The sweater story

At about 5 o’clock one day this week, our boss was getting set to leave. One of the other reporters had written a story about green gifts for the next day’s paper. On his way out, our boss decided to tell us a little story about a multicolored sweater his mother had once given him as a gift. He considered it to be the perfect example of a green gift, I guess because it was handmade. Anyway, that’s when it happened.

I had only ever talked to Larry, my boss, on the phone before coming here. Whenever I talk to someone on the phone, I always try to put a face and an image to their voice. Is that weird?

Larry has a fairly deep voice – not quite Men’s Warehouse deep – but it has that raspy quality. It’s a good radio voice. He also laughs a lot, which makes him sound very jolly. For some reason, when I pictured Larry, I pictured him as a slightly overweight guy who enjoys wearing bright sweaters. I don’t know why that image came to mind, but it did. It’s pretty far from the truth. He actually favors a lot of single-colored earth tones.

But when Larry told the story about the sweater, I, for some reason, blurted out my story about me having pictured him as a guy who wears crazy colored threads.

He looked at me quizzically and then let out one of his deep belly laughs. I thought it was a good moment. A kind of redefining moment like when I rapped at my old golf course boss:

When counting change
I don’t make a mistake.
Cause with my skills
This job’s a piece of cake.
All I can say is you
better watch out Jake
Cause your best place might be in maintenance
With a rake.

My coworkers had different ideas about the sweater story.

“How long have you been working here?” the sports editor asked. He thought I stepped over a line. The story bordered on an insult, in his opinion. I argued the point, saying whatever I conjured up wasn’t the truth. How could that be an insult? It’s not like Larry actually wears crazy sweaters and I was making fun of him.

The next morning, Larry gave me an extra glance when I walked into the office. It wasn’t menacing or friendly. It was just thoughtful.

Then we had a conversation about an upcoming story.

Also, this may be the best lead I've ever written, if only because the situation is so rich.

Comments welcome,
Andrew

What and why?

Our paper has been mixing it up lately and that’s got me thinking a lot about the purpose of journalism.

Here’s the abridgement of what happened: The mayor’s chief of staff made some business deals with the local government (sold them some parts to a wheel well) and forgot to fill out a form before doing so. Not filling out the form got him in trouble because it potentially could have been construed that he was trying to use his power to make a good deal for himself. Not filling out the form also violated some local rules and actually could have been (and I guess still could be) punished criminally.

I did not write these stories. The story was already being developed before my first day. But I have dealt with the community response, which has been mixed.

At a local government meeting that I covered recently, several of the chief of staff’s family and friends came to speak on his behalf. Many people recognized I was reporter and spoke very loudly in my direction about how terrible it is when “the people who write about these things are so sensationalistic.”

Sensationalistic. Maybe, though I disagree. But certainly not inaccurate. No one to my knowledge has accused the stories of being false. And if you read them, you’ll see they aren’t written in a sensationalistic manner. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they are 100 percent justified.

The chief of staff certainly made a mistake. He should have known to fill out the form (and if the big raise that he received recently from the mayor is to be justified, he should be doing everything in his power to seem 100 percent competent).

But all he did was a make a mistake. It’s pretty clear he did not intentionally ignore the form, hoping to steal money from the local government. He simply didn’t know about it. I guess that’s where I begin to question the necessity of the stories.

I’m all for attacking those in power, but I think it’s best done when there’s a true wrong to be righted. This series of reports may be the beginnings of a bigger wrong, but as it stands right now I can understand why the chief of staff’s family and friends are so upset.

I’m excited to work at a paper committed to this type of journalism. I just think we need to be careful, tactful. We don’t want to become the Spokesman Review who essentially ran a mayor out of town because he was gay.

And I don’t think we will become that. I trust our leadership.

But I was interviewing the local government’s finance director the other day and he said our paper had recently turned into the National Enquirer. He said he was hesitant to speak to us. He asked me why we were behaving this way. I didn’t really answer him, nor was it my place to answer him.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about the question. Why were we doing it? Why do we put out newspapers in general?

That’s not a question that can be answered concisely.

Later that night I thought about a conversation I had with a person who recently lost her home in a fire. I had written an article on the fire. She thanked me because many people, after reading the article, had offered her help.

That reassured me. Newspapers can help people. And helping can take many different forms. Sometimes it means getting a story of a tragic fire out there so people can donate money, clothing, time, whatever.

Other times helping means forcing the local government to watch its every move so that citizens have the most effective and efficient leaders.

And other times, maybe newspapers don’t help but only hurt. But I hope that’s rare. And I hope that’s never the intent.

Comments welcome,
Andrew

Can you believe the smell?

When I was in London, I used to walk around thinking “I can’t believe I live here.” I used to do the same thing in Superior, but the thought carried an entirely different tone. Amazingly enough, I haven’t had that thought at all in Alaska.

When I was little, I imagined Alaska to be this vast stretch of snow fields, perfect for dog mushing. In second grade, or whenever it was that I first learned about the Iditarod, I heard of places like Juneau and Anchorage and would think “I can’t imagine anyone living there.”

What would I have thought if I had known then that I would one day live in Alaska, and not even in one of the bigger cities? If someone had told me that, I would have simply said, “I don’t believe you.”

The interesting thing about being here is that it doesn’t feel that far away. I was looking at the Kenai Peninsula on Google maps the other day and scrolled a little to the left and got a real sense of how close Russia actually is. And you all thought Sarah was crazy. When I think about it that way, I think, “Wow, how did I get so far away?” But then I scrolled a little farther left and got to Europe. That’s close enough to home. At least it feels that way after having spent a semester there.

