Michael “Mike” E. Lee, Class of 1960

Introduction:

The class of 1960 yielded many outstanding citizens who labor daily in an anonymous world shouldering responsibilities to family, community and business. It is an extraordinary individual that can expand that theater to public responsibility and a world stage while maintaining strong family relationships. Mike Lee, Kimball Class of 1960, is just such an individual. Mike epitomizes the hope and optimism of a generation stepping forth from high school into an adult world that was to experience enormous cultural, political and societal upheaval. A time of world changing events that few could understand not to mention communicate to a population that seemed to lose itself. Mike was a rare spectator to those events in a most uncommon way and in this article, he shares his journey with us. Never pretentious nor unreachable, Mike took with him on his journey the same wit, charm and intelligence he presented to us as classmates. More importantly, he left Kimball to make an impact on the world and has done so with great dignity and presence. For that reason and many more, the Alumni of Justin F. Kimball can bestow with pride his entry into our Kimball Hall of Fame. I would end by saying, “Arise, Sir Lee and be recognized” but that would be anticlimactic. Congratulations, Mike, and may your continued journey enlighten us and be of safety. Ron Sills 60

I have been fortunate, on two counts. For 37 years I have been paid to see the world, and talk about it to a lot of people. Secondly, I spent my young, formative years in the company of people who were full of dreams, fun, and energy. You helped me cope with the journey.Kimball was special, but it wasn’t until much later that I realized how special. Whatever separate paths our lives have taken, I suspect many of us have, from time to time, wondered back to those days and longed for the comfort of the growing pains we then considered insufferable. As post war children, raised during a time of intense economic growth, and neo-isolationism, we were, with scant awareness, shielded from much of the world’s woes. Vietnam would, of course, end our innocence. But I remember the thrill, while on a youth trip to Washington, of meeting a charming young John F. Kennedy. It also has to be said that we met a not so charming Lyndon Johnson, who couldn’t wait to get rid of us. At any rate, when we graduated from high school, we were blessed, collectively, with a sense of optimism and purpose. Contrast that with the cynicism that pervades so much of today’s culture. During the sixties, it was that shared sense of invincibility, which mesmerized me into thinking I could perform beyond my natural gifts, that whatever the setbacks, something positive would come of it all. Looking back, much of life has been luck, good and bad. But in those early post Kimball years, the natural narcotic of hope kept me stumbling forward. Thankfully, I had not yet discovered common sense. My first career move was a lie. A small but seminal lie. I was at UT Austin, taking an eclectic group of courses, which perfectly reflected my illusion that I could be several things at once; international law, pre-med, and creative writing. I was living around the corner from an upstart UHF TV station, called KHFI. I had, since childhood, been enthralled by television, including what happened behind the cameras. I used to go to the State Fair just to watch the WFAA cooking show. I was ten years old. Now I watched Walter Cronkite, and young Dan Rather, and dared to think that I might some day know them. It was absurd. I had no broadcast training, no journalism degree, no right to have this dream. But KHFI was just around the corner, like a space ship waiting to take me away. I felt that if I could just get in the door, I would never come out again, and that was fine. I contacted the KFHI news director, Charlie Stewart, and arranged to do an essay on him for my creative writing course. I hit him up for a job. To my amazement he accepted. I may have glossed over my lack of broadcast experience. Back then it would have been called a lie. Today it would be called a CV. I quit the French course I needed for my degree, and quit my part time job selling clothes in a local men’s store. When I reported for work the following week, Mr. Stewart said there had been a slight problem. The budget for expending the news department (from three to four people) had just been cut back due to drop in commercial ads revenue. My first lesson in corporate downsizing, even before I had been upsized. I pumped gas for six months, and pestered KHFI, until Mr. Stewart finally hired me. It seems the station had increased its fortunes because the other Austin station, KTBC, owned by Lady Bird Johnson, whose husband had rigged the FCC to give her first option on all shows from any network. Well, the Johnsons had turned down the option on a new, obscure show called Batman. My career was launched in 1965 by the “caped crusader”, and, unknowingly, by LBJ. It was in Austin that I learned to shoot news film, process it, edit the story, write the story, and voice the story. None of it very well, but what a valuable experience. Henceforth, at every new job, I was required to be more of a specialist. From 66 to 68 I was a reporter/shooter at WFAA, Channel 8, Dallas. In 1968, I was asked to come to San Francisco by KPIX TV. The hippie and anti war movements were gathering steam, so you can imagine what an incredible news town that was. In 1975 I was hired by CBS News, and moved to New York. On my second day at work I was asked to do a story about the New York City budget crisis. The seasoned correspondent who would have normally been given the story, who I shall not name, was busy that day. That night, as the broadcast began with the famous name slate, or ‘clicker,’ ticking off the names of correspondents, with Walter Cronkite waiting to talk, I heard the announcer say “This is the CBS Evening News with Walker Cronkite. And Mike Lee in New York, Dan Rather at the White House, Roger Mudd on Capitol Hill, etc. My Austin dream had come true. I found a quite corner, and cried. In 1980 I moved from CBS to ABC, where I remain. The dream has, on balance, lived up to my expectation. But there have been plenty of nightmares along the way. Two years covering a civil war in Beirut, and numerous other wars in other places, have often sent me into despair over what humans can do to one another. Yet, even in the darkest hours, I’ve found people capable of heart wrenching acts of kindness toward a stranger, even as they suffered severe hardship. There are far too many personal stories to tell here, and I fear I’ve already run on a bit too much. The one over riding impression from my experiences so far is that none of us are any more special than the next person. I’ll confess I didn’t always know that. In my early career, in the U.S., I thought I was special, basically because of the job I had. But as I traveled the world, I met thousands people who, though unremarkable in their environment, were hugely talented, resourceful, and proud. I sometimes wonder whether I would have experienced all of this, whether I would have kept knocking on the door of KHFI, Austin without that sense of optimism I took with me from F. J. Kimball.

Hall of Fame Inductee