Fifty years ago today, on May 16, 1973, a nervous 18-year-old kid from the 9th Ward walked into the cacophonous Times-Picayune newsroom to begin a summer internship as a reporter for his hometown newspaper. It would become his dream job and, over the next half-century, his career.
That kid was me.
Barely a year out of high school, I had no idea what lay ahead, but my initial trepidation — the very idea that I was working for a daily newspaper! — quickly gave way to a rush of adrenaline every time I showed up for my 2:30-11 p.m. shift.
In fact, it was not knowing what the night might bring that made the job so exciting. As a general assignment reporter, I covered everything from tragedies to visiting dignitaries to speeches by elected officials. I lived for the adrenaline rush of a big story — and, of course, a front-page byline.
Newsrooms back then were loud, filled with typewriters clacking and reporters talking to sources on the phone or joking with each other over the clatter of teletype machines. Shouting was commonplace, often necessary. And if you weren’t having fun, you were in the wrong business.
Reporters and editors were a different breed back then. Quite a few were straight out of Central Casting, which is to say they included oddballs, drunks and legends.
I had a lot of mentors among them, and I am profoundly grateful to them. Most are gone now — Ed Anderson, my first night city editor; Jean LaPlace, who showed me around the building on my first day; Vince Randazzo, the cigar-smoking, no-nonsense city editor who gave me my first shot at covering politics; Dave Snyder, who was every reporter’s favorite supervisor; and many others.
I made and reconnected with wonderful friends along the way. I got to work for several years with the late Frank Donze, my high school classmate who became a universally loved and respected City Hall reporter. Investigative reporter Pierre DeGruy and I used to sneak out on Friday afternoons and go sailing. Pierre later served as my best man when my wife, Margo, and I got married.
In fact, I can thank the old TP for my marriage. One of my newsroom buddies back then was feature writer Lily Jackson, a Southern belle from North Carolina. A few years after I left the TP and began freelancing for Gambit, Lily introduced me to her daughter, Margo, but cautioned her to “stay away from him.” Uh, me.
Thankfully, Margo ignored Lily’s admonition, and she forgave us. We got married