Remembering Ron: Ron Memorial Issue — October 6, 2023 by Elmhurst University - The Leader

ELMHURST UNIVERSITY

Remembering Ron

OCTOBER 6, 2023

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

LETTER FROM THE FACULTY ADVISER Eric Lutz, 2011 Faculty Adviser to The Leader, Former Editor-in-Chief The first time I met Ron Wiginton, I was a freshman heading into his office to tell him I was quitting The Leader. None of my stories were getting published, it clearly wasn’t my fault, and I was going to get the hell out of there. But before I got the chance to say my piece, he hit me with some version of his famous line: You write like shit. It was the perfect note. Not only did it puncture many a new writer’s massive and undeserved ego; it modeled the direct, unsparing prose he challenged us to aspire to. Was I thrilled with the critique? I can’t imagine I was. But I stuck around. And thank God I did. Ron was a transformative teacher, as decades of journalism, creative writing, and literature students can attest. He was a brilliant reader, who often seemed to understand what I was trying to do in my work better than I did. He was a tremendous mentor, who helped my career in ways I could never repay. And he was a supportive colleague, as I was lucky

enough to call him over the last few years. I would not be who I am — or where I am — were it not for Ron.

I thank everyone who contributed to the issue and everyone who helped put it together. And I thank Ron, of course, for — well, everything.

He played that same role for scores of students over the course of his 26 years at Elmhurst — and particularly, I think, over his 23 years as faculty adviser to The Leader. He founded the publication, as we currently know it.

It is strange to refer to him in the past tense.

He also just was The Leader. The voice of it. The soul of it.

A special thanks to the following former Leader staffers who contributed to the back-end work of this issue:

For all his gifts as an academic and a fiction writer, I think he was, first and foremost, a newspaperman — the kind that they don’t really make anymore.

Adriana Briscoe (she/her) Editor-in-Chief

Rachel Fratt (she/her) Head Graphics Editor

Abbey Mark (she/her) Head Social Media Graphics

Susan Martin Laurie Rich Salerno

In these pages, you’ll find remembrances from some of the earliest Leader staffers to the publication’s current leaders — spanning from the paper’s founding in 1997 to now.

Cole Sheeks

The issue is a showcase, I think, of the talent Ron cultivated — and of the hard work of its current editorial board and staff, who did him a great honor in bringing this issue to fruition.

Genevieve True

I thank the editorial board for its hard work and for continuing the legacy of this publication.

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EDITORIAL BOARD

Olivia Janicke

I hope, then, that this proves a fitting tribute — a newspaper about Ron, wherein some of those he impacted and influenced over the years can share their appreciation and memories.

Ilana Garnica (she/her) Managing Editor, Chief Copy Editor Alyssa Kuehne (she/her) Assistant Copy Editor Eve Hvarre (she/her) News Editor Sarah Glees (she/her) Multimedia Editor

@ElmhurstLeader2147

Sabrina Scola (she/her) Social Media Manager STAFF Olivia Janicke (she/her) Interim Copy Editor Genevieve True (she/her) Interim Photo Editor ADVISER Eric Lutz (he/him)

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ABOUT US The Leader is the student-run newspaper to the students, faculty, and administrators of Elmhurst University. The Leader is not submitted to any person or organization for prior approval. The contents are the decision of the editor in agreement with the editorial board. Opinions expressed in The Leader do not necessarily reflect those of the paper or its staff and are not intended to represent those of the EU at large. No text, photos, or art can be reproduced without direct permission of The Leader.

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

DR. RON’S TOUGH LOVE INSPIRED US TO GROW Adriana Briscoe, 2024 Current Editor-in-Chief Dr, Ron was that brutally honest friend who told you what you needed to hear. He humbled me really quickly when I took his News Reporting class. I was shocked when I walked into his office for a conference and he handed back my first writing exercise with a ‘0’ written in the middle of the paper. “Your lede didn’t tell me anything,” he said. That day marked the beginning of a year full of lessons Ron generously took his time trying to teach me. Throughout our time working together, Ron never hesitated to tell me when he thought my ledes were boring, my stories were biased, or that I didn’t trust my reader. His critiques were truthful and thorough because he truly wanted his students to grow. At the end of the semester, Ron said he was happy to note our class’ progress, and I believe his commitment to fostering student growth shows how genuine of a teacher he was.

Genuine teachers don’t shower you with praise while staying silent about your weak points. Rather, they show you where you went wrong and applaud you when they note your progress. Dr. Ron was a genuine teacher. He generously gave constructive feedback and let his students know when he saw them applying that feedback. In addition, he was a big believer in learning by doing. On his syllabus, he said that he didn’t have a set assignment calendar because “the study of writing should always be fluid.” I believe adopting this philosophy is what made him such a successful professor. By giving his students chance after chance to try, fail, receive feedback, and try again, he helped us grow humility and a thick skin. Dr. Ron helped shape me into the writer I am today. His tough love helped me grow from a shy writer with shaky confidence to a more self-assured writer who embraces mistakes and uses them to improve.

students of how vital it is to be accurate and precise in journalism. He once told my class that journalism is one of three professions where you can’t make a mistake. By drilling this point home, giving us regular AP-style quizzes, and implementing the “fact-error” rule, he lit a fire under each of his students that drove them to produce the highest quality work they could. Last but not least, he helped me learn to put my reader first. He taught me that while accuracy and quality are important, writing isn’t about sounding perfect; it’s about telling the stories your reader needs to hear, and going through whatever learning experiences are necessary to achieve that mission — even if that means getting a 0 on your first assignment. Thank you, Dr. Ron, for giving me the priceless gift of endless learning.

While he believed in helping students learn from their mistakes, he always reminded

PHOTO PROVIDED BY Laurie Rich Salerno OCTOBER 6, 2023

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

DR. RON WAS A MAGICIAN OF WORDS when he found it in the big pile of papers he’d grin about the mix up, so I didn’t press it too much.

Bill Hillmann, 2004 Former Leader Staff Sad to hear about the passing of one of my first writing gurus, Dr. Ron Wiginton. Ron was a writing professor and ran the student paper, The Leader, at Elmhurst College. He was a mystical kind of spirit always puffing cigarettes and giving sage wisdom to eager young writers. I remember in my first class having given it my all on a feature story about “The Windy City Gym,” and turned it in to this big folder bin on his office door. I came to class the next class eager to see what he thought and he said I didn’t turn it in! I told him I did I put it in the bin, and he reddened, thinking I was playing with him. I knew

The following class he came in with it waving it around, grinning, telling the class how happy he was with it. I ended up writing a bunch of articles for The Leader, and got my start there as a writer. I’ve gone on to write for some of the biggest outlets in the world, and Ron’s guidance was always a foundation for that. He helped a lot of writers, not just me. Ron turned me on to Thom Jones The Pugilist at Rest, and later I became friends with Thom. But above all of that, Ron inspired me to want to be a professor, he had this way of enchanting his students with the magic of words and the importance of them.

He also had brass balls, when I was helping the Zimmerman Brothers and Frank Calabrese Jr.’s book release of “Family Secrets,” Ron signed on to host an event at Elmhurst. When death threats came in to Barnes and Noble, they cancelled the release event. We were worried Elmhurst would also cancel. But Ron stuck to his guns and went through with the event, so the National Best Selling book ended up releasing at Elmhurst College, of all places. Ron also had a student interview Frank and it was a strong article and that’s just the type of person Ron was, tough, excellent and cool. Rest in Peace Dr. Ron, you helped me a lot, and guided me more than you’ll ever know. Thank you, my friend.

HE STAYED TRUE TO HIMSELF AND HIS STUDENTS “Question everything,” and this has stayed with me throughout my life and has motivated me on a search for truth in all.

Susan R. Martin, 2008 Former Editor-in-Chief During my time at Elmhurst College, Dr. Ron taught me the value of brevity, despite being a man of many words. Although I was not always a silver-tongued writer, I had a story to share and a thirst for knowledge. Dr. Ron gifted me the motto

Ron had a unique way of inspiring authenticity in his students. He challenged and supported us in the right ways and at the right pace to help us grow. Ron was skilled at tailoring his approach for each student, whether it was blunt criticism or a leisurely stroll over coffee (and

KEEP IT SHORT Ali Colman, 2010 Former Associate Editor To the man who taught me to “kill your darlings” — I’ll keep it short. You imparted wisdom on so many in a way that was so unique, so indescribably impactful. You will be forever missed. Rest easy Dr. Ron. PHOTO PROVIDED BY Susan R. Martin

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cigarettes) to spark imagination. Above all, Ron was authentic in his teaching and his writing. He stayed true to himself, his students, and his readers. Dr. Ron taught the strategy of truth and storytelling, critique, and critical thinking. I am grateful to his lessons and know his legacy carries on in the words he left behind.

