COMMUNITY & CULTURE
TAKE IT FROM ME…
with Linda Lockhart
TEACHER. JOURNALIST. CAUTIOUS TRAILBLAZER.
By Diane Kline
L
inda Lockhart had planned to become a teacher, but
an article in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch changed the
direction of her life: She learned about a scholarship
created by the newspaper to encourage African-American
students to study journalism. After applying for and
winning the scholarship, Lockhart launched a career that has spanned
four decades in a variety of editorial positions at the Post-Dispatch and
other publications.
Now the outreach and engagement editor at St. Louis Public Radio,
Lockhart is in charge of the Public Insight Network, which is designed
to provide sources for stories that reflect the community’s diversity,
including geography, ethnicity and socio-economic levels.
Lockhart was among the founders of the Greater St. Louis
Association of Black Journalists, and is also committed to mentoring
African-American students who want to enter the field. She and her
husband, Steve Korris, also a journalist, have raised a son and daughter,
and now spend time doting on their two grandchildren.
Don’t let anyone know how badly they’re hurting you.
I was one of the first African-Americans to cover the nightside police
beat when the cops didn’t like reporters - or women. They’d say, “Let’s
go into the interrogation room, and I’ll show you some things.” I refused
to show how much it bothered me. As a black person and a woman, I
learned this over the years.
I am dedicated to teaching journalism to black students.
They need the right foundation to be competitive. We began the very
first workshop in the country for high school kids. We had no funding.
We’d patch together a few dollars to buy the kids White Castle burgers
(only one each!). Forty years later, we’ve reached 1,000 students, and
the graduates are working across the country, including Russ Mitchell
(former anchor at CBS), and Marcia Davis at The Washington Post.
I was Linda, “the black girl,” but I was also just Linda. I am cautious, methodical, and afraid of risks.
I was the first African-American to graduate from Lutheran High
School South. I was a book nerd and worked on the newspaper. I had
friends, but it was lonely. No one asked me on a date or gave me a love
note. My best friend told me, “I can’t invite you to my sleepover because
my mother is worried about what the neighbors will think.” Today, I live
in that same neighborhood. I don’t step out in faith. Instead, I look for good opportunities and think
carefully before leaping. Every step of my career, somebody tapped me
on the shoulder and said, “Here’s something you’d be good at.”
My grandfather made it clear that I couldn’t be a Veiled
Prophet princess .
Subtle things defined racism for me as a child. At 7 years old, I watched
the Veiled Prophet ball on television, mesmerized by the girls in
beautiful white gowns making deep curtsies. “I can be a princess, too,”
I told my grandfather. He gently rubbed my hand, looked at my brown
skin and said, “No, you can’t.”
Listen to your mamas. They will never steer you wrong.
My mother read about the Post-Dispatch scholarship. It covered college
tuition to study journalism, summer employment and a guaranteed
position after graduation. I’d never fathomed a journalism career
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because no people of color were on the news. But mom declared,
“You’re going to get this.” And I did!
GAZELLE STL
We taught our children that they didn’t have to fit into
anybody’s mold.
My husband is white, and we were featured in a 1985 Ebony magazine
story about multicultural families. People saw my husband with our
kids and assumed they were adopted. And sometimes they assumed I
was their nanny. My children had to think about race and had some hard
times with friends.
I come from a long line of survivors.
My relatives didn’t die in slavery or in a lynching. So I have to survive