PETALUMA, Calif. - I just received word today that Ralph Thompson, my editor from 1973-1977 has passed away.
He was the kind of newspaperman that is so rare today, well, I can't even say how rare because I don't know anyone quite like him.
Ralph took me under his wing at the Petaluma Argus-Courier after a group of us young reporters managed to drive the incumbent managing editor to quit. Not the proudest moment of my life, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
When Ralph figured out what we trying to do (and I suppose it was fairly obvious) he taught me what he called 'Ralph's Rule for Revolutions.'
WIN.
Win, because if you start a revolution, and lose, it's all over.
I gained a lot of respect for Ralph during that time and then in the ensuing few years, working as his assistant, he taught me a lot about how to tell stories, how to deal with angry readers (and sources) and to keep the good of the public always as our first goal.
He also taught me to be patient, though example. We had a publisher who made only bad decisions, and, by God, he stuck by them (His name was NOT Bush, by the way). The same publisher once refused to let me run a story about W.T. Grant stores going bankrupt, because, he said (I swear this is true, I swear!) that the local store would cancel all of its advertising if I did so.
Ralph just nodded his head and gave me the same look people give when confronted with the mentally disabled. We ran the story a day late, and Ralph put it on the front page, pointing out to the publisher that every other news organization in the U.S. had published it the day before. Our readers didn't suffer, but Ralph used that case over and over to show the publisher that I had better news judgment than the publisher did. So did Bonzo the Chimp, as we pointed out when the publisher was out of earshot.
When I decided it was time for me to move on, Ralph did what good bosses to - he helped me find a good editor's job at another newspaper and was very supportive, even though it meant that he would suffer trying to find a replacement. His boss (the mentally-disabled publisher) and other people in the chain of newspapers I worked for, were less kind and gave him hell for helping me.
He rather politely told them to go to hell.
He had an amazing amount of backbone, perhaps a byproduct of being a fighter pilot in WWII - and being shot down. He also was just a strong person. But he taught me when to bend and survive in a business that is famous for chewing people up.
It was sometimes a little awkward between us socially, because Ralph and his wife Hilda never had children and Hilda often would say in front of Ralph that I was like the son they never had.
Personally, I think they could have done a lot better and used to say so to cut through the emotional fog that Hilda laid down when she made the comment. Ralph would have made a great father, though.
When he retired 20 years ago, I surprised him and showed up at his retirement party. We had a great time, drank waaaaay too much, told stories about the mentally-disabled publisher and swore that we would keep in touch.
We didn't, of course, but two years ago, I suddenly wondered about Ralph and tracked him down. We exchanged several letters and I even sent him a couple of videos I had made of my sailing adventures. His letters were full of good humor and optimism, even though I found out through reading his obituary that he had cancer.
Ralph Thompson lived a full life and as I write this, I'll wager he has been reunited with the love of his life, Hilda, and they are bashing balls all over Celestial Acres Golf Course, drinking those damned martinis they favored and laughing hysterically.
When they laughed, even if you didn't get the joke, it was impossible not to join in.
It's no joke that he's gone, but as long as I teach journalism, his lessons will continue.
Ralph, rest in peace. And if you can't rest, play another nine holes.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Saturday, January 06, 2007
When you write, you need a place that works well for you
LA MANZANILLA, Jalisco, Mexico - This website has been dormant for a long time, while I have been busy writing for money for news companies, including Reuters. I covered a federal terrorism trial for them and learned that daily wire service copy is hard duty. I knew it when I took the job but forgot about having to run for elevators and rude FBI agents who would just as soon push you down a flight of stairs as say hello.
But I believe the website will be revived this spring when I teach magazine writing again at my university and for sure when I finally leave the employ of the university. I hope to make this website part and parcel of that class. Watch for some interesting postings.
Right here in Mexico, I find that my desire to hit this keyboard - and write all kinds of stories and articles and ??? is high.
Here's palapa where I am writing from right now, during the day.
Palapa in La Manzanilla
In the brief time I have been here (less than a week) I have written an article for a boating magazine, six stories about education and have several query letters ready to go out to magazines for stories I would like to write in the spring, when (alas), I will not be in Mexico but back in Sacramento.
All of these stories, of course, are for money.
More on all that later.
But I believe the website will be revived this spring when I teach magazine writing again at my university and for sure when I finally leave the employ of the university. I hope to make this website part and parcel of that class. Watch for some interesting postings.
Right here in Mexico, I find that my desire to hit this keyboard - and write all kinds of stories and articles and ??? is high.
Here's palapa where I am writing from right now, during the day.
Palapa in La Manzanilla
In the brief time I have been here (less than a week) I have written an article for a boating magazine, six stories about education and have several query letters ready to go out to magazines for stories I would like to write in the spring, when (alas), I will not be in Mexico but back in Sacramento.
All of these stories, of course, are for money.
More on all that later.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Dave Bennett, journalist and friend
TERRA HAUTE, Indiana - A little over a week ago, a journalist friend of mine passed away, a guy who took a chance on me in the mid-1970s that led to my moving up the journalism food chain, leading to my teaching and most of what I call my professional career and success.