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

“QUIT ALL THAT OTHER SHIT, YOU’RE A WRITER” Chrissy Croft, 2016 Former Opinions Editor “Biggest Pain in My Ass” was the award Dr. Ron gave me during my first year at The Leader. He believed in me as a serious journalist before I ever did. I wanted to be in every club, do campus tours, lead orientation, spread myself too thin (probably just to be liked). He saw my potential to be really good at this one thing if I just committed. “Quit all that other shit, you’re a writer,” he told me. I never followed his advice as fully as I should have, but he still gifted me time and wisdom. He was the first mentor in my life who provided

honest feedback without sugarcoating. He taught me, and countless other writers, the value of truth. He taught us how to see the stories needing to be told, especially when stakes were high. Thanks to Ron, I developed the courage to find hard-hitting local stories instead of writing opinion columns on trending topics online. Ron taught me, above all else, the unique power of my (written) voice. The Leader and Ron will always be inseparable in my memory. As a truly student-run publication, Ron entrusted the immense responsibility of journalism on each of us. He was the perfect blend of hands-off and reliable when we needed support.

I was most involved in The Leader as opinions editor during the semester Ron was away on his epic adventures. Through the close mentorship of Eric Lutz, I was still given the opportunity to experience the legacy of Ron’s genius. Eric is just one example of countless professional writers propelled by Ron’s mentorship. Regardless of how many touching tributes are published about Ron, even the best of writers cannot capture the widespread legacy he leaves behind. I will always be thankful he let this pain-in-his-ass stick around and learn from him.

I WAS BORING AND I WROTE LIKE SHIT Cole Sheeks, 2018 Former Sports Editor

you think I helped you personally, but would you mind telling your reader why they should care about me?”

Dr. Ron changed the course of my life.

All of my favorite memories of Ron are centered around his two greatest gifts: his ability to bring

Upon wandering into his office as an unmotivated transfer student with no writing background to speak of, Ron promptly told me two things: I was boring and I wrote like shit.

people together, and his ability to turn even the most mundane moments imaginable into compelling adventures.

My immediate reaction was to nod along to his feedback so that I could hurry home and play video games, but this wasn’t a typical lecture from a dispassionate professor.

If you knew Ron, you knew one thing: This man LIVED for the drama.

Ron spent the next hour going line-by-line through a box score from the previous day’s Elmhurst College football game, asking me what the coaches and players were thinking about the action that took place.

misfits to assemble so that they could publish a surprisingly captivating newspaper about an

I shrugged and Ron’s lesson to me was clear, “Well, why didn’t you go to the game and ask them?”

He was sharing a beer and his signature cackle with his former students while he caught us up on the latest drama he had started with his next door neighbor.

Ron pushed me to grow as a person, forced me out of my comfort zone, and he will forever live on as the voice inside my head when I sit down to write. That inner-Ron voice is talking right now, saying, “Well, Cole, we’re all very happy and glad that

One moment, he was posted up outside of Old Main, cigarette in hand, waiting for his group of

otherwise ordinary suburban campus. The next?

gave both of us an opportunity to step out of our comfort zones. The Leader was always striving to do its best impression of Dr. Ron: badgering people on campus, asking challenging questions, and trying to tell stories in a way that gave the audience a reason to keep reading. I will never forget spending time with Ron in the years after my graduation. Roxee and I were lucky enough to accompany him to experience various ballgames, breweries, music fests, and happenings over the years. Every time we caught up with Ron, he was off and running as he recounted his escapades from the most recent semester at EC. There was never a dull moment and Ron would not have accepted it any other way. I will miss listening to Ron’s stories forever. I will be sure to share the ones I was fortunate enough to hear for the rest of my life.

Ron added that color to every moment he lived. He did just that when he introduced me to my best friend Roxee. By forcing his punk-rock arts and entertainment editor to cover a football game alongside his boring sports writer, he OCTOBER 6, 2023

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

DR. RON SAW A TALENT IN ME THAT I NEVER LET MYSELF BELIEVE IN Marisa Karpes, 2021 Former Editor-in-Chief When I was a freshman, I joined The Leader as a columnist; I was too scared to write stories in any other section. I wasn’t a great columnist — Dr. Ron would never put me in “the good” part of his Morning After Critiques he did after each issue. When meeting with him, he’d go through my column and ask me “So what?” and “Why should I care about this topic?” I took it personally, thinking that he hated me and thought I contributed nothing meaningful to his precious newspaper. But over the years, I learned it was quite the opposite. My sophomore year, I was offered a position on The Leader’s Editorial Board as copy editor. I initially wanted to turn it down. There was no way that I could be responsible for making sure the newspaper each week was flawless.

Each year at The Leader’s end-of-the-year banquet, Dr. Ron would give out his own awards. After handing me the award for “Best Use of Deadline (Writing)”, Dr. Ron told me, “Your writing is so clean. You never turn in your pieces with errors. You can do it.” Later that night when it was time to announce the new Editorial Board, Dr. Ron called me the new copy editor without me even officially saying yes. That little push has made all the difference in the world, even in my life now. Dr. Ron saw a talent in me that I never let myself believe in. Nonetheless, Dr. Ron still didn’t go easy on me. Every time there was an error in the paper, he had no problem calling me out on it. But he made my skin thicker; I was no longer that delicate freshman. One production, due to a family emergency, I was not able to copy edit the paper. Dr. Ron stepped in and copy edited for me. Later that we when I returned, Dr. Ron showed me some errors that

were in the paper. I told him, “Hey, that wasn’t me this time.” He laughed, “Oh yeah, I was copy editor this week!” In February 2020, I had the honor of being on the team that would win Dr. Ron’s last 1st place award in General Excellence at ICPA. After we had won, Dr. Ron pulled me aside and told me, “This is your award.” He wanted me to know how much my work meant. The last time I saw Dr. Ron was at The Leader’s end-of-the-year picnic in 2021. It was there he told me that I was his “last editor-in-chief” even though he had stepped down as advisor the year before. It is only now that I realize what he meant. He molded me and gave me the confidence to be that leader. So today, when my coworkers trust me to proof an important document, or ask me to give an opinion on a significant matter, I know that I am capable. Thank you Dr. Ron, for helping shape who I’ve become today.

AN ODE TO DR. RON: I’M SORRY FOR THE WORDINESS her major.

Gianna Montesano, 2022 Former Editor-in-Chief Ron Wiginton — or if you’re cool, Dr. Ron — had a way of impacting lives in a way I’ve seen so few people do. He was blunt, sharp, and firm in any stance he took. Even if you disagreed with him and were frustrated, deep down you knew he was right. I joined The Leader in 2018 as a first-year, assuming the role of staff writer, and I sucked. Dr. Ron knew that, and he told me; in fact, he told me to find a new major. I cried.

What Dr. Ron believed in would flourish, and he made sure of it. Just look at The Leader, when he took over in 1997, it was a shell of what is now. He became its advisor and changed it completely, turning The Leader into an award-winning college newspaper in Illinois. For me, Dr. Ron’s impact didn’t stop when I graduated from Elmhurst University. When I told him I scored my first journalism job, he was thrilled and said he’d share my story with future journalism students.

But he never gave up on me. He never gave up on anything.

At that moment, I was reminded of 18-yearold Gianna who was told to switch majors, she made it, and Dr. Ron knew it.

Throughout my time as a staffer, and eventually editor, Dr. Ron molded me into who I am today. He saw the potential I had and chipped away at it, bringing me to this point in my life where I am now, a journalist who didn’t change

Three weeks after graduation I began my first job as a reporter down in Fort Pierce, Florida. On my third day, I was telling my editor about my student journalist experience and mentioned Dr. Ron. She perked up and said, “I know him.”

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As colleagues at the Sarasota-Herald Tribune in the 1990s, my editor recalls Ron fondly, describing him as a nice guy. While this interaction could be seen as a coincidence, to me it confirmed that Dr. Ron was more than a professor or advisor, he was a pillar. From hearing his voice in the back of my mind telling me my lede sucked during production to sending him a photo of my press pass, I knew Dr. Ron would not be a fleeting figure in my life, but a core part in shaping me as a young adult. Wherever I go in life, I must brace myself to face the fact there will never be another Dr. Ron. But in his wake, Dr. Ron’s impact will never fade as he, whether knowingly or unknowingly, embedded himself into our souls for eternity.

