Working in the newspaper business provided so many life lessons. Now, though, it really is time to leave it for good.
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Hey friend, can you grab a cold Budweiser out of the fridge for me? What about a cigar over there … yeah, that Cuban one? Thanks. I have a story which might interest you.
A few weeks from now, I’ll write my last headline for a newspaper and call it a career. Ever since I was 17 years old, I wanted to be in the newspaper business and … for better or worse … I’ve been around it since then.
There have been times where I was booted out of a position, a newspaper shut down, or I simply left on my own volition. Those times were when I was looking to improve positions (you know, move up in the business). Others, though, were when burnout crept in or my own internal insecurities simply would not let me settle down and stay in one place for 30 years.
My own experiences have led me to see that leaving this business, for good, is similar to telling a secret lover goodbye.
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If you have ever felt an adrenaline rush, then you get an idea of how putting a newspaper together works.
You get the ingredients (stories and pictures), put them together (design and layout pages), and ship them off to readers (through composing and press rooms and newspaper carriers). That is oversimplifying the entire process, for sure.
I can say that I’ve been really honored to work with many professional journalists and newspaper people. These are some of my dearest friends. Sadly, a few of them are not alive anymore. They all have taught me a whole lot about writing, editing, crafting stories, making sure deadlines are met, and a few curse words, too.
My personal life has been dominated by being around adults, so it didn’t feel that much different when I hung around men and women 20-25 years older than me. It would be untrue to say that I felt comfortable fitting into the same age group in the business. Y’know, after-work parties, talking about the latest stories and what-not heard from this person or another. I never felt comfortable around people my own age until later in life.
Another Budweiser, please … thanks.
My experience found both work and life bleeding over way too much. There were no true boundaries between what was happening beyond the newspaper (the latest family crisis, etc.) and allowing me to pursue my dreams and goals.
Facing some harsh truths about my own attitudes and behaviors started me looking toward other work years ago. But the newspaper itch and my own fears made me turn back again and again.
Talking with you about this is liberating and awesome. It’s also scary as hell. I mean, newspapers have been part of my gene pool. I’ve mentioned my Uncle Ed in this space before. Edwin D. Hunter was vice president and managing editor of The Houston Post back in the early 1970s and had quite a distinguished career. He worked his way up the ranks. Personally, Uncle Ed and I didn’t have many conversations about the business because – for 20-plus years – there was this weird family separation that happened. Looking back, it was nuts and should not have happened. Thankfully, we reconnected in 1998 and had a few conversations … more about life than the business. He died in 1999. I wish I could have had more chats with him.
Yet this business, as I said earlier, has a weird way of making me believe that the days of big newsrooms, powerful presses running all across the United States, and salaries that are decent and good are still there. My view is that all of this has been fading away. Even some community newspapers are cutting jobs, consolidating spaces and looking to use faded-out business models as income streams.
That doesn’t work anymore.
Being an editor, reporter, copy editor or page designer at a newspaper is a pretty sweet gig. If you have never been in the seats, then you can judge those words anyway you choose.
My cigar burned out. Can you pass me a light? Thanks.
Like I was saying, newspapers are a sweet business and it has been a great run. I’ve been running so much that it is time to cut the cord and let it go.
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Much like an intimate relationship, the newspaper business has shown me some of her skin, batted her eyes at me and, even when I’m going in a different direction in life, made promises to me.
“Come on back, Joe. It’ll be different this time. Things will work out, baby.” The business has been quite a flirtatious one to me.
I’ve fallen into hearing that voice and following it again and again, only to be personally let down. The thing is that newspapers didn’t do it. I let myself down. I believed that “this newspaper job” or “that newspaper job” would be the final resting spot, where I could simply go to work, get “settled” into a routine, and find inner happiness.
Yet there have been too many stories about homicides, too many pictures of dead bodies strewn across foreign lands, and even placing pictures of dead infants as part of a family’s paid obituary for their beloved. I’ve reached my emotional limit with it all.
As much as I strive to separate myself from all of that and just “do the job,” it doesn’t make me tick anymore. The mistress will probably call again, metaphorically speaking, and want me to do something for some newspaper. Yet at 50 years old, with my job-hopping resume as full as it is, I don’t believe that call will come.
I love to write, create, speak and share from what life has taught me. I learn so much from many different people. I’ve learned a lot from the men and women whose paths I have crossed in Texas, Arizona and other states in regard to newspapers. I’ve grown up in newsrooms. And yes, I even learned the fine art of getting ice-cold $1.25 Budweisers after work and quelling the thirst of deadline pressure.
Now, it’s just time to turn the page.
Sorry friend, I should have told you earlier. I don’t drink anymore.
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Photo: Getty Images