It’s like when you are driving home and it only requires two turns. Even though you still have most of the journey to go after you make the first turn, you can’t help but think “I’m halfway there.” When scrolling over the Earth, I can get to England from Russia, and from England I know what it takes to get home. It’s only a six-hour flight. That’s not bad. That’s not far from home…

I keep smelling the air here and am reminded of something. It’s so cold here most of the time that your snot freezes when you inhale. That always makes me think of ski club in high school, which produced some of the best memories of my Albany childhood. It was a time of inside jokes, throwing 360s off of big tabletops and not traversing down Ace of Spades or Whitetail. As my friend Zach once put it, “Ski Club is like a party on the mountain.” We were totally free.

I can remember many times popping out of my skis right before dinner at the summit lodge of Jiminy. Through frozen snot I’d breathe the smell of onion rings and burgers and fries cooking from inside the warm hut. It might actually be a disgusting smell, but my memories of ski club and its unbridled independence make me smile whenever it comes back to me.

It comes back to me a lot here. That smell of unbridled independence.

fire

hospital memorial

Comments welcome,

Andrew

Why I'm here

Just to be clear, I was never seeking Alaska. This was always a place that I thought might be nice to visit, but I never ever dreamed of living here. On our road trip from Montana, my mom asked me why I decided to take the job here.

“Was this the only job you thought you could get?”

Thanks for the demonstration of confidence, mom.

But in reality, that’s close. Just as with the job in Montana, I see this paper as a stepping stone sort of job. It’s a 10,000 circulation daily paper with a strong editor and covers an area of about 25,000 to 75,000 people (depending on the time of year). It seemed like a nice step up from a 3,000 circulation weekly.

Jobs like the one I have at the Peninsula Clarion exist all over the country and the world. I know because I have spent the past year and a half applying to them. I’ve applied to places real close to Albany, I’ve applied to places in Kansas, I’ve even applied to places in rural England. The Clarion, on the Kenai Peninsula, is the one that bit.

Now that I’m here, I can’t believe how lucky I am not to have gotten some of the jobs I applied to. What would my life be like if I had been offered the job in Gloversville, NY? It’d be safe, but limiting.

Now that I am here, I see why some of my coworkers (several of whom are from the Northeast. One, Mike Nesper, actually graduated from COM in ’08) sought out Alaska. They applied to several papers in this state because they wanted to experience this frontier.

So I’m here continuing my adventure. And just hearing about all the adventures to be had in Alaska, I might be away from the lower 48 for a good amount of time.

Tsalteshi

Veterans

City Council

Above are the links to stories I’ve had published. (Tsalteshi and City Council were Sunday Page 1 stories.) My editors mostly threw me softballs my first week, but week two begins with a story that involves me researching the process of how to impeach the mayor.

As my editor said of the pressure the Clarion has been putting on local government recently:

“We’ve been having some fun.”

Comments welcome,

Andrew

View from my yard

Welcome

Whew. Four days in the car, driving through snow and winding roads, and we made it without a hitch -- except for when we locked the keys in the car in Tok, AK and needed AAA's assistance.

Sometime this week I want to do a more reflective post about how I'm feeling at the beginning of this segment of my life, but for now I just want to give you a sense of of where I'm living. I think because it is so far away many of you are curious about the basics.










I'm not a great on-camera guy, but at least this gives you an idea of what the place is like. These pictures hopefully give you some idea of the terrain and wildlife we encountered.

Comments welcome,
Andrew

How I left it

Maybe it's best to begin this blog with how I left things in Montana:

Mineral County,

I’ll be frank: I have been trying to leave Mineral County since the day I arrived.

It has nothing to do with the county itself. This is a wonderful place to live with a relaxing lifestyle and happy people, and I can see why so many are pleased and proud to call this area home.

But I’ve never viewed it as a home. I’ve always seen it as a job. This is where my first professional opportunity came, and I’m glad for that. Now it’s time to move on. I have accepted a reporter job at a daily paper in a bigger market.

I realize this isn’t fair to you. Whether or not you are happy to see me go is not the issue. What isn’t fair is that you can’t expect consistency from the Mineral Independent. It’s supposed to be your paper, something you can depend on for your news. Yet new faces come in every six months and screw everything up one more time.

Toward the beginning of my time here, many people asked me if I was already searching for a new job or how long I planned on staying.

The problem is that the Mineral Independent is the smallest market a journalist can work in. It’s a weekly paper covering a county of nearly 4,000 people. Anyone who enters this profession hoping to spend their life at a paper like the Mineral isn’t prioritizing their career. That’s the harsh reality. It’s unfortunate that you’re the ones who suffer from the high turnover.

My replacement is also a recent college graduate looking to begin her career. Maybe she will fall in love with Mineral County or fall in love in Mineral County and have a reason to stay. Or maybe she will abandon you just as I am about to.

Regardless, I hope you will welcome her just like you welcomed me. I know I’ve made mistakes. I know she will, too. I also know that the kind of mistakes we make dissipate with time as we become more familiar with the people and issues in the county. That’s why it’s so frustrating, I imagine, for you to constantly be dealing with new reporters.

I’d like to thank you for putting up with everything – from lousy photos to mindless blunders. I’d also like to thank you for the diversity of stories you’ve allowed me to cover. One of the amazing things about this job is that it demands covering high school sports, commissioners meetings and forest fires all in the same day.

Teachers always say that they will forever remember their first students. I know I never will forget Mineral County, the first county I ever covered. You’ll forget me, though. I’ll blend in with the other young faces that come in and out, disrupting your newspaper.

Maybe someday the right person will arrive. That person will be as equally committed to journalism as they are to Mineral County. Perhaps that person is in diapers right now in St. Regis, or in high school in Superior. I hope so because you deserve a dependable reporter. I’m sorry that I’m not him.

Comments welcome,

Andrew