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

HIS OPINION MATTERED BECAUSE HE MATTERED Nicholas Redmond, 2022 Former Staff Writer My first introduction to Dr. Ron was not only that of someone insightful and knowledgeable, but understanding and honest. He was someone who enjoyed life and made teaching and writing such an integral part of his. When I first made it to Elmhurst University (formerly Elmhurst College), I knew I wanted to write, and so I took a chance at attending an English workshop. It was intimidating being in the presence of professional writers. I wished to be at least half the caliber as they were, but once again, I was forced to ask myself, “how?” When we were called on for questions, I asked how they learned to write?” There were a varying degree of answers, but one thing they all agreed on was finding a group to keep yourself writing. At the end of the workshop, I was greeted

by a gruff-sounding voice, “So, you want to learn how to write?” and next to me was an older man with a world’s worth of experiences behind his eyes.

opinion mattered because he mattered.

I answered yes, to which he said, “Everyone up there, at one point, were my students.” I was intrigued at the inclination that his tutelage helped them get to where they were.

He was passionate, honest and a joy to be around. If he saw you had a love for stories, he’d join in the conversation, delving into some of the best writers of our generation. It was in these moments in which you would see the type of man he was.

He continued, “Come to the newspaper, we’ll get you there.” Soon afterward, my time at EU changed for the better. Upon joining The Leader, Dr. Ron welcomed me with open arms. He introduced so much of his world to me that I found myself lost in his stories. He made it easy to confide in him and to rely on his input. When he critiqued your work he was honest to a fault. When you were writing something that could be improved, he’d tell you. It made it so when you finally wrote something good, it meant more than you could imagine. His

His wisdom was one thing, but it was how he utilized his knowledge that made you feel you were always a part of the conversation.

When I graduated, he said one thing to us that has stuck with me to this day, “We are now peers.” Those four words mattered more than what I could’ve imagined. It mattered because he mattered. Dr. Ron Wiginton matters and he always will, as his arrival, and departure, left an impact that has shaken the stars and someday we will meet him there.

PHOTO PROVIDED BY Genevieve True OCTOBER 6, 2023

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A HUNDRED “NO’S” BEFORE ONE “YES” Ilana Garnica, 2023 Current Chief Copy Editor and Managing Editor Dr. Ron wasn’t your typical professor. But, he wasn’t abnormal either. He was simply Dr. Ron — and there will never be another Dr. Ron. I knew I had a love for writing long before I stepped foot into his classroom. However, along the way, I lost my sense of self and my passion for it. Ron brought it back to life. The passion he spoke with when discussing writing was a ferocity I could only hope to embody one day. He would tell us not to study literature for similies or metaphors, but to study it for sentence structure. To look at how words and sentences interacted with one another. Dr. Ron’s understanding of writing fascinated me, and it was through that fascination that I began to admire him. He was the type of professor you could go to with anything, and so I found myself in his

office more times than I can count. I remember sitting in his office for an hour, feeling as though time had escaped me as we discussed authors, books, journalism, and how to write a “damn good story.”

again, that I began to find beauty in the world around me, enough beauty to write about it. He consistently encouraged me to write, to keep writing, and to not give up no matter how discouraged I felt.

Without him, I would have never found a home at The Leader. He sat me down in his office and presented two options on a silver platter: join The Leader, or join Middle Western Voice.

“You’re gonna hear a hundred ‘No’s’ before you hear one ‘Yes,’” he’d say.

I would like to think he was proud when I chose The Leader.

He taught me that if I’m writing something, I’d better be saying something. He taught me how to grow up and be a better person — a person that could write the damn story.

Despite the number of times he told me my writing needed work, he believed in my ability to grow. He believed I could do anything, as long as I put in the work.

I don’t think I would be half the writer I am today without his influence. His unwavering faith and belief in me is more than I could have ever asked for.

That’s who he was — a person who believed in his students. A person who would irrevocably change his students, and their writing, for the better.

I never got to say thank you for all the ways he changed my life. How he gave me the one thing I thought I’d lost — belief in myself. I don’t think I’ll ever find the right words. No words would be enough to describe the impact he had on me. But, here it goes.

He reminded me that writing has ways of changing people. That stories aren’t just stories, they are a reflection of the world around us.

Thank you, Dr. Ron.

It is because of him that I began to love writing

“I BELONG TO YOU NOW. I BELONG TO ALL OF MY STUDENTS EVEN AFTER THEY GRADUATE.” Vanessa Payne, 2022 MiddleWestern Voice Staff I have quite a few fond memories of Dr. Ron. One of my favorites being the time he took my capstone class out for drinks after we turned in our final papers, but what I really want to share here is the impact he had on me. The summer after I graduated, I had a oneon-one conference with Dr. Ron to discuss a story draft I had written. After he finished giving me his feedback, he told me that he’d be willing to look over another draft if I wanted to send him one. As I had already graduated, I was surprised and grateful for his generous offer. During that meeting, he told me something along

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the lines of, “I belong to you now. I belong to all of my students even after they graduate.”

It’s been over a year since the completion of that class, and I still write.

It strikes me now just how true that statement is. As I continue my journey as a writer, I can still hear Dr. Ron’s voice in the back of my head echoing the wisdom he gifted me with in his classes.

I am beyond grateful for the love of writing that Dr. Ron helped cultivate in me. I feel incredibly privileged that I got to know him, and that I got to learn so much from him.

The knowledge he shared with me truly was a gift. It was in his Advanced Fiction Writing class that the whole writing stories thing started to click for me. For one of our assignments, he had us read a short story he had written titled “The Blood Rushing Face Thing.” After reading his story, it finally dawned on me that I could truly write whatever I wanted to. I didn’t need to hold back or censor myself. It was at that point in the class that I believe I really started to improve as a fiction writer.

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Elmhurst has lost an amazing professor, and the world has lost a brilliant writer and a wonderful man. I can’t even begin to imagine all the lives that he has impacted. Thank you for everything, Dr. Ron. ~Vanessa Payne

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YOUR BELIEF IN ME CHANGED THE COURSE OF MY LIFE Genevieve True, 2009 Former Photo Editor Dr. Ron, My world is a different place without you in it. I’m going to miss so deeply the way that you’d always answer my calls, “Genevieve True, how the hell are you?” or “Is this Genevieve True? The Genevieve True?” I can’t even tell you how grateful I am that we’ve maintained a connection through all these years. I’ve got to admit, when I first met you in 2005, at a Leader meeting that I wasn’t even supposed to be at, I was intimidated by you. I saw how you gave critique and praise, and saw through the bullshit, and that scared me as someone who hid behind a lot of bullshit. However, you saw through that and pushed me to contribute my talents, first becoming a photographer and enjoying my time doing

that. You encouraged the skill that you saw and corrected the attempts that were lacking. Eventually, you forced me to take on the photo editor position. I would say “asked” me to take it on, but I literally turned it down because I was afraid of having authority; you didn’t take no for an answer, knowing that I had the skills to do it, just a huge lack of confidence. Again, you saw through it and pushed me to do it anyway. I can’t even tell you how much your confidence in me changed the course of my life — having someone believe wholeheartedly in me and pushing me to keep going was something I’d never experienced in that way. The way you celebrated my wins. I can still picture your exact fist pump and “Hell yeah!” I can still remember your exuberant introductions describing me in glowing words that I’d never use for myself. It changed the way I

saw myself. I’m beyond grateful that we reconnected in the years after I graduated. That I got to photograph your band, enjoy your homemade gumbo, exchange life updates. I love that you lit up whenever you saw me walking around with a camera, pursuing a career in something that you helped me believe that I could do. Again, your belief in me and continual cheerleading changed the course of my life. Thank you for seeing through my lack of confidence and fear and believing in me. Thank you for continuing to hype me up and sing my praises for years to come, forever providing a pep talk when I started to doubt myself again. Thank you for helping me believe in myself. You have forever changed my world, and I am so grateful.

ENG 101: HOW TO CRUMBLE Rachel Sherman, 2021 Former Elmhurst Student Dr. Ron Wiginton was the type of professor who teaches you how to crumble. You draft a story that you think is so riveting, so full of thick plot that you turn it in with a manufactured shy expression to hide how excited you really feel about your work — but then Dr. Ron gets his hands on it and tells you to start from scratch. He doesn’t just humble you. He crumbles you. But what’s more meaningful: he teaches you what to do with the crumbles. Sure, you can sprinkle the bits of similes and alliterations here or there like feta in your pasta dish, but to really grab the desolate crumbles in your own two hands and mush them together like clay, marrying together the climax with the rising and falling action; that’s something only a good professor can teach you to do. Though his critiques could be tear-inducing or fist-clenching, he called me a writer before I even tried the word on for myself.