David Bennett was an incredibly talented journalist and writer. What Dave taught me was speed, accuracy and to never be afraid to ask questions. He had very high standards and a worth ethic that wore out other people just watching him.
But he knew how to relax, he loved nature, and always seemed a little lonely, too, in a way many men are. He certainly had lots of friends, but few close ones. The three years we worked together he and I were very close, though I always played the apprentice to his role of master.
When Dave was fired suddenly by publisher Jack Moorhead - he was the scapegoat, blamed for union organizing of which he was quite innocent - Dave encouraged me to hang in there and not quit. "Leave on your own terms," he said. "Always leave on your own terms."
Sage advice, which I have given to legions of young journalists - even my children - over the years.
We lost touch after he moved to Fresno, pursuing his master's degree. I stayed in the newspaper business for another couple of years, bailing myself to get a master's degree from Chico State, where I was welcomed by the faculty and even went to Spain to teach on the university's Fulbright money.
Every few years we would get in touch, promise to stay in touch, and promptly fall out of touch again. The connection we had, The Union newspaper in Grass Valley, was the bond that really kept us together.
Dave took that newspaper in 1976 from a backwater, typical small-town rag to as professional a publication as could be. We published some great stuff, won a lot of prizes and also had a helluva lot of fun doing it.
While I've had lots of successes since those days, I was stunned by the accomplisments listed in Dave's obituary in the Terra Haute newspaper.
He never stopped swinging, he never slowed down, even towards the end when he knew his health was failing.
Requiescat in pace (rest in peace) Dave Bennett. And good luck inside the pearly gates, making sure the Celestial Times is publishing heavenly stories, making deadline, and writing exposes to keep the devil where he belongs.
David Bennett was an incredibly talented journalist and writer. What Dave taught me was speed, accuracy and to never be afraid to ask questions. He had very high standards and a worth ethic that wore out other people just watching him.
But he knew how to relax, he loved nature, and always seemed a little lonely, too, in a way many men are. He certainly had lots of friends, but few close ones. The three years we worked together he and I were very close, though I always played the apprentice to his role of master.
When Dave was fired suddenly by publisher Jack Moorhead - he was the scapegoat, blamed for union organizing of which he was quite innocent - Dave encouraged me to hang in there and not quit. "Leave on your own terms," he said. "Always leave on your own terms."
Sage advice, which I have given to legions of young journalists - even my children - over the years.
We lost touch after he moved to Fresno, pursuing his master's degree. I stayed in the newspaper business for another couple of years, bailing myself to get a master's degree from Chico State, where I was welcomed by the faculty and even went to Spain to teach on the university's Fulbright money.
Every few years we would get in touch, promise to stay in touch, and promptly fall out of touch again. The connection we had, The Union newspaper in Grass Valley, was the bond that really kept us together.
Dave took that newspaper in 1976 from a backwater, typical small-town rag to as professional a publication as could be. We published some great stuff, won a lot of prizes and also had a helluva lot of fun doing it.
While I've had lots of successes since those days, I was stunned by the accomplisments listed in Dave's obituary in the Terra Haute newspaper.
He never stopped swinging, he never slowed down, even towards the end when he knew his health was failing.
Requiescat in pace (rest in peace) Dave Bennett. And good luck inside the pearly gates, making sure the Celestial Times is publishing heavenly stories, making deadline, and writing exposes to keep the devil where he belongs.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Out of a cannon will go Hunter S. Thompson
WOODY CREEK, Colo. - I'm still more than a little angry at Hunter S. Thompson for his suicide. The man was so talented and his voice still so clear - maybe more clear than in the 60s & 70s & 80s when it was supposed to have been fogged by his legendary bouts with alcohol and drugs.
Those legends were largely self-created, part of the myth that made the guy so attractive to other writers. How much of it was ever really true, few people know - except maybe people like author & artist Ralph Steadman who will be in attendance Saturday when, as he wished, Hunter's ashes will be blown out of a 150-foot tall cannon/scuplture at Owl Creek Farm where he lived since the late 1960s.
What HST did for young writers is the stuff of legend, if only to goad them to push outward from whatever strictures their particular school system strangled them with when learning to write. I'm not complaining about students being dragooned into learning to spell or punctuate properly. Hell, it's a gripe of mine that will surface like the Loch Ness Monster in a couple of weeks when I'm back in the classroom. Misspelled words drive me bonkers.
No, the strangling I'm talking about is the kind that stifles ideas in favor of form, cuts out strong language and puts in euphemisms, and substitutes mechanics for originality.
That paragraph sounds just like the kind of mouthful of academic crap, by the way, that would probably make HST throwup, though he was a meticulous writer and very careful in what he put down on paper. He hid that side of himself pretty well, preferring the public to think of him as a maniac. It sold more books, though selling books wasn't his goal. He wanted to be heard.
And that's why I'm still pissed off. (There, Hunter, that more the language you would prefer.) I'm totally pissed off because your voice is silent, but still had a lot to say.
