David Broder died today. I know there is a lot of disagreement about his work, but I can’t imagine anyone challenging this: He was one of the kindest colleagues I ever had. I began working at the national desk of the Washington Post as a 22-year-old intern and came on as a staffer a year later. It was, surprisingly, a place full of kind veterans. On my first day, Bob Woodward introduced himself and offered help anytime; Don Graham knew my name within months.
He knew everyone’s name. And maybe David Broder called everyone “Slugger.” But I took it as a reference to my softball skills and was glad that he often stopped to say hi on his way to his office, steps away. He offered guidance on the political graphics I was creating, and was always very encouraging.
I thought my two-hour dentist appointment would be the worst thing about today, but not anymore.