Those of you who know how I left the newspaper business may
think it strange that I hang Dallas Morning News ornaments on the
Gunnels Christmas tree.
It’s really not that weird. When I’m in a magnanimous mood,
which alas isn’t often, I thank my lucky stars that I got laid off by The
News when I did.
At the time, of course, September 2011, I was devastated –
angry, terrified and mournful all rolled up into one messy train wreck of emotions.
I was 60 years old – with a mortgage, one kid in college and another one on the
threshold – and suddenly I was booted to the curb by the profession I had
wanted to be a part of since I was a teenager.
It was a bummer – big time.
As it turns out, I did get another job – just not in
newspapers. I was smart enough to realize that was a losing proposition so I
limited my job search to PR and was lucky enough – and that’s what it was,
pure, unadulterated luck – to find one.
I worked for the state in higher education for eight years. As
a result, my retirement is augmented by the Texas Retirement System pension I
earned during that period.
I’m better off, financially at least, than I would have been
if I had stayed in newspapers until the retirement bell rang. So the DMN suits
who handed me my walking papers actually did me a favor. The bastards.
Emotionally, the sting still burns. While the terror and
sadness have faded away, the anger is still very real and reveals itself in
strange, unexpected ways. That said, I do experience a strong sense of
satisfaction each month when my TRS check shows up.
That’s one reason why I hang these DMN Christmas
ornaments every year. More importantly, however, they help remind me of who I
really am. I look at them and understand anew that the way I view the world and
how I relate to the people was shaped by the years I spend in newspaper
newsrooms, including the 26 years I worked at the DMN.
The simple fact is that in my heart and soul, I’ll always be
a newspaper man.
I spent almost four decades in the news business, almost all
of it at Texas newspapers. I worked at metro papers in three of the state’s
major metropolitan areas – Dallas, Fort Worth and Austin. I was lucky enough –
there’s that word again – to be part of a team that won the Pulitzer Prize.
I battled deadlines with some of the finest reporters and
editors this country has produced, and I never missed a deadline. As a
reporter, I once wrote a story that prevented a group of poor senior citizens
in East Austin from losing their Meals on Wheels route. I covered tornadoes and
homeless camps and jail breakouts and a thousand other events that touched
people’s lives.
I was never a great reporter. I didn’t have the taste for
blood and aggressive mindset that the really good ones have. I didn’t like
long, complicated stories that required dozens of interviews and hours of
pouring over documents. I preferred people features – quick-hit looks at the
way people lived and loved and created.
I was a better editor. I prided myself on being a reporter’s
advocate, someone who understood the challenges they faced and who was willing
to push deadlines to the breaking point to give them every last second to hone
and polish their stories. Sometimes, it cost me because, after all, the DMN was
an editor’s newspaper.
But I don’t kid myself. When all was said and done, I was
nothing more than a journeyman journalist – competent, dependable and
versatile. I was no Ben Bradlee. No Seymour Hersh. No Bob Woodward.
What I will say – with some pride and humility – is that I always
pulled my weight. That’s what a journeyman is expected to do. That’s what I was
and that’s what I did.
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