And I'm totally pissed off at myself, that in the last few years of your life, I ignored what you were writing because I listened to the critics who said you were washed up and irrelevant and I didn't read what you were publishing.
They were wrong. I was wrong. You were doing some of your best work.
We'll have our own little salute to HST at Seneca Lake Saturday - I'm not exactly sure what just yet - though it probably won't involve any cannons.
Can't guarantee it though. There's more than a few cannons lying about and more than enough madmen & lunatics running about this place with gunpowder and the know-how to touch a cannon off. If a cannon can't be found, maybe a 21-shotgun salute. Every pickup truck seems to have at least one weapon handy for discharging.
Vaya con dios, HST.
Those legends were largely self-created, part of the myth that made the guy so attractive to other writers. How much of it was ever really true, few people know - except maybe people like author & artist Ralph Steadman who will be in attendance Saturday when, as he wished, Hunter's ashes will be blown out of a 150-foot tall cannon/scuplture at Owl Creek Farm where he lived since the late 1960s.
What HST did for young writers is the stuff of legend, if only to goad them to push outward from whatever strictures their particular school system strangled them with when learning to write. I'm not complaining about students being dragooned into learning to spell or punctuate properly. Hell, it's a gripe of mine that will surface like the Loch Ness Monster in a couple of weeks when I'm back in the classroom. Misspelled words drive me bonkers.
No, the strangling I'm talking about is the kind that stifles ideas in favor of form, cuts out strong language and puts in euphemisms, and substitutes mechanics for originality.
That paragraph sounds just like the kind of mouthful of academic crap, by the way, that would probably make HST throwup, though he was a meticulous writer and very careful in what he put down on paper. He hid that side of himself pretty well, preferring the public to think of him as a maniac. It sold more books, though selling books wasn't his goal. He wanted to be heard.
And that's why I'm still pissed off. (There, Hunter, that more the language you would prefer.) I'm totally pissed off because your voice is silent, but still had a lot to say.
And I'm totally pissed off at myself, that in the last few years of your life, I ignored what you were writing because I listened to the critics who said you were washed up and irrelevant and I didn't read what you were publishing.
They were wrong. I was wrong. You were doing some of your best work.
We'll have our own little salute to HST at Seneca Lake Saturday - I'm not exactly sure what just yet - though it probably won't involve any cannons.
Can't guarantee it though. There's more than a few cannons lying about and more than enough madmen & lunatics running about this place with gunpowder and the know-how to touch a cannon off. If a cannon can't be found, maybe a 21-shotgun salute. Every pickup truck seems to have at least one weapon handy for discharging.
Vaya con dios, HST.
Kaboom!
Friday, August 05, 2005
Writing for Money has been, well, you guessed it: writing for money
VALOIS, New York - My promise to renew Writing for Money in June was subverted by my writing for money in June. And July. And now August.
But as the school semester starts in a few weeks (GAWD!), I will be renewing it and using it as a teaching tool for my magazine writing class.
There has been plenty to write about this summer for anyone looking to freelance. It's been hotter than hell in most of the U.S., soldiers are dying in Iraq and people are barely noticing, and most recently Bob Novak walked off the set of CNN in a snit and got fired (ok, they call it suspended). All things to write about.
Since I last posted, I have noticed that Craig's List is becoming a good place to look for freelance writing jobs. (I applied for two just yesterday.) These are not high-paying, blockbuster novel type jobs, but steady stuff and best of all, stuff that can be done from a distance.
So there you have it. Writing for Money is back, sort of, but will be back at the end of August as part of Journalism 132 - Magazine Writing.
OP-ED IDEA - Going back to school means different things to different folks and already the Wal-Mart ads are overflowing the mailbox with all the crap that kids must have to be well-equipped for school. Lots of possibilities for op-ed articles, but they need to be timed to the first day of school, or else they lose their timeliness. Move quickly, too, because August is when editorial page editors try to take that last gasp of summer vacation and their vacation replacements are frequently a softer touch to accept freelance work.
But as the school semester starts in a few weeks (GAWD!), I will be renewing it and using it as a teaching tool for my magazine writing class.
There has been plenty to write about this summer for anyone looking to freelance. It's been hotter than hell in most of the U.S., soldiers are dying in Iraq and people are barely noticing, and most recently Bob Novak walked off the set of CNN in a snit and got fired (ok, they call it suspended). All things to write about.
Since I last posted, I have noticed that Craig's List is becoming a good place to look for freelance writing jobs. (I applied for two just yesterday.) These are not high-paying, blockbuster novel type jobs, but steady stuff and best of all, stuff that can be done from a distance.
So there you have it. Writing for Money is back, sort of, but will be back at the end of August as part of Journalism 132 - Magazine Writing.
OP-ED IDEA - Going back to school means different things to different folks and already the Wal-Mart ads are overflowing the mailbox with all the crap that kids must have to be well-equipped for school. Lots of possibilities for op-ed articles, but they need to be timed to the first day of school, or else they lose their timeliness. Move quickly, too, because August is when editorial page editors try to take that last gasp of summer vacation and their vacation replacements are frequently a softer touch to accept freelance work.
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