Journalism Archives

May 31, 2013June 6, 2013

Cubs’ Pitchers Had Problem

The day after I graduated Central High School in 1965, I showed up bright and early to start my Missourian summer internship. To my dismay, my first assignment was to fill in for the sports editor, who was going on vacation.

I confessed to Chuck Murdoch that I knew virtually nothing about sports and was in deep trouble. He took a couple of sucks on his ever-present pipe and a look of relief passed over his face as he realized his job was safe: this was ONE high school kid who wouldn’t show him up. He gave me the crash course in sports journalism (something that I always thought was somewhat of a contradiction in terms).

He explained that the first thing I had to do when I showed up three hours before the rest of the staff was to go to a dropbox on the Broadway door to retrieve an armload of youth league score books the coaches had dropped overnight. I was to take those score books and interpret scratches and scrawls that showed every batter and every play and write a play-by-play of the high spots of the games. I prayed for a tight paper so I could get by with just a game summary.

I got the job done, but I felt like a monk translating ancient scrolls from one language into another. So far as I know, nobody ever complained about my accounts.

Last night I found this comment written by a coach who either had a great sense of humor or a flair for understatement: “Cub’s pitchers couldn’t find the strike zone and walked 22 batters.”

First AP story

I thought it amusing enough I phoned it in to the Associated Press, which put in on the wire. I’m pretty sure that was the first time anything of mine moved on a news wire. It was a real thrill when I heard the clatter of the teletype and discovered that it was my brief that was going out to the world (well, maybe the nation or the region or the state. I don’t remember the codes well enough to know how far it was broadcast. It didn’t win the Pulitzer, I know that.).

I didn’t do too badly covering government and cops, but the society and agriculture beats were a bit of a stretch. I loved it.

April 30, 2013

Putting on the Dog (and Cat)

I was working on a post when I encountered a technical glitch. Instead of giving up, I explored everything I could think of, then I went over it one more time with feline. Still broken.

Kind of reminded me of the old story about the man who thought Fifi the poodle was off her feed.

The Doc said he didn’t think there was anything seriously wrong with the poodle, but the man INSISTED that he conduct every possible test. Rather than subjecting the animal to pokes, prods and other indignities, the doc went into the back room and came back with a cat on a leash. He led the cat around the ailing pet for a couple of circles without saying anything.

He then went into the back room and came back with a DOG on a leash. The dog gave one sniff, then turned and walked away.

What was THAT all about?

“What was THAT all about? the concerned pet owner asked.

“Take Fifi home. The cat scan and the lab report came back negative.”

The wall of desperation

This is what journalists do when faced with a deadline and nothing to fill the space. I’ve been there before. Remember the Pomeroy Frog Jumping contestant and Nellie Vess?

March 29, 2013February 17, 2016

4 Shots of One-Shot Frony

I’m sure G.D. Fronabarger – better known to everyone in Southeast Missouri as One-Shot Frony – must have thought, “That kid’s crazy wasting four shots on a Kiwanis Club presentation.” (I took four, but only three were different enough to show here.)

Frony, who was the Missourian’s photographer from 1929 to 1986, was best known for lining up a group of people, then growling around his ever-present cigar, “Don’t blink. I’m taking one picture.” True to his word, he’d press the shutter release, then walk away.

The negative sleeve is slugged Kiwanis Club – Frony 07-20-1967. That’s in one of those months that is a black hole in the Google Archives, so I don’t know what’s happening in the photo.

Gary Rust was there

Gary Rust, who would become a newspaper magnate a few years down the road, was one of the three men being recognized with Frony. He’s on the left in the photo at the top of the page and on the right in this photo. I don’t know who the man in the middle was. Note Frony’s cigar. I don’t know if he ever smoked it or if he just chewed it to death. I tried to blow up the name tag on the man at the lectern, but “Wayne” was all I could make out.

Fred Lynch keeps him alive

Fred Lynch, who has been a photographer at The Missourian since 1975, keeps Frony’s photos alive in his blog, f/8 and Be There. Some of his early work goes well beyond straight newspaper photography and approaches art as much as anything can that is destined to have a life of 24 hours.

By the time I got to know Frony, he was burned out from shooting 59 years worth of those Kiwanis Club meetings and the same annual events that had come around 59 times. I wrote about Frony in 2009 and published my favorite picture of him.

In it, I talked about how surprised I was to hear Frony defend a controversial spot news photo I had taken and how our relationship changed after that. We were never close, but I had the feeling that Frony finally conceded that “this kid might just make it as a news photographer.”

December 31, 2012

Wrapping Up 2012

I ran this photo back in May with some basketball tournament photos, so I hope that either everybody is so hung over they won’t bother to read the page on New Year’s Day or that they have gotten to the age where their short-term memory has gone blank.The Happy New Year sign was on our living room window.

I never was fond on New Year’s Eve

I don’t have a lot of fond memories of New Year’s Eve. I never cared much for parties and particularly didn’t like to be out on “amateur night,” when the streets had drunk drivers roaming around. One night in particular, and I remember it as New Year’s Eve, but I can’t swear to it, I was on my way home when I rolled up on a fresh wreck. Car vs. utility pole with the vehicle on its side and the wires sparking all over the place.

STAY IN THE CAR

Somehow or another, I managed to convince the people in the car to STAY THERE. As long as the car isn’t on fire or about to explode, you’re a lot safer inside. The metal body works like a Faraday Cage, with the electrical charge riding the surface of the vehicle. If the occupant gets out and gives the power a chance to use his body as a path to ground, things get ugly. If you can’t jump completely clear of the vehicle, then you are better off waiting until the power is cut off.

I don’t know if I had to load my camera in the dark and in the excitement, but I didn’t get the end of the roll of film engaged in the takeup spool and it slipped off when I hit the advance lever. I was clicking away like mad, but there was no film being pulled through to be exposed. After the power had been shut off and the victims transported, I left. I’m not sure how long it was before I checked the camera and discovered my mistake, but by the time I got back, all I was able to shoot was a mugshot of a car with a power pole on top of it.

I never loaded a camera again without reaching for the rewind knob and making sure there was resistance, indicating that the end of the film was firmly on the takeup spool.

Let’s put another myth of rest: your rubber tires won’t keep you safe. I worked a cherrypicker that tangled with a power line. The voltage was high enough that the charge arched from the steel rims of the huge truck tires to ground, melting the rubber. One of the workers had the good sense to stay on the truck. The other panicked and tried to get down. He evidently had one hand on the truck when his feet hit the ground because all that electricity found him a more convenient path than having to arc through the air. THAT was an object lesson you don’t forget.

Tornado time

We had an elderly woman, Helen, living across the street from us who enjoyed Southern Comfort and shrimp cocktail. We invited her over to ring in the New Year with us. I had just poured the first drink and reached for the first shrimp when I got a call from the office: a rare winter tornado had swept though an RV park on an island in Lake Okeechobee near Belle Glade. There were reports of injuries and power lines down. It was late, but could I get somebody out there and back in time to make deadline?

I knew where the park was and I knew I was sober, so I saddled up and drove 50 miles through driving rain, dodged arcing power lines, shot off enough frames to show that SOMETHING had happened and jetted back. I made deadline with some not-so-memorable photos, but sometimes that’s all you can hope for.

So, I am going to be as happy to be sitting here at home on New Year’s Eve, hoping all that ammo our neighbors are shooting up into the sky will come down on them and not rain down on our house.