In a Crisis, Leaders are Often Judged by Their Words
In a crisis, leaders are often judged by their words.
Robert D. McFadden of The New York Times built a legendary career writing with clarity, speed, and impact — exactly what crisis moments demand. The best way to strengthen your own writing under pressure? Read great writing. McFadden’s work is a master class.
The byline of Robert D. McFadden, who retired on Sunday, has been one of the most distinguished in the history of The Times. Here is a sampler of his artful obituaries.
A Trove of Words to Remember From a Master Obituary Writer
by William McDonald, The New York Times
The byline Robert D. McFadden has been one of the most distinguished in the history of The New York Times, one that has been affixed to hundreds upon hundreds of exactingly reported and artfully composed pieces since Bob joined the newspaper 63 years ago, beginning a Times career remarkable not just for its craftsmanship and productivity but also for its longevity. He retired on Sunday at 87.
Bob first achieved distinction as a “rewrite man,” a reporter who would take on some of the biggest breaking-news stories of the day — a jetliner crash, a historic blackout, the destruction of the World Trade Center — without leaving his newsroom desk.
Reporters in the field covering an event would feed him reams of information, and he would take it all down, a telephone receiver cradled against one ear, his fingers flying across the keys of a typewriter and later a computer keyboard. Then he’d funnel the information — it could never be too much — into a sweeping account full of detail, color, voices and drama. His rewrite prowess was recognized with a Pulitzer Prize in 1996.
But he had a second act in store, as an obituary writer. For the last decade or more, Bob chronicled hundreds of consequential lives, some famous and some less so. Even there he was singular, however, because his mission was to write about people not after they died, the usual sequence, but while they still lived. He wrote their obituaries in advance, each deeply researched, thoroughly reported and fluidly written. Then he’d file them away, sometimes for years, until they were finally needed, when death came knocking.
These were luminous portraits, placing people on a broader historical canvas but never losing sight of the often revealing particulars that complete the picture, that render any life as unlike any other.
We on the Obits desk had a name for such an obituary: “a McFadden.”
And we haven’t seen the last one yet. Mr. McFadden may have left The Times, but his byline has stayed behind. He retired with more than 250 advance obituaries still in the pipeline, each awaiting its day.
Here is a sampling of the McFaddens that have gone to press.
For the rest, click here.