When we graduate and move on with our meaningful, educated, debt-ridden lives, part of us believes that time is stagnated for our professors. We like to think of them as crouched in their little offices in the Hammerschmidt Memorial Chapel, grading papers and meeting with anxious students.

didn’t come easy for him, so I really treasured that moment.

No matter how much we complained about how out-of-touch Dr. Whatsthiername was or how so-and-so, “just doesn’t get my writing,” we still wanted them to be there to reminisce with or to seek retrospective validation from.

I wanted to read it to him and argue about what is or isn’t working, to see what parts needed crumbling. I wanted to laugh with him about how it’s not exactly 500 words anymore. I wanted to show him that I really was a writer like he thought back in 2019.

The last time I spoke to Dr. Ron was at a convention in Chicago for The Leader during the brief time I was part of the team. We were all sitting down at a pizza spot downtown when he yelled at me from across the table that I needed to submit the flash fiction piece I wrote for his class to the MiddleWestern Voice — a story I had passive-aggressively made exactly 500 words since he complained about how hard it was to get one of his pieces there.

Earlier this year, I got an email that a small Chicago-based zine wanted to publish the story in its next edition. I was excited to reach out to him and tell him that the piece he believed in was going to be published.

I wanted to know if he was proud of me. The same day I finished the last round of revisions and was ready to share, I got the news that he had passed. In the wake of it, I didn’t quite know how to crumble. Sometimes just letting yourself crumble is okay, too.

But this type of rough-around-the-edges praise OCTOBER 6, 2023

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HE STILL HAS A SOFT SPOT FOR GREASY SPOONS Taped over the notice, there’s a handwritten note, Management is grateful for its customers’ loyal patronage, but I’m suddenly grateful I won’t be sampling the fare.

Jesse Russell, 2001 Former Opinions Editor One Smartass to Another In heaven, I imagine a Last-Lines Emporium where the newly dead (and the old heads slumming it) scroll the final words people share when they are unaware the words will be final. The last thing Ron said to me was, Don’t be a smartass. No inciting comment on my part, just a general bit of advice he thought I needed. The Inner Ron I still carry—his mental delegate among the honored mentors who’ve never left—is screaming about burying the goddamned lede!! right now, but my answer is the same as it was 20 years ago: WTF is a ‘lede’?

Dr. Ron’s car, even more compact than mine and even more replete with accumulated drive-thru shrapnel (so much is visible through the windshield) rounds the corner into the empty lot, bottoming out ever so slightly on the steep entryway. He emerges in a huff, cursing. “The place is a greasy spoon, but I like it,” he’d said. He still has a soft spot for greasy spoons.

***

I haven’t seen him in twenty years, but he looks the same — good ole’ boy gone native where his art could thrive; hair a mass of spidering, white fly-aways spilling into a thin and hasty ponytail; fingers like timpani mallets, swollen hard at the tips.

It’s Sunday, slightly before 10:00am—the time between slow waves of breakfast-bound retirees and the crush of hangry, post-worship brunchers. I’m outside Park West Pancake House, permanently closed. A shady notice says so.

I’m greyer and fatter than he remembers, and he tells me as much. Truth is his blessing, curse, friend, and foe. We smoke together like we used to, but now my cigarettes are for special occasions, and his are the long-filtered extra lights people smoke when quitting is out of

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the question and vaping is bullshit. We cross the street to another pancake house (God bless America) and sit down to catch up. I thank him for the letter of recommendation (second time he’s helped change my life), ask how The Leader is doing (still number one in state) and about his personal life (Jesse, that’s another story). He asks if I’m married (I am) and if I have kids (yes, twins, their name is Vasectomy). He asks about grad school. I start to tell him, but something I say rings the mentor bell, and he interrupts: “From one smartass to another [trademark squinty smirk-pause]… don’t be a smartass.” They are resonant, deathbed words. *** I’ve said silent prayers for the patient professors who deigned to take me seriously in spite of myself, and Ron’s knowing grin still bends around the edges of my brain whenever I’m engaged in potential smartass-ery. As far as hearing voices goes, there are worse shoulder-sitting conscience crickets to be had. And if there is a Last-Lines Emporium, I hope Ron is laughing his smart ass right off.

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

HE WELCOMED ANYONE INTO THE ROOM AND INVITED THEM TO STAY Jim Nugent, 1998 Former Copy Editor and Cartoonist I lived in Schick Hall 26 years ago, when The Leader was temporarily crammed into a basement office there. I never once considered myself a writer — in fact, I struggled quite a bit in Professor Dianne Chambers’s freshman comp. class the year before. Research papers filled me with loathing, I was always miserably slow to get words on the page, and news writing was utterly alien to me. So my eventual involvement with The Leader was very improbable, and even now I’m not quite sure how it started. One day I must have popped my head in The Leader office to say hi to my friend Laurie Rich. Maybe I spotted a typo in a story and put myself to work finding others. Or maybe I sat in uninvited on an editorial meeting.

Whatever it was, Ron kept the door open and he didn’t shoo me out, so I stayed. By the end of that year I was editing, writing, drawing cartoons, taking photographs, developing film, running the scanner, assisting with production, and pulling all-nighters ahead of press deadlines. I remember walking over to the printers with Laurie many times, usually as the sun was rising, to deliver a new issue. I remember the crude tools we worked with. The Mac ran QuarkXPress and had a big (19-inch) black and white monitor. Someone rigged the new Pentium computer to play a long audio clip from the Simpsons every time it booted. And we we all had faith that, if one lived a good life, one’s 100-megabyte Iomega Zip disks wouldn’t succumb to the “click of death.”

But most importantly, I remember Ron: his presence, his engagement, his humor, his mentorship. I remember how baffled I was that he picked me, along with a handful of others, to stay on for the summer and help create The Leader’s first orientation issue. It was one of the best summers of my life, marked by challenge, personal growth, and a few uncomfortable nights on the office floor. I owe it to Ron for even thinking I was up to the task, let alone sharing his sage mentorship. I will always remember Elmhurst as a place where the doors were open, and Ron exemplified that spirit. He welcomed anyone into the room and invited them to stay. He recognized their talents, allowed them find important work, empowered them, and trusted that they would thrive. Rest in peace, teacher.

HE WAS THE TYPE OF PROFESSOR TO KICK YOUR BUTT IN LINE Kween Jean, 2022 Former Sports Editor I’ll never forget the day I finally received praise from Dr. Ron. Even now, I still question if it was my imagination. While I won’t share his exact words, I will say it has kept me motivated — not only with journalism, but through life. Everyone knows Dr. Ron was not your average professor, let alone man. His wisdom, his scholarship, and his teaching were anything but ordinary.

journalist, this was infuriating. It was difficult to accept. His criticism was tough and his humor, which I later grew to appreciate, wasn’t for everyone. His teaching tactics were not the easiest to digest, but eventually, it all made sense. It took a while but I realized he saw potential in my ability, my talent. He believed in me before I believed in myself. I can’t repay him enough for all he has instilled in me. I plan to continue carrying his guidance and pouring it into any wide-eyed writer, like myself, willing to learn.

He was the type of professor to kick your butt in line. I would know, aside from that one rare occurrence, it happened to me every time I stepped into his classroom.

I don’t think my words will ever truly capture the essence of Dr. Ron or come remotely close.

Each class he would either call me out for my lazy writing or have me completely change a story

I’m sincerely going to miss him; I just hope he knows I am forever grateful to have been his

idea that was too easy for me to write. As a young

student. Thank you, Dr. Ron Wiginton.

Even now I can hear him telling me to rewrite this anecdote.

