From Feature Writer Carol Campbell to the readers of the Motley County Tribune:

Douglas Meador, 1923, Hollywood Court Drugstor, Santa Monica

I was assigned the overwhelming task of compiling a retrospective story on Ben Douglas Meador (1901-1974) who was the owner and operator of The Matador Tribune from 1933 until his death in 1974, more than 40 years in continuous operation by one owner.

Doug Meador was a widely recognized newspaper man in his time, best known for his column “Trail Dust” which was later published into a book, now out of print.

I delved into the archived files at the Motley County Museum.  A wealth of information was donated to the museum by Lila Meador before her death in 1961. Marisue Potts-Powell was kind enough to loan me the files to read at my leisure.  There were two large folders of materials, decades of stories about Doug Meador, his past accomplishments, pictures, famous quotes, articles from reporters that had interviewed him, a letter from Governor Preston Smith (1972); and numerous hand-written letters from his former employee, Pulitzer prize-winning author Karen Elliott House.  It is reported that he received a letter from President Lyndon B. Johnson commending him for a job well done; and finally, sadly, his lengthy obituary, outlining his many accomplishments.

According to his obituary, he was “most proud of three circumstances in his life:  of being a native Texan, of having been born in Matador, and of having served as Mayor of Matador.” (“Publisher of Tribune Dies,” The Matador Tribune, September, 1974).

Doug ran for Mayor in 1948 on a “no salary campaign.” His first official duty when elected was to “dissolve the mayor’s salary.”  “My creditors never forgave me,” he said.  This received wide publicity throughout Texas.  The story was picked up by the Associated Press and was used by radio newscasters from Dallas and San Antonio; and received front page news in Lubbock and Ft. Worth.

Later, when he ran for re-election, he said he was going to “double his salary” to two zeros. “A politician can get along without money provided he has never used it before entering office,” he said. He won another term, hands down.

It was a life well-lived, full of colorful people, and adventures – outstanding civic leadership and pride, devotion to friends and family, awards of excellence, state and regional newspaper awards; and a work ethic not likely seen since the invention of computers and instant spell check.  His life spanned the old manual typewriter and the linotype machine.  The Linotype typesetting machine revolutionized typesetting for newspapers in the late ’30s and early ’40s, producing an entire line of metal type at once — hence a line-o-type).   But someone had to set type, and Doug learned that skill, too.

One article said that one time Doug worked 24 hours straight on a deadline for a special edition.  His friends found him asleep on the counter at the news office the next day. He traveled to Guatemala City, Central America, where he wrote and photographed for a feature article for a national magazine.

His loyal wife, Lila, worked side-by-side with Doug at the news office, typesetting, typing, selling ads, and composing copy. It was said the Lila married Doug and the Matador Tribune in 1929. She also wrote a column – the brains behind the scenes, some say.  Well, dreamers can’t be thinking about money all the time, can they?

“I have more glory and less money than anybody I know,” he said. (Matador Tribune, October 12, 1972). Perhaps the most poignant bit of wisdom came from the same issue, “It’s not as important what you put in a country newspaper, as what you keep out of it,” he said.

To that end, I beg to differ: I found an important treasure; a treasure that has never been published to my knowledge. It was tucked away in the middle of the museum folder — three pages of single-spaced, typed script in his own words.  Edited with little ink squiggles, and typewriter xxxx’s.  Here was Doug Meador talking about his life, his humble beginnings, his misfortunes in the early days, and finally, his success.  The folded paper was yellowed and brittle, and very fragile.  I felt humbled to be holding his innermost thoughts of 70 years ago in my hands. But he left it for us, I reminded myself, and in his own words, he speaks to us today.

“A great, good man is gone; the stranger he never knew here will be his friend in paradise.” — Doug Meador.

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