The Biz
BREAKING IN
So I was just cleaning out a box of stuff that has been sitting in my cellar since I made the move across the country four months ago, and I came across a Scranton-Wilkes Barre Red Barons 10th anniversary baseball.
And boy, did that usher in a bunch of memories ...
***
"If you want to make it in this business, you need to be willing to do anything to break in," the sage, wizened veteran told me. "You have to be willing to work anywhere, you're not going to get rich, and you have to make your career your number one priority."
That sounded fine to me. I had just graduated college, and had already done things like twice drive from Boston to the Bronx to cover high school cross-country meets, and driven through the aftermath of the worst ice storm to hit Northern New England in a century just to get a college basketball clip under my belt (only to get there and have there be 100 people in a 6,000 seat gym, and have the game cancelled 10 minutes in because they couldn't keep the lights on). Nor was I scared off when I did a part-time gig at a small newspaper, worked a 12-hour day, pulled up to McDonald's afterwards, and noted the Golden Arches were hiring for more money than I had just pocketed for the day.
If the vet had told me "you'll also have to run barefoot through a bed of broken glass and then dip your feet in a bucket of iodine," I would have had my shoes off before he got done speaking.
None of which is all that different than what most reporters who have earned their stripes have experienced.
***
The grizzled's vets words were fresh on my brain as I excitedly embarked on what became the summer interview trip from hell. I lined up interviews with two newspapers that advertised sports reporter openings, the first a 12-hour drive from Boston, the second somewhere in Pennsylvania, for which I'd have to go on a meandering tangent to reach on the way back.
I left Boston early on a Wednesday afternoon. Got two-thirds of the way to newspaper No. 1 and stopped for the night at a roadside motel. Continued on to the paper the next day.
I arrived at the appointed time and waited in the lobby for a half-hour while the editor took care of other business. When he finally deigned to speak with me, he took a couple minutes explaining how he had two job openings, then explained what the jobs paid (a sum that would qualify one for public assistance in most states). Both items we had already discussed on the phone. Just as I was about to start asking questions about the better of the two openings, the editor's phone rang. He then spent the next 10 minutes talking to a job applicant, and offered him the spot right in front of me. So that eliminated the better of the jobs. When he hung up the phone, I made small talk about the second job for about another 10 minutes, at which point he told me he was busy and whisked me out the door. I was told to send the paper the receipt from the hotel and I would be reimbursed.
Twelve hours of driving; 30 minutes of face time, 10 of which was spent watching him give someone else one of the jobs. You can guess whether I ever saw a check for the hotel room. To this day, when I see that paper's frequent job opening posts online, I chuckle to myself.
*****
I ended up spending another night in a hotel, with the Pennsylvania interview coming up the next afternoon. This wasn't Philadelphia or Pittsburgh. It was over the river and through the woods. I got lost. This was before everyone had a cell phone. The road got more and more narrow until it turned to dirt and I ended up on the edge of what seemed like miles and miles of cornfields. I got out of my car, looked around, and just broke down laughing at the absurdity of it all.
I was so far out of my way that I was already late for my interview. I flagged down the next person who came by and got directions back to the highway. I stopped at a pay phone, called the paper and explained the situation. Obviously they weren't happy, and I was still two hours away, but they agreed to have me come by anyway. I also called home and found out I was passed over for another job for which I had applied.
Anyway, I get on I-80 ... and before I could reach the next exit, I got stuck in a traffic jam caused by a jackknifed 18-wheeler. It was two hours before my car moved again.
At this point, I threw in the towel. I was just outside Scranton, still a long way away from the interview spot. When I got to Scranton, I called the paper again and cancelled -- they were quite understandably not happy -- then found a hotel for the night, and went out and took in the Red Barons game.
I remember sitting in the upper deck that night. It was ball night at the park, so I had my brand new Barons baseball in my hand, and I just basically stared at it in a daze most of the evening, trying to make sense of what had happened over the past two days. The only details I remembered about the game were: 1. Wes Chamberlain played and 2. I'd occasionally get snapped out of my trance when they played some sort of awful stereotypical sounding salsa music on a horrendous sound system when the solitary Latino on the team came to the plate, the only batter who got his own music. Everything else was a blur. I think the Barons played Toledo but I'm not even sure of that.
***
Things obviously worked out in the long run. Who knows where my life would be if I made it to the second interview and taken the job? As it turned out, my first job ended up being with Sportsline's Tacoma office, and it was just about everything anyone could possibly ask for in a first job straight out of college -- I made several great friends and contacts; lived in a great part of the country; and the work environment was challenging in a positive way as I learned a ton about the business in a short period of time.
But I've taken the Red Barons baseball with me every stop along the way, along with a miniature ESPN World Cup 98 soccer ball I swiped off the late Jim Greenidge's desk. It helps remind me of where I've come from.
The Biz 8/10
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