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BRUTALLY HONEST, OCCASIONALLY PROFANE, STUNNINGLY INVESTED IN HIS STUDENTS, AND HUMBLY BRILLIANT Justin Tierney, 2008 Former Sports Editor and Editor-in-Chief Once upon a time, the newsroom of The Leader sat — not very anonymously — in the basement of the Frick Center, in a narrow, windowless room, which is surely now a storage closet. As they hunched together in that room, the half-dozen section editors who published The Leader developed a tradition of sorts to bring just a little more joy into the otherwise abysmal space. Any time anyone said anything funny or ridiculous, we’d write it as a quote on a blank piece of printer paper. Often delirious and sleep-deprived in the late night hours publishing the paper, the smartass group of young media hopefuls would fill those walls up over the course of a semester with dozens of sheets of paper of quotes and sophomoric jokes. But now, 15 years later, I can only remember one paper among them all: “You write like shit.” – Dr. Ron Brutally honest, occasionally profane, stunningly invested in his students, and humbly brilliant. That was Ron Wiginton. When I got to Elmhurst College in the Spring of 2007, I had never met anyone quite like Dr. Ron. I was a transfer student from the cornfields of Central Illinois and, frankly, I felt pretty out-ofplace in a campus of mostly suburban students.

half-bad as a writer. Before I knew it, I was being asked to be a section editor for the sports section, and suddenly, I felt like my dreams of a career as a sportswriter were becoming a reality. Through a news writing class and our relationship at The Leader, Ron and I became close. He was not just a professor, but a true mentor. We traveled together to San Francisco for a national conference, which was quite an experience for this country boy. Perhaps most memorably of all, Ron helped me out of a housing jam. I agreed to stay in Elmhurst in the Summer of 2008 to supervise the production of the O-Issue, a huge responsibility and tradition at The Leader. I had just one problem: I had to move from an on-campus apartment to an off-campus apartment and I didn’t have a vehicle that could move furniture, nor did any of my friends. The solution? I kept some small furniture in that tiny office of The Leader for the summer … and a large futon in Ron Wiginton’s office in Hammerschmidt Chapel for about seven months. The futon was only supposed to be there in the summer, and trust me, Ron reminded me with regularity about the oddity of the futon crammed into his office during my final Fall semester with him. I would challenge any other Elmhurst University

I was an aspiring journalist who had written a lot in my small local newspaper, but, I came to the Chicago-area to test myself, with dreams of interning at the Sun-Times or Chicago Tribune. I had learned through my college search process that Elmhurst had a highly-regarded student newspaper. I went to the first meeting, got my first assignment and wrote it up as best as I damn well could. After the paper was published, I received my first review from Ron. His positive review was a shot of confidence, an affirmation that I wasn’t

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professor on if their commitment to their students would extend that far. I regret that I lost touch with Ron soon after graduation and probably never properly thanked him for the impact he had on me. But more than that, I regret that more members of the modern media weren’t trained by Dr. Ron. Ron was a good teacher of the fundamentals of journalistic writing, and teaching the art of spinning a phrase, but what Ron was truly an expert at was teaching things that seem much more rare in our modern media: courage and integrity. Once, when we were trying to write a story with an anonymous source, Ron scolded us: “We don’t let people throw rocks from behind bushes! None of that shit!” While he stopped short of telling us what we could or couldn’t write, he always knew the consequences of failing to report a story, or reporting a story without having “the goods” by having our facts be irrefutable. These were lessons that I took with me into my short career as a journalist and beyond Ron was just the best, plain and simple. Aside from his family, The Leader is his legacy and everyone who had the opportunity to be taught by him, mentored by him, and led by him is forever in his debt. Even those of us who wrote like shit.

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

FLYING BLIND ON ANY FURTHER REVISIONS Lance Wilcox, 2022 Former English Professor Ron was grousing a few months ago about how an idea he wanted to present at an English Department meeting was likely to be received. He expected it would be roundly attacked, and given his track record, he was probably right. He could complain to me about the anticipated fracas because I was retired and serenely detached from department politics. Still, I thought his complaints were in bad faith and called him on it. “Come on,” I said, “You know you’re only happy when you’re in an argument.” “Well, yes, of course,” he said, laughing. “You know that and I know that.” I think it tickled his vanity to think of himself that way, as a sort of Yosemite Sam figure galloping into town and shooting in all directions. Ron could be terrific company, ebullient and funny, but when you were with him, you needed to keep your own six-gun where you could grab it.

Agreement with him, furthermore, was no protection. If there was an area of consensus between us—say, on literature or politics or baseball — Ron would ferret out a point of disagreement and start lobbing grenades in that direction. Did we both love literature? Then Ron would tout modern fiction as alone relevant, knowing my interest in earlier writings. Were we both liberal Democrats? Then Ron would start praising Hillary Clinton, knowing he could wind me up that way. The past few summers we went regularly to watch the Schaumburg Boomers. For Ron, a baseball stadium was a place to enjoy hotdogs and beer and talk about anything that crossed his mind. For me, it was a place to watch a baseball game. I’d be trying to suss out what the pitcher and batter were doing, and Ron would be talking about University politics or explaining why we would soon see the return of public executions.

some experimental fiction he was working on and, to my amazement, revised it in light of my comments. He also showed me what I thought was the best short story he ever wrote, but to which he had attached a deliberately provocative title. Though he knew the title made the story unpublishable, he would go to the wall in defense of it. Now, of course, it’ll never be published. Ron was generous about reading my own drafts, which he would usually turn into so much hamster bedding. Once I was finished duct-taping my ego back together, though, I always found his criticism useful. It improved my stories, and that’s all I really wanted. In fact, he had my latest story with him when he died. He said he was taking it to Colorado, and we’d talk about it when he returned. I cannot get used to the fact that I will never know how he saw it. I’ll be flying blind on any further revisions.

Our major topic of conversation, though, was always work in progress. Ron showed me

RON CERTAINLY WASN’T SHORT ON GRUFFNESS, FRANKNESS, AND CIGARETTES Cherie Getchell, 2003 Former Editor-in-Chief My most immediate memory of Ron is of him standing in front of a room of new students, myself included, in an introductory meeting for those interested in joining The Leader. With his can’t-miss-it, son-of-a-gun attitude, Ron certainly wasn’t short on gruffness, frankness, or cigarettes for that matter. That depiction of him is undeniable. But for those of us who had the occasion to work more closely with him, it was his observational, witty authenticism — with an arc toward optimism — that I find myself turning back to now.

I remember how game he was, listening to pitches setting forth every singular triviality that only a college newspaper can unearth, without judgment but always with notes. We were all the better for it, not just as fledgling journalists, but as students embarking on nascent adulthood, maturing our critical thinking in a sea of righteous opinions. Developing grit and instinct by reporting on topics rife with tension and absent catharsis was the good stuff of journalism to Ron. Ron was an ebullient adviser, even if his style trended toward the irreverent.

very selves. Increasingly rare and tough to replicate, I think he’d be pleased to know of our attempts to honor his legacy by living life as deeply as he did, fools errand as that may be. “As for anything new, I believe everything is new, and then again nothing is ever new. We just recycle the days, figuring out along the way which ones are good and which ones are not. My hope for you is that the good ones are not that few or far between. As for me, couldn’t be better.” - Dr. Ron Wiginton (email to me on 12/4/2006).

For every student, staff writer with a byline, and editor who threw their name up on The Leader masthead, part of Ron’s legacy is our OCTOBER 6, 2023

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ONCE IT HAPPENED, IT COULDN’T BE UNDONE Mark Szakonyi, 2003 Former Entertainment Editor and Columnist He warned me that once it happened, it couldn’t be undone. Once you glimpsed the so-called economy of style in writing, you would look at every newspaper lede and line in novel differently. You would see words that could be cut, cliches to kill, and how flowery language often hides imprecise thought — if not bullshit entirely. Ron joked it was a gift and a curse because you would never read the same way once you glimpsed the precision achieved through the economical use of the written word. The world begins to look differently then.

self after reading over a hackneyed phrase in a magazine feature profile.

already set in, and magazines in general were faring only slightly the better.

And when you don’t read the same way, you can’t write the same way, and, to a degree, you also can’t think the same way. The clarity of writing can lead to clarity of thought, and, ultimately, that’s what Ron was teaching at the college newspaper, in the classroom, and through his life.

Ron warned competition for news reporting jobs was fierce, thanks to a proliferation of journalism schools and rich kids able to take on unpaid internships for bylines at the bigger newspapers. Pay was modest at best.

To quote novelist and critic Marin Amis on writing, “Style is not neutral, it gives moral direction.” A good lead gets right to the point, and Ron did the same, both as a writing coaching and a mentor. Ron understood and imparted an ethos akin to that architect Mies van der Rohe‘s “less is more” school of thought.

Driving to work, you’ll notice there’s a word that can be cut from the obnoxious billboard, or the lead news story that morning should have been 200 words shorter.

Words mattered because they can be cheapened by cliché, and twisted to hide the truth like ‘collateral damage’ obstructs the reality of civilians killed in war. George Orwell championed this, and Ron taught it.

You can’t stop editing, looking for a way to make that sentence just a bit tighter, or bracing your-

When I was in college in the early 2000s, atrophy in U.S. daily news journalism industry had

Yet, Ron shared with me and others the prize journalism promised: A so-called non-job where one could simply observe, ask questions, and then write it up as a news story? What other type of non-job could you ask such tough questions to strangers and be rewarded? Where else could one just watch and see all angles but never have to actively participate? What better way to work but not really? Thank you, Ron, for the gift/curse of the economy of style and giving me a shot at the prize of journalism. I’m sure you could find some sentences and words to cut.

