By now, our changes in the newsroom were in high gear. We had a young, aggressive, talented core of reporters, our photojournalism was outstanding, our crisp visual design included a unique style for headlines. Our circulation was even growing, not a given considering the population limits within our area.
6 sept, wed
SK popped his plan that I go to the UPI regional meeting in Portland this Saturday in his place … so Friday night, Celeste and Neville were at our place without me, and I had been unable to reach them beforehand to alert them to the change …
Seems so long since I’ve flown anywhere. [I didn’t drive? Guess it was because I was working Friday?]
Vol. 52, 9 Sept.
(“Portland — Didn’t I start another journal in this town?” Rain.)
UPI meeting, arrived last night, Jantzen Beach Red Lion Inn.
Flew in on Cascade [a puddle-jumper] through gray soup, my ears plugging as we descended. Takes four hours for my hearing to defog.
Crazy American airport hotel air again syndrome: all cities look the same, more or less.
“Hospitality suite” last night, others getting too drunk. Jacuzzi with a color TV above the water, a telephone in the toilet room within the bathroom.
What am I doing in a $35-a-night single with a bed big enough for four? Four pillows side by side across the headboard, two sinks, a bank of lights over the bathroom sink, AM-FM-alarm radio etc.
Meeting dull-eyed, weary-eyed news executives with so much “police-mentality,” crude, insensitive to other ways: “suppose he’d want an avocado sandwich.”
One young managing editor critical of UPI, whispering behind one of its workers: “Why don’t you quit and go back to the other outfit?”
But a chance to meet some sensitive journalists, too, including the Seattle and Portland bureau chiefs and some top Oregon Journal editors.
And then somebody from NYC trying to sell everybody DataSpeed, going from 1,200 to 9,600 wpm.
“Bring me a lemon with bitters on it.”
On my return:
“Hey, Steve, you want to get off UPI faster?”
“Eh?”
“Well, next year’s meeting is Washington’s and with only Chris Anderson from the [Seattle] Times and me there — Centralia had snuck out and Bremmerton, no way — they were zeroing in on me, so I nominated you. Congrats.”
Meet in Yakima? Would it push our publisher to pull the plug beforehand?
~*~
Saturday, landing in Yakima in rain, DC9 flight from Portland via Pasco, some clearing in the clouds to see Tri-Cities amid circular cornfields and later, Konnowac Pass on the Moxee side of the ridge. Kitty met me alone at the airport, no Iris or Neville (they hadn’t arrived). Kitty was delightful.
Getting home, somewhat dizzy from flying, they were there. “We have a surprise,” meaning she was expecting in April. However crazy that is.
He’s quite laid back — little talk, little motion, strange little throat laughter mostly. Records demo tapes for rock groups, mostly, in Seattle, stays away from radio spots …
Don’t think she knows what she’s getting in for (diapers, expenses like cribs, high chairs, or playpens) much less the 20-year-commitment (my biggest Q, is he ready for the long stretch?)
All this to watch ahead, though Kitty tells me my wife is more ready to be a mother than Iris is …
[So I met Neville … contrary to my later recollection.]
24 Sept Sunday
Thinking now I should have sent out the color art for farm mag and TV booklet last week, as well as ordering B&W from fair board. No wonder my horoscope has Tuesday/Wednesday/Thursday looking bad (“unfavorable”)
Kent gone for the week, regional APME meetings in P’land, the publisher meddling in the newsroom, telling Wallace, “I can get a new m.e., a new city editor, a new copy desk, a whole new set of reporters if I want” — a room full of whores, including myself … what kind of living is this?
At work, everything going wrong. Hamilton on vacation, took color cover art with him. Farm stories fell through. Goz called to jury duty. Daly a daddy, today perhaps. A phone caller last week repeating, “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
24 Oct ‘78
Back on city desk, night shift …
Let me now confess that this matter of directing reporters on hard-news beats and seeing that they meet deadlines was never my forte, even before getting to the fact that it involved answering phone calls from readers and other strangers.
~*~
From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.
