Rummaging through a closet recently, I discovered what is likely my first bylined news story. Appearing above the fold of the University of New Mexico Daily Lobo — fondly renamed by my father the "Daily Low Blow" — I laid out in painful redundancy the fact that the English Department building had no working fire alarms.
In riveting detail, I took readers through how the lapse was discovered (by an alert English prof, of course!). I included quotes from the unimpressed campus safety coordinator, who assured the populace that, aside from a few tables and chairs, "the building won't burn."
Well, apparently, it never did because, after my story ran, the alarms were replaced. And I, a theater major turned English major turned French major turned linguistics major turned poli-sci major, became a journalism major.
Still, I never could have imagined at the time — 1978 — that I was on my way to what can only be described as a spectacular professional career.
As I write this, my final column as a full-time journalist, my gratitude spilleth over. OK — it spills over (I'll change it now before the copy desk gets to it).
After nearly 45 years in the news biz — 23 of those years here at the grand Mother Ship, aka Star Tribune — I'm not retiring exactly. My friends and I of a certain age prefer words that better reflect our intentions: refiring, recharging, reinventing, reframing, rewiring.
Truth is, the nudger inside my head has been growing louder over the past few years — years working alone from home (an extrovert's nightmare) with more quiet time to think, to realize just how much I miss the frenetic energy of a daily newsroom that will take years to fully return to normal capacity, if ever.
It has become clear that if I am to shift gears, the time is now. I'll redirect (hey, another one!) my attention to mentoring young journalists and giving much-needed focus to an educational nonprofit I founded in 2019.