“WHAT’S A PUFF PIECE?” Debbie Wilson, 2000 Former News Editor and Feature’s Editor Oh. That. Voice. He had a way of talking that was inviting and confident and with just enough Southern accent to be endearing (and not annoying to a Northerner). “Um. Yea. I just want you to know that that piece you wrote about the Resource Center is not getting printed. It’s a puff piece. It’s not journalism.” These are the first words Ron ever said to me, and I responded, “What’s a puff piece?” I spent the next five semesters on The Leader learning journalism. Laurie, Jim, Ryan, Ron, and I ate at The Leader. We slept at The Leader. We played at The Leader. We studied at The Leader. We laughed at The Leader. We were The Leader. The Leader and Laurie and Ron taught me everything I know about writing. Ryan taught me about life and myself and

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gave me a new appreciation for where I fit in this world.

one-on-one with people and just talk about life. As a teacher, I can do that.”

The Leader was a family and Ron was the hearth.

I learned so much from Ron that prepared me for my next 16 years as a teacher and the yearbook advisor.

Any outsider observing a day at The Leader would assume that Ron was one of the students on staff. He had a way of teaching that was collaborative. He would disagree with us and explore with us and decide with us. He would love to get into the weeds of journalism along with us. He would guide us along, and we didn’t even know we were taking a Master’s Class in journalism. And we would learn. We had, on occasion, to talk of life. Ron helped me choose my career as a high school English teacher. I remember sitting and talking after a Leader meeting once, and I asked him why he chose to be a professor and not the life of a reporter. He paused for a long while and he answered, “For moments like this. I like to take the time to talk to students. I like to have these moments

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Everything that I love about journalism and writing and layouts and fonts and deadlines and picas, I learned from Ron and Laurie and those days writing for The Leader. I could hear Ron’s voice when I would yell at my yearbook staff, “Why are you writing about what I can see in the picture! I can see the picture! Write about what I DON’T see in the picture!” I watch the news now and I can’t find the objective voice. I cringe at the superfluousness and the entertainment and relentless shock value of it all. None of that belongs in journalism. I just wish I could walk over to The Leader office and sit down and talk to Ron about it all. I just want to hear that voice again. The lightness, the humor, and the confidence of that voice. I truly miss it.

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RON IS ALWAYS THERE WITH TWINKLING BLUE EYES Jennifer van Dijk, 2002 Former Editor-in-Chief I regret to admit that I don’t feel like I really knew Ron. Perhaps others feel this same way. Perhaps it was my own baggage around thinking that students cannot be friends or peers with professors. Perhaps it’s because we can never truly know anyone — having now spent some time around teenagers, it’s likely because of the self-centered, hormonal fog I inhabited. All of this is to say that, when I think of Ron, I remember his mannerisms, but I don’t recall what must have been many hours of conversations. What is so vivid for me, though, are the skills I learned during my time at The Leader and what I learned about myself as a leader. And I will forever credit and be grateful to Ron for facilitating and offering that space to me and to so many people. I don’t know how or why I ended up being the Editor-in-Chief of The Leader. I never dared to ask. I just figured it was because of my work ethic and willingness. I feel a little like the person sandwiched in history between two amazing leaders, Laurie and Toni.

questions and am so curious and so badly want to connect with people and provide a platform for peoples’ stories to be told. And yet, I am introverted and observant by nature. Interviews gave me the purpose, space, structure, and permission. And then I could collect all of the answers; organize my thoughts and, in my own time, craft a story in response. Newspaper writing gave me the structure, constraints, and mental distance to process difficult moments and big questions. It serves me well every day — professionally in jobs like auditing; last year when interviewing experts for my thesis research; and in some of the most important moments of my life.

softer spoken, fallible, quietly rebellious, and more inclusive as a path to more innovation and accountability. In my career, I was scared off from leading…to the extent that I even left the corporate world for a time. In many ways, it feels like the world is finally valuing different leadership styles. And yet, for all of these years, Ron was and had been modeling a different kind of leadership. At any big milestone in my life, particularly if it involves a stage, beside the well-wishers physically present that day, I conjure up the people that are energetically standing on the balcony, cheering me on.

One of the proudest and saddest moments of my life was when I wrote and delivered the eulogy at my father’s funeral. I could not have done that without the skills I learned and practiced at The Leader.

Ron is always there with twinkling blue eyes, wryly smiling, and clapping. Through his years of service to students, he honors the balconies of hundreds of people. To Ron’s loved ones, please know that Ron made such a positive impact on so many lives and will not be forgotten.

My last thoughts are about what it means to be a leader. Reflecting back, I now see how my leadership style is very different than what is traditionally lauded in the corporate space —

To Ron, wherever you are, please know that all of that time and energy you poured into your students mattered. We noticed. We remember. We thank you.

On a personal level, The Leader offered me an incredibly important bridge out of a childhood spent entirely defined by and identified with athletics. I was unaware at the time, but it gave me both the freedom and sense of belonging I so needed. Through interviewing and writing, I found my voice, my opinions, and creativity. I had been a part of teams for years, but never been the leader…never been identified as a leader. As part of an Executive MBA study that I just completed, I reflected and wrote about my leadership journey. The Leader was THE beginning. This past summer, for the first time ever, my sister and I, both Elmhurst alumni, visited the campus with our children. Suddenly, what felt like the enormity of what happened here, seemed so trite. I caught myself thinking, as I walked into the Frick Center, “So much shit went down here! Why does it look so, well, normal and typical?” Interviewing people unlocked something in me that I still struggle to verbalize. I have so many

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RON SAW SOMETHING IN ME I DIDN’T SEE IN MYSELF barkeeper asked if I’d like to make it a double, her hand suspended over a row of sparkling glasses.

John Garcia, 2010 Former Elmhurst Student

I’m an easy sell. I remember sitting with Dr. Ron and a few of The Leader staff shortly after J.D. Salinger died in 2010. Ron was an impassive professor – surgical with words, deft with criticism, and poised on campus. But he was melancholic after the news, and we took some time to sit with it in the wake of a new semester. “This one hits me hard,” he said. “When I heard, I had to pour myself a shot of whiskey and say goodbye to my friend.” I had hundreds of conversations with Dr. Ron in my time at Elmhurst. They were mostly about The Leader or some poor choices I’d made as an editor, but this one has always stuck with me. As his advisee and student, it was rare for him to drop the facade of a brash English professor and speak earnestly. So when the news of his death reached me at a family reunion in Connecticut, it not only seemed highly appropriate, but almost necessary I say goodbye in the same way. So as a typical New England rainstorm raged outside, I settled up to a bar and ordered a Maker’s. The

– Ron picked me out of his J-term course in January 2008. One cold morning he asked me to stay after class to talk about a hastily written essay I’d turned in the day before. He told me that no, I wasn’t in trouble, but he thought my writing had “bite,” and I should try out to be the new columnist for The Leader. Again, easy sell. With a fresh ego boost, I put my heart and soul into crafting 650 words about the wasteful habits of Starbucks regulars. It was absolute shit. And he told me so. The first of many times, I’d soon find out, he’d describe my writing in such a way. Regardless, it ran. And I was hooked. Soon I was writing news stories, then movie reviews, and spending late nights and countless hours with other Leader brats in the newspaper office, wrapping up the latest issues over late-night coffees.

The Leader became the biggest and best part of my college experience. Ron saw something in me that I didn’t see myself, and he changed the trajectory of my life with a vote of confidence. – In 2010, I became the editor-in-chief of The Leader for my senior year at Elmhurst. In the words of Douglas Adams, this has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move. But I digress. After the election, he invited me up to his tower office in Hammerschmidt Chapel to talk shop. We sat across from each other, making small talk before digging into business. “I’m only going to tell you this once. This is my paper, and I’m just letting you borrow it for a year.” Never one to shy away from a dramatic pause, Ron took a beat and leaned forward with a wry smile. “Don’t screw it up.” We all knew Ron loved The Leader. To many, he was The Leader. Despite his passing, he’ll always remain part of it. And to Adriana Briscoe, the rest of this year’s staff, and all future editors to come, I know you won’t screw it up. Just try not to bury the lede.

