I shared an idyllic childhood with three very tall brothers, on five acres with two ponds, a tiny brook, woods, a grove, black oaks, weeping willows, fruit trees, peonies, a vegetable garden, a (best of all in early spring) pussy willow bush, a (boys only) tree house, and at the end of the drive, in the roomy home our parents dreamed of and built themselves.
My paternal grandfather came to the United States at age 13 and went to work in coal mines, later a factory. I remember his toolbox in home garage. My son and I traveled near his birthplace (Cuesmes, where Van Gogh lived) to Mons, in Belgium…when we checked into the hotel there was a phone book full with the Finet name, and the desk clerk treated us well.
My paternal grandmother was the beloved…no exaggeration…lunch lady at the elementary school.
I barely knew my maternal grandfather or much about his work.
I’m the namesake of my spirited maternal grandmother (both of us middle name Louise), an impeccably-styled Southern lady who played bridge like a gangster. She was a talented seamstress and when money was tight, did alterations in a department store. (Though I can’t stand card games or most board games) she and I had a bond over walking, farmers’ markets, and the perfect dress for the occasion.
My father was an engineer and my mother a teacher who specialized in reading problems. There’s no calculation for all they’ve given me. And in 2020, still I’m able to talk with them on the phone and send them notes in the mail every few days.
From early on, it was expected that I would work. I started with a paper route, shared with my brother. Every day after school, and on Sunday mornings, we would arrive at the route manager’s garage, roll up our stuff, put it in bags, get on our bikes, then go and throw. Every two weeks we went door to door to collect subscriptions. When we delivered to the bars in town, we always got nice tips. (My father’s uncle, town postmaster, owned one of those bars.)
In high school and summers during college, I worked as a supermarket cashier, waitperson, at a fast food counter, and on the tray line in a hospital kitchen.
As a high school senior I discovered a new honors program starting up at Millikin University in Illinois, and chose it for my undergraduate degree. My mother hand-sewed the dress that I wore to the interview, and went with me to it. With help from my sage advisor, I double-majored in English and History and graduated magna cum laude (so close to summa that it still bugs me but it’s my fault for some goofing off) in three years. I edited the campus newspaper, served on student senate, and made some life-long friends as a Pi Beta Phi.
My master’s degree is from Northwestern University’s Medill School of Journalism, where my reporting focused on urban affairs in Chicago. Northwestern taught me much about competition and criticism and harsh winters. Despite winter, I return to the moody Lake Michigan shore, Loop, and Lincoln Park any time I can.
Prospects for journalism graduates weren’t great when I finished, so I took a corporate marketing job. There I worked with a visionary boss (former saxophone player in Chicago) with shared ideas, who introduced me to Bananas Foster (and the occasional Bloody Mary lunch with the PR firm), and still welcomes me, with good food of course, to his current home base of New Orleans.
I was working for the public television and radio stations at the University of Illinois when the dean of my college there suggested I consider a doctorate. Fortunately, I ended up at the University of Southern California’s Annenberg School for Communication. I studied alongside, and made friends with, nascent scholars and professionals who’ve since achieved remarkable things. My correctly uncompromising advisor pushed, and backed, me not to settle with less than my best work. Based in both philosophical and social scientific approaches to the theme of justice, my dissertation used survey research, social network analysis, structural modeling, and some qualitative research to examine perceptions of workplace fairness among members of a communication workers’ union in two large Los Angeles companies. It earned the W. Charles Redding dissertation award from the International Communication Association. Living in Los Angeles then, I rode my bike to Venice Beach, took my books to Malibu, hiked the Santa Monica mountains, saved up to buy all five volumes of Virginia Woolf’s diaries at the feminist bookstore on Westwood Boulevard, watched film at the Nuart, ate cheap midnight borscht at the old Gorky’s downtown (free refills), and met some pretty interesting people while staffing the reception desk at KCRW.
