Chapter 9: A New Beginning

Back in Fort Worth, the city where Pam and I both grew up, our priorities were simple: Find a place to live and find work. For me, that meant applying for a job at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. 

While I still had a year to go to earn my college degree, I had something that at that time was deemed more valuable -- newsroom experience. My work on the copy desk at the Austin American-Statesman gave my resume more credibiity, and earned me an interview with the managing editor of the Star-Telegram's Evening Edition.

In the modern context, when newspapers are sadly facing extinction, it might seem odd that in the 70s, readership was strong, and climbing steadily (newspaper readership nationwide peaked in the late Eighties at 62-plus million paid subscribers). Demand was such the Star-Telegram published two editions, both Morning and Evening. Each had their own staff of reporters and editors. It wasn't unusual for households to have multiple subscriptions, not only to the Star-Telegram, but also to its smaller rival, The Fort Worth Press.

Not my thing

I was interviewed by "Cal" Sutton, the managing editor of the Morning Star-Telegram. He was a big man, with a commanding presence -- a kinder, gentler Lou Grant.  I thought my interview went well, and while there was interest, I learned there wouldn't be a job opening until the Fall. It was the beginning of summer, when newspapers typically bring in college interns to get some real world journalism experience. So at least for the time being, my newspaper career was on hold.

While disappointed, it didn't change the fact I needed to find a job. My younger brother, Ron, let me know they had an opening where he worked, at a plant where they assembled frames for mobile homes. All I had to do was learn to use an acetylene torch and welding, of which I had zero experience. On the other hand, it was a paycheck. Sign me up.

You might call that time of my life the long, hot summer. The plant where we worked was dirty and could be dangerous if you didn't pay close attention to what was going on. I really did give it my best shot, but my brother quickly realized welding was not my thing. So I was moved to other tasks, like unloading long metal tubes off a flatbed truck using a power hoist. I kept praying to get a call from the Star-Telegram, and one day late that summer, I did.

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​They had an opening on the Evening copy desk. My work day would start at 6 am and end at 2 pm. That's the thing about newspapers -- it's a 24-hour operation. There are no days when the paper doesn't get delivered, including and especially on holidays. The Thanksgiving edition was typically the largest paper of the year, and you had to feel sorry for the paper carriers who had the task of hand-delivering them to doorsteps.

To say I was ecstatic is an understatement. I was working at the newpaper I grew up with. The columnists I looked forward to reading were sitting literally just a few feet away. Familiar bylines in ink became real, flesh and blood people. It all seemed unreal, yet here I was, surrounded by some of the most recognizable and talented journalists in the state of Texas. 

The Universe had given me a wonderful opportunity. I was determined to make the most of it.

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