. That can get him riled up. But if you have a problem, there is no better person to help you sort it out.”

The challenges and the comforts of home

But if you really want to know Tim McGuire, you have to go to his home.

It is there that he is most comfortable. It is there that he and his children and Jean can talk about anything, and they do. It is there that you can find the mellow McGuire.

How many of us have a son who, in his relationship class, is given an assignment to write about how to communicate when you have problems with your parents and turns in a blank paper, telling the teacher, “I have never had problems with my parents.” Jeff McGuire did that.

In fact, the best barometer to measure Tim is the relationship with his children.

His oldest, Tracy, a college student who wants to teach special ed children, says, “Dad always made time for us. He treats me with respect and believes I have a say in the world. He is my knowledge source.”

The youngest, Jeff, a 17-year-old junior, says, “I have always wanted to follow him, to do what he does. He always wants to know what I did and why. What he went through in his life says how strong he really is.”

And then there is Jason, who is in many ways the connective tissue in the household.

“Jason adds a lot to our family,” Tracy says. “He brings a lot to our closeness.”

“Jason is just one of those guys you love,” Jeff says. “He is one of the greatest things in my life. He is my brother, teacher and friend.”

The day after Jason was born, Tim learned something was wrong. He asked Will Corbin, then his city editor in Lakeland, to drive him to the hospital.

“He was the most disconsolate person I had ever seen,” Will recalls. “And all I was doing was giving banal responses to what he was saying. What are you supposed to say at a time like that? He had his own struggles to remember and this was frightening to him. He had overcome a lot and he knew that his son would have to face that.”

As a sophomore in college, Tim told Will, he had written a paper to describe his feelings if he ever had a child with disabilities.

“It was full of bravado,” he says. “I said there would be no disappointment. But if the child had no mental capabilities, it would be very hard on me.”

Most of the time, Jason thinks like a four-year-old. But there are other times when he is, as Tim says, “smart- aleck and quick, showing wit and humor and the ability to respond to the family.”

Jason has been another journey and “I would be a cold stone liar if I said everything was cream” Tim says. “There have been times when I have resented it and that has come out in angry ways, but I love him more each day. He has molded each of us and I can’t imagine life without him.”

And that’s why one of Tim’s most wrenching days was after Jason reached 21. Tim told him he was an adult now, and during that conversation Jason looked at his dad and said, “I thought I would stop being retarded when I grew up.”

It is easy to understand why Tim cried that day.

But let’s hear from Jason about his dad.

Tracy was trying to teach him about honorifics.

“What do you call mom, ” she asked.

“Mrs. McGuire,” Jason replied.

“What do you call Jeff?”

“Mr. McGuire,” he said.

“What do you call me?”

“Miss McGuire,” he said.

“And what do you call dad?”

“King,” was Jason’s rapid reply.

Well, Jason, would you settle for Mr. President?

Favre is vice president/news, The McClatchy Company.