A Tribute To Wyatt Wade

Wyatt Wade never taught art. He wasn’t a great student—he only made so-so grades and even managed to get himself kicked out of the University of Texas for a while. He told me he never bothered with reading assignments—just skimmed the CliffsNotes. He was a terrible speller, too.

But does that mean he wasn’t a visionary art education publisher? Not in the least.

I started working for Wyatt in early 1983, just three years into his tenure as managing editor. Davis Publications was a different world then: a silent, cigarette-smoke-filled, almost colorless ground-floor office in a building permeated with the smell of printers’ ink. The editorial/production staff was tiny: just Wyatt, myself, and one other person producing a monthly magazine, several resource books, and a textbook or two each year. We all had a lot to do, a lot to learn. The pay was low, and time off was scanty. Worcester was just another gritty Rust Belt town, and Portland Street was a wind tunnel of swirling trash with a bordello at one end.

Because of Wyatt, the job was a blast.

His Texas-sized viewpoints didn’t always fit comfortably inside those cautious New England walls, but Wyatt had qualities that enabled him to bring his dreams to life and inspire others to dream right along with him. Here are just some of those qualities:

He believed in people.
Sometimes more than they believed in themselves. That made him a great acquiring editor: He often had to convince authors that they really could write that article or book. It also made him a great boss because he saw strengths that not everyone did and cheered us on.

He believed in the arts.
He may not have taught art, but he taught history and revered the humanities. Anyone who worked with him learned about art’s vital importance in education and Davis’s role in supporting it.

He had vision.
Most mornings, Wyatt had ten new ideas before we could even hang up our coats. And he didn’t forget them. For a hasty man, he had great stores of patience. He also had deep wells of optimism, an indispensable resource in the unpredictable world of publishing. He was always able to see possibilities.

He was a natural teacher.
Wyatt could certainly talk, but he could also communicate. He taught us to speak to authors by inviting us to listen to his conversations; we learned to appreciate Davis’s history and mission because he shared it with us all the time.

He didn’t take himself too seriously.
He rarely had any trouble laughing at himself. Some of his funniest stories were about his own mistakes.

He knew how to have a good time.
Squirt guns? Masks? 3-D glasses? They were all part of the office experience. We worked hard, and we had fun. It was a compelling combination.

If I had to name one enduring lesson (among many) that Wyatt left me, it’s this one: You gotta love the process. He always did.

These words of tribute, from a tiny fraction of the many, many people who knew Wyatt in art education and in publishing, offer SchoolArts readers even more evidence of Wyatt’s enormous impact on Davis and art education.

Nancy Walkup, SchoolArts Editor-in-Chief, 2005–present
Between his height, his cowboy hat, and his infectious enthusiasm, you couldn’t miss Wyatt when he walked into a room. I first met him years ago at NAEA and Texas state conventions and got to know him from talking to him every year.

In 2004, at the NAEA convention in Denver, Wyatt invited me to become the editor of SchoolArts, a complete surprise to me. The editor at the time, Eldon Katter, had recommended me as I’d been writing articles for the magazine for some time. I was still teaching, but Eldon said I could do it—and I did. Being editor-in-chief will always be my proudest professional accomplishment thanks to Wyatt and his always-present help and support.

Wyatt was a walking, talking art education ambassador who could and would talk to anyone, anywhere, especially about art education. Until he retired in 2016, you could always spot him easily at NAEA in the middle of the crowd at the SchoolArts/Davis booth (that cowboy hat!). And, of course, he would remember your name!

Besides art education, Wyatt loved diners (he took me to many in Worcester on visits); furniture building; Worcester, Massachusetts (he was the city’s best ambassador—did you know barbed wire was first made in Worcester? And the happy face was invented there?); old trucks (he converted one to run on cooking oil); an insane collection of ball caps (my husband traded him for one); a rambling farm in Maine, and his wonderful family. I am so glad I have known him.

Wyatt, the world won’t be the same without you.

Eldon Katter, SchoolArts Editor-in-Chief, 1994-2005
“You gotta know the territory.” Those are lyrics from “The Music Man,” not words from Wyatt Wade, but they encapsulate my memories of working with Wyatt, a man of great wisdom, magnetic charisma, and a delightful sense of humor.