After finishing at USC, I worked as a professor, first at the State University of New York/Albany, and after that, at the University of Texas/Austin. During my time at SUNY and UT, my teaching and research focused mostly on the role of communication in collective social advocacy and on communication ethics. Throughout, I was supported by generous department chairs, mentors and colleagues.
For me, life without a family of my own felt incomplete. I became a wife and mother at a time when that, for too many women, was incompatible with the pursuit of tenure at the top (maybe top-ish) tier. So I left UT, but not without knowing that I would return to the core ideas that kept me thinking, and still allowing me to bring up the most intelligent, creative, curious, perceptive, emotionally sane son any mother could wish for—who’s given me a few scares but now is making his own good life.
Writing continued to give me a creative path while parenting. Growing up, my favorite shelf at the public library held a row of biographies written for young readers. I was hooked. So in the interim before returning to full time work, I published in the field of life writing—a detour from my earlier career and the one ahead, but one that introduced me to some of Austin’s remarkable people and as a plus, diversified my writing practice. I co-directed a grant-funded project to collect the memoirs of elder women in Texas, and co-edited the book, issued by the University of Texas Press, which published them. Regularly, I also wrote profiles of notable people for an Austin-based magazine. The magazine’s editor and my critique group colleagues helped immeasurably to sharpen my writing. The best part of writing is editing. Show don’t tell finally makes sense.
I returned to full time work at a progressive think tank in Austin. There I directed two major projects. The first involved creation of a way to assess personal and family economic security (in each of Texas’ two-hundred-some counties) as an alternative to the outdated 1960s-era poverty measure, which could better account for the more complex financial pressures people in this century face. My other primary work was as the director of Texas KIDS COUNT, an initiative of the Annie E. Casey Foundation with an affiliate in each state. That project published work on the economic, educational, health and safety status of children and teens throughout each county in the state, and along the southwest border. I still have the greatest respect for the brainy, passionate people I met during that time.
In her book Composing a Life, Mary Catherine Bateson asks whether “the model of improvisation might prove more creative and appropriate to the…century than the model of a single track ambition.” In systems theory, the concept of equifinality defines a similar idea—there are multiple paths to the desired result. I’ve had a life of achievement, not always linear, and emotional wealth. But. My core commitments always have been and will remain to social, economic, and climate justice, and to the creative exploration of emerging ways to express and promote those values.
Aside from work, just me.
I relish architecture, art, interiors and fashion. My first idea of a career was to become an architect, and I fought to get into a high school drafting class though I can’t draw, and still believe that the Prairie School has created some of humankind’s most harmonious visions. I’m fond of post-Impressionism (and almost all Modernism) and have visited Charleston House, the Sussex home to Bloomsbury artists, more than once. Would go back in a minute. Free days at the Art Institute in Chicago and MOCA in Los Angeles (where I soaked up Rauschenberg and Hockney) were my refuge when a limited-budget graduate student. In interiors and fashion, simplicity.
I’ve always loved dogs (first Fala, because FDR) (then Miles the Valentine’s Day golden mix) (then Gunther the shepherd mix who never caught that rabbit but always smelled a bag of cheap plush toys from the Goodwill when it came home). Some cool cats (elegant Chloe maybe part blue point Siamese, Leo pure orange tabby and now Oliver, yes named for that late night guy), have owned me. I still have a shelf of my girlhood horse books.
Years ago, I learned ballet and modern dance but truthfully wasn’t very good. I tried rugby, tennis, and racquetball, also not great. Triathlon has clicked. I continue to run, swim and cycle. Also do yoga when I can.
Naps are good if you’re lucky to get them. Puttering around is underrated for helping to organize thought, though a writer friend recently, nicely, scolded me that the time does come to put fingers to keyboard.
I share a birthday with Barack Obama and (also an alma mater with) the Duchess of Sussex. With sun, moon, and seven planets in Leo in my chart, pride has undone me more than once but also made me who I am and has been my survival.
Dayna Finet 