“NOW WE GET TO WORK” Brittany (Ashcroft) Irish, 2005 Former Editor-in-Chief and Columnist To say I am at a loss when trying to put into words the impact that Dr. Ron had on my life would be an understatement. (He’d also be the first to tell me that’s a lazy way to start a tribute…) We have lost a tremendous journalist, teacher, mentor — and most importantly, a friend. Some — maybe most — would say he was a hardass (and that would be true), but that same tough love made us all better writers, better journalists, and better people. Those that got to know him and broke through that “tough guy” exterior would also find someone that cared deeply about his students and their success. When I chose to attend Elmhurst (College back then), I picked it for the community and the at-

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mosphere – everyone is so friendly! I had no idea my involvement in The Leader and the English department would shape my life in the way it did. Coming in as a freshman news writer, I thought I knew what I was doing, having worked on my high school paper as editor for two years. Then, just a few weeks into classes starting, September 11 happened. I ran into Ron and other Leader staffers in the Frick Center. His message to us? “Now we get to work.” As a freshman, I’m not sure I would have given me the September 11 story as my FIRST college news story, but he did. The first few draft reviews resulted in tears on my part and thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?” But Ron wouldn’t let me give up – and that pushing me to “do better” continued for the next four years.

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Ron is the reason I got an internship at a regional lifestyle magazine, a gig that turned into my full-time job after graduation and the 10 years after that. He’s the reason I love newspapers, the reason why my writing is less “clunky,” and the reason I want to “open those doors” and ask the tough questions. Didn’t we all get that advice? “Don’t open a door for a reader that you don’t intend to close.” There really is no good way to explain the impact this man had on my life. Those late nights in the newsroom trying to put a paper to bed, the trips to Illinois College Press Association conferences, the advice, feedback, praise and criticism of my writing, and the listening ear when I really just needed to vent. I am honored to call him my teacher, mentor, and friend. He will be deeply missed.

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I SEE NOW IT WAS RON WHO WAS THE DREAMER Toni (Zurales) Milak, 2002 Former Editor-in-Chief “It is one thing to write as poet and another to write as a historian.” —Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote Bluejays, you’ve lost a legend. Dr. Ron came to our campus with a big heart, a big plan, and as I remember, a big head. He took those three things, and his incredible red pen, and got to work shaping one writer, one editor, at a time. He pulled us close and spoke us into the dream he had for us. We were journalists before we knew where to put a lede. We were interviewers before we knew what questions to ask. We were brave, smart, and bold because he willed it into us. Every critique was in service to the vision he had for The Leader — and, by extension, each issue, each page, each story, each paragraph, each word was a piece of this puzzle he was assembling. In those tender years of young adulthood, for many of us he was equal parts teacher, mentor, editor, and father. There are moments I’ll always remember.

His hand on my shoulder as he said, “Toni, this is when journalists go to work,” just minutes after the second tower collapsed on the Frick Center TV.

He dreamed us, he penned us into being, and then gifted us to the world. We are teachers and writers and lawyers and parents and so much more.

The pop of the champagne bottle he brought on my 21st birthday, which I spent putting an issue to bed in our basement newsroom.

The things he and The Leader taught me were useful far beyond my journalism jobs. Ask the right questions; say the most important things clearly and concisely; know my audience; teach and delegate; stand up for myself and others; lean in on long, hard nights…These skills inform everything I do.

And the feeling of confusion as I unwrapped the ugly iron statue of Don Quixote he gifted me at my wedding shortly after graduation. Was he honoring the lofty ideals and dreams my husband and I had for our life, or mocking it all as “quixotic”? I didn’t know, and never asked. Ron was complicated, and I was moving on with my own dreams: getting married and teaching journalism students at OPRF. Before too long, I was staying home to raise my family, and when I thought about it, I wondered if he was shaking his head at what had become of “Bulldog Zurales.” But as I reflect, I see now it was Ron who was the dreamer — only, he was equal parts Quixote and Sancho. He was gritty news reporter and romantic poet all jumbled into one pony-tailed professor.

I suddenly miss him, deeply, despite us not having talked but a few times in these 20 years. I am so grateful for his dreams. And for my dreams. And for all the life that was lived because of those dreams. But I am also sorry we didn’t get to reflect on it all — the good, the bad, and the ugly — like we used to after every issue came back from the printer. So, I’ve dusted off the little statue. Now, it makes me smile. Don — Ron — is going to remind me to keep living my dream. “To dream the impossible dream, that is my quest.” ― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

And while he wrote and wrote over so many years, we students were really his great opus. OCTOBER 6, 2023

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

I CAN HEAR HIM NOW AS I WRITE THIS Olivia Janicke, 2022 Former Chief Copy Editor Dr. Ron was one of the few people I truly feared disappointing, and perhaps that’s what made him such a great mentor. I didn’t know Ron for very long, having met in 2019, but our time together was pivotal. I sadly never took one of his classes — there was this lingering fear that since Ron was my academic advisor I couldn’t risk tarnishing our relationship. The amazing thing is that despite this, Ron had such confidence in my abilities. He openly praised my academic strengths, my instincts with the newspaper, and never failed to encourage me to write more. I can hear him now as I write this. I used to joke that I was my own adviser, because really, I would only ever go to him to confirm my decisions. But he put real faith in my ability to prove myself, letting me take charge.

More than anything, I could always rely on Ron to be there. From hinting at a potential story source, to nominating me for senior of the year. He was even a standing reference on my resume. Ron never hesitated to make time for me, but his ability to adapt his approach from person to person is a true testament to his skills as a journalist. Ron had a reputation for bluntness I admire. It was how he showed he cared. He’s one of those people with so many contrasting, visible layers — it’s a challenge to piece together the full picture. But it was so fun to try. I’d like to think I presented a challenge of my own when it came to advising. Ron would often say, “Olivia, I can’t guide you if you don’t know where you want to go.” While I made it difficult for him, I took nearly every piece of advice Ron gave — I’d just never tell him that. Ron knew, though. My entire degree is a reflection of it.

I miss our meetings — the campus gossip, his camera collection, the way he’d slyly ask for updates on The Leader after he stopped advising. As cliche as it is, Dr. Ron changed the trajectory of my life. When we met, all I wanted was to go to class, get good grades, and hope I’d get hired doing God-knows-what. But you know how Ron was, adamant everyone should join The Leader. I tried putting up a fight. He always knew how to make someone fold. Ron gave me the smallest, self-satisfied smile when I came to my first staff meeting with The Leader. Made personal introductions. Asked for my opinion when I was too shy to speak. Most of our memories fall outside of the newsroom, but I would not have set foot inside of it without Dr. Ron. I owe him so much, and I am eternally grateful for the time we spent together. For now, he’ll live on in my head where he’ll be yelling at me to write better — but always, always telling me to keep at it.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNAPOLOGETIC EXISTENCE Sarina Okrzesik, 2022 Former Assistant Copy Editor Dear Dr. Ron, I know you’ll never see this, but you weren’t one for sappy shit anyway. I wanted to write because words are alive and maybe you could sense these words, coming before I even put them in existence. You had an impact on my life, one that is so deep perhaps you didn’t comprehend it. Your unwavering confidence in me was something I had never experienced before. You never doubted my abilities, not even for a second. You understood my insecurities and knew how to encourage me. You knew exactly what I needed to hear and weren’t afraid to say it – I am so happy you told me to stop being a chicken and send that email. I’ll always be honored that I was entrusted

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with being the Editor-in-Chief of MiddleWestern Voice, a cross-disciplinary collaboration you were instrumental in creating.

you did, and thank you for your unapologetic existence.

Like The Leader, I know MiddleWestern Voice was another project you were quite invested in, and I am grateful you trusted me enough to hand me the reins.

Sarina Okrzesik

While we worked on bringing Vol. 24 to life, you taught me some valuable lessons in leadership and working with other people. You also taught me how to balance out being “artsy fartsy” with common sense. Your snarky sense of humor will be missed. I always admired your ability to not give a shit about what others thought. As a bit of a people pleaser myself, I’ve taken that sentiment with me as I’ve gone on in life. You were a creative genius with a unique emotional intelligence that shone through in unexpected ways. Thank you for everything

OCTOBER 6, 2023

With eternal care and respect,

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

YOUR STORIES STAYED HILARIOUS AND COMPELLING NO MATTER HOW MUCH PAIN YOU WERE IN Roxee Timan, 2018 Former Multimedia and Managing Editor Dear Ron, When you mentioned your idea of writing a book of letters to dead people, I had no idea that I would have to continue this legacy by writing this one for you. I cannot thank you enough for being one of my first and forever friends from Elmhurst. It was a few weeks into my first semester when you asked me to stay after your Writing Fiction course. I was terrified that it was your way of telling me to find a new major. I remember tearing up and seeing your face contort as you began to laugh — I scratched my face on rough paper towels while you reassured me of my skill and asked me to audition for The Leader. I called my Dad on the way to my apartment with fresh tears in my eyes and a new sense of hope that maybe I made the right decision coming here. After I made my Leader debut coming out via

a fiery opinion column, you and I shared an elevator ride in Daniels Hall. When the doors shut, you told me about your sister with my same name and how she came out to you when you were teens.