Yes, you gotta know the territory of education: Wyatt had his finger on the pulse of art and education by way of Davis Publications sales reps all over the country, SchoolArts advisory board members, and of course, his own craftsmanship, scholarship, and avid reading.

Yes, you gotta know the territory, but you also gotta lead: Wyatt was an advocate for diversity, equity, and inclusion long before those words became initialized DEI. I have a memory of Wyatt and Claire challenging state legislators who wanted images of African masks removed from one of Laura Chapman’s textbooks. At the same time, Wyatt was encouraging SchoolArts to be more inclusive by featuring works of diverse cultures and by focusing on art history, criticism, and aesthetics as well as a wide range of interdisciplinary and studio practices. He also liked cartoons!

Yes, you gotta know the territory: You gotta know your friends. I consider myself fortunate to have worked for a man of such notable stature.

Marilyn G. Stewart, Davis author
Art education has lost one of its most enthusiastic fans.

My first memory of Wyatt was of that tall guy wearing a white cowboy hat who, at an early NAEA conference, met with Mary Erickson, Eldon Katter, and me as we proposed that Davis publish BASIC, our framework designed to help art teachers create discipline-based art curricula. He was gracious and friendly, but, as he explained, Davis Publications was already committed to Laura Chapman’s curriculum. Still, Kutztown’s history of attending to the practical needs of art teachers resonated with Wyatt. As I learned over the years, the daily lives of art teachers were always at the forefront of his thinking. He routinely looked to the future, considered how art education might change, and how Davis might meet its evolving needs.

Wyatt envisioned a role for Davis Publications as not only a provider of substantive content, but also as a “convener.” The annual NAEA Administration and Supervision preconference, still sponsored by Davis, began as a yearly Supervisor’s Summit, convened and funded by Davis to support arts supervisors and their promotion of quality arts education. After meeting separately in various sites around the country, Davis eventually teamed up with NAEA and has supported the preconference ever since.

In these and in so many of his projects at home and in the world of art education, I watched Wyatt approach his vision with relentless energy and enthusiasm. We almost always agreed, but when our ideas did happen to bump into each other, I could always count on three things—his honesty, optimism, and humor. Wyatt brought all these qualities to whatever or whoever was fortunate enough to capture his attention. Luckily for art education, his attention was steady and strong for decades, leaving a legacy that will endure for at least that long.

Kevin Gatta, Davis author
Wyatt Wade was larger than life.

One story I’ll always cherish: I was up in Worcester to do some finishing touches on our new edition of Communicating through Graphic Design. Wyatt said, “Kevin: tomorrow. Breakfast. 7:00 o’clock sharp in front of the hotel.”

The next morning, I hear a big muscle-car sound coming towards me, and Wyatt pulls up in this perfectly restored 1970 metallic blue, spit-shined Chevy pickup truck. Mint! Restored to the whole nine yards! Total Mr. Cool!

Wyatt rolls down the window and tilts his head and winks and says, “Get in—we’re going to the Boulevard.” (A Worcester diner on Shrewsbury Street.) I get in and he says, “Like it?” with a big laugh and that contagious smile. He’s dressed to the nines in his ten-gallon hat, brown corduroy sports jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots. He’s in his glory. I feel like I just entered an episode of The Twilight Zone. We take off like we’re going to the races. My heart is pounding.

When we walk in, everyone knows him, and he holds court in that glorious dining car. For a moment, I feel like I’m part of his crew.

He was a lanky gentleman, a gracious colleague, and a dear friend. He had my back. He had everyone’s. Wyatt was Davis Publications.

Mary Ann Stanckiewicz, Davis author
Wyatt’s support for all forms of research in art education was exemplified by his contributions to the annual Studies in Art Education Invited Lecture, delivered during the NAEA conference from the late 1980s. For many years, Davis provided a reception following the lecture; later they donated an honorarium to the invited speaker. No matter how busy Wyatt was during the convention, he made a point of attending the lecture, sitting near the front, and actively listening to each speaker. Wyatt will be missed by art educators, his fellow New Englanders, and everyone who knew him.