Here’s the story of how my career as a writer/editor/publisher got off the ground, ICYWTK.
Where: Sports Department, Washington Daily News, 13th & K Streets, Washington, DC
When
: Winter, 1967
Yes, this goes back almost 50 years. The Washington Daily News was the afternoon “commuter” paper, a tabloid that wasn’t much competition for The Washington Post and The Evening Star. Its sports department at the time had all the trappings you would expect: Teletype machines clattering away with news bulletins coming in from the wire services (AP and UPI). Jangling telephones. Reporters with Luckies or Camels dangling from their lips, pounding out stories on manual typewriters. There was even a network of pneumatic tubes for sending finished articles–marked up, pasted together and stuffed into carriers–down to the composing room in the basement. Right out of The Front Page.
I was 16, a junior at Gonzaga High School in D.C., and through my girlfriend, Carol, I had landed a spot as a reporter on the News’ scholastic sports beat. That Friday night, I walked into the sports department fresh from covering some high school basketball game or another. I was preparing to do battle with my notes and a typewriter to wring out a decent report that wasn’t rife with cliches. Sports writing and short deadlines did not come easy to me.
Before I could reach a desk, my editor, Denny McAuliffe, intercepted me. Denny was a senior at Washington-Lee High School in Arlington, the public school my girlfriend attended. Much savvier than I, he was headed to Vanderbilt on a full ride, having won the prestigious Grantland Rice scholarship, awarded annually to the most promising sports journalist in the U.S.
“Dave wants to see you.” By “Dave” he meant Dave Burgin, the Sports Editor. I followed Denny to Burgin’s glass-walled office. This was a first–I’d never been called to the Sports Editor’s office before.
“Have a seat,” said the notoriously gruff editor. I sat; Denny lounged against the door jamb.
“Frank, I got a call from the head coach of the men’s basketball team at GW about that story of yours.” GW’s coach was Babe McCarthy, in the midst of what turned out to be a 6-18 season.
The week before, I covered the game between George Washington University’s freshman basketball team and St. John’s, a Catholic high school squad. St. John’s beat the GW frosh. There was nothing especially remarkable about that, since any high school team has spent three or four years together, while the college freshman were still gelling as a team. But I made that my rather naive hook as if to say, “Gosh, how does a high school team beat a bunch of college players at an NCAA Division I school?” And I got several telling quotes from the GW players, including one who said, “To me, this is just another extracurricular.”
Burgin continued: “Coach McCarthy says your article has ruined his entire program. He wants to know how he’s supposed to recruit when you’ve quoted his players saying something like that.”
I didn’t know what to say. Burgin stared at me, deadpan, for a few seconds. Then he spoke:
“Keep up the good work.”
The rest is history. No, I did not go on to a brilliant career as a sports journalist. My stint at the Daily News taught me that I didn’t have the chops to write on deadline. But I did taste the thrill of seeing my byline in print, and the rush of knowing that my words could have an impact. I was hooked.
finncandenza 