Even years after I graduated, pulling up in your gravel driveway to see your wisps of white hair as you hunched over your computer or you standing outside, cigarette in hand, I knew you would have a story to tell.

“I told her I knew because she used to grab frogs and squeeze them in the faces of boys like this,” as you flexed your bulbous fingers in a fist that made me smile, and then I knew you would be my friend.

Even throughout taking care of you during your knee replacement, your stories stayed hilarious and compelling no matter how much pain you were in. You were born a storyteller; the many lives you lived and your scratchy chuckle when I made an off-color joke will always be remembered.

Going from virtually friendless in a new school to being lodged into the newsroom with a bunch of strangers was the kickstart I needed to having the best college experience. It’s been over five years, and I consider some of The Leader board from my 2016-2018 tenure my closest friends. We learned from long nights staring at articles and columns, each Editorial Board member meticulously preparing each page into the early hours of Monday morning. It was never perfect, and you let us know that in your “morning after” debriefs, nitpicking every line.

“I said there was absolutely no chance that I’d forget. I told her that I’d never written a story for anybody, but that it seemed like exactly the right time to get down to it.” - J.D. Salinger, For Esmé—with Love and Squalor Love, Roxee

No matter how much we cringed at every error you found, we all would come back two weeks later to do it again.

PHOTO PROVIDED BY Laurie Rich Salerno OCTOBER 6, 2023

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RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

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HE TAUGHT ME ... HOW GOOD WRITING WASN’T JUST ABOUT RILING PEOPLE UP, BUT ALSO INSPIRING THEM TO ACTION rative megaphone of a college publication and have it be heard.

Ryan Aronoff, 1999 Former Opinions Editor It was 1997. Ron Wiginton pulled me aside after class one day early in the semester and said he saw potential in my writing and that I should consider joining The Leader, maybe as an opinions columnist. Unbeknownst to me, he was working at the behest of the school administration, hoping to wrangle a belligerent student into publishing self-made (admittedly antagonistic) magazines around campus. Ron took me under his wing, and — possibly to the administrators’ chagrin — showed me how to choose my targets more wisely. He taught me how a columnist keeps a narrow focus to pack a more concentrated punch, and how good writing wasn’t just about riling people up, but also inspiring them to action. Moreover, he taught me how to harness my voice and how to feed it through the figu-

He and I seemed to have a lot in common. I wanted to throw mud in the eye of the beast, give a gut punch to “the system,” and Ron often seemed to hold similar ambitions, but his methodology was much more refined, his efforts more civic-minded. If Ron wanted to disrupt the system, it was because he felt this was one of the necessities of good journalism, to shake students and faculty alike from complacency, to start dialogues, to encourage independent thought, and to question authority … even when that authority was his own. And Ron was certainly authoritative, a well of seemingly infinite knowledge of the ins and outs of journalistic writing and, moreover, the human condition. Ron had the seemingly contradictory ability to let you know he never took anything too seriously, but that he always meant business.

been anything — a writer, a brand specialist, a political advisor, a darkly sardonic motivational speaker…instead of choosing, he became all of those things. As the newly minted Leader’s advisor, he shaped the college’s sleepy news publication into a sophisticated and provocative vessel for the student voice. He never told us which stories we had to tell, nor what angle to tell these stories from. He trusted this ragtag crew he had assembled to be the voice of our campus community and to perform journalism the way the best journalistic entities do: with thoughtfulness, persistence, and integrity. It is gratifying to see that model of excellence remained the bedrock for his entire tenure as advisor and is beyond reassuring to know that it will continue to shape the student voice for many more years to come.

He had the air of someone who could have

WARNING: “THIS LEDE IS SHIT” Syeda Sameeha, 2019 Former Editor-in-Chief “This lede is shit.” Those were the first words Dr. Ron said to me the Fall of 2017 when I walked in his office as a shy freshman, my article in hand to review with him. I was blessed to spend three years with him as a staffer and Editor-in-Chief of The Leader. Throughout those years I learned that Dr. Ron was all bark but no bite and beneath everything, he had a gem of a personality that deeply cared about the young people around him. Dr. Ron was not only an amazing teacher, inspiring journalist and the best mentor, but he was also my friend. He made me who I am today.

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I can still picture him walking around campus with his baseball cap or beanie if it was cold out, a tote bag and one arm taking long puffs of his cigarette. I will forever be indebted to him for standing by me when things got tough as Editor-in-Chief, especially when we were both subject to a lawsuit on campus. I was 19 and I thought my life was over, but Dr. Ron was there ready to fight for me. That’s the type of person he was. It is definitely an end of an era with Dr. Ron’s depart from this world. But I know each of us, his students, his Leader crew, and everyone who was impacted by him, will forever hold a piece of him in their hearts. Farewell, Dr. Ron.

OCTOBER 6, 2023

PHOTO PROVIDED BY Laurie Rich Salerno

RON MEMORIAL ISSUE

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DR. RON SCARED THE ABSOLUTE SHIT OUT OF ME Ryan Windle, 2023 Former Editor-in-Chief Dr. Ron scared the absolute shit out of me. Looking back, I feel as if that would probably be a compliment to him. I had very little time on campus with Dr. Ron, with him not being as involved with The Leader during the time I was a part of it. However, I was able to share class time with Ron in the spring semester of my first year. I feared him more than anyone on campus. It seems as if everyone I talked to on campus had horror stories about their experience with him. I would barely speak in his class to avoid being called out for my lack of journalism knowledge. When the coursework started, I was laser-focused on making sure whatever I submitted was perfect. I did not know this man well, but

I knew that I could not disappoint him. When we had to meet with him one-on-one for our first stories, I nearly passed out. I tried everything to be invisible to him, and now I had to face my fears head-on. Dr.Ron must have known I was about to pass out that first meeting, as he wanted to know more about me instead of my writing, and from then on the walls fell, and I slowly got more comfortable with him. I was not a perfect writer, and he was not afraid to let me know. But with stories that I thought were destined for failure, he always saw the positives (along with the many negatives) and made sure to make sure that I never left feeling defeated. How I wish I had more moments, more conversations, more everything. I wish I welcomed him more into my life during my last year.

Ron, I was afraid to hear any critique of how I was running his beloved newspaper, and I went back to that scared student on the first day of class. But if I truly was a mess, I know I would’ve been pulled into an emergency meeting with him against my will, and I wished he did. Dr. Ron provided many life lessons, and many stories to tell, but more importantly, he has left a wonderful mark on the many students that have been honored to have been taught by him. This still doesn’t feel real, and I do not know when it will hit me. In the last email Dr. Ron ever sent me about The Leader’s performance at ICPA, he said, “let me know when the parade starts,” and now I know that this parade has officially started, as everyone marches on to continue his legacy.

Even though I felt more comfortable with Dr.

OUR CONVERSATIONS GAVE ME THE COURAGE TO EXPLORE THE UNKNOWN Yusra Omer, 2023 Former MiddleWestern Voice Literature Staff While I didn’t know Dr. Ron for very long, his teachings and words left a lasting impression on me. I remember walking into his Writing Fiction class a little over a year ago and being told from day one that the class was going to be hard, harder than anything I would’ve ever taken in my entire life. Naturally, I doubted that — but part of me also hesitated, wondering if I should even stay in the class. But, as the course went on, I learned so many things and gained a new sense of understanding than when I first walked into class. Our conversations gave me the courage to explore the unknown when it comes to writing, and his comments about my pieces brought attention to the little details I had

once glanced over — not just about my writing, but myself as a person. He was able to guide me and give my writing a new, fresh perspective that I was once scared to explore in the past. From then on, I had (and still have) nothing but the utmost and deepest respect for Dr. Ron.

his memory is irreplaceable and his words are sacred. Regardless of what lies ahead for the future me, I’ll truly never forget the lessons he taught me, nor will I ever lose the passion I have for writing.

It’s insane how even after leaving that class, all I see, whether it be in books, novels, shows, or movies, ties back to whatever he taught me about the writing process and what truly makes a story compelling. Everything I know and appreciate about writing as a whole, in addition to myself as a writer, is because of him, and it pains me that we lost such a passionate and earnest man that truly took all things about literature to heart and instilled that burning passion for writing within his students. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank him enough for the light he has shown me. To me, OCTOBER 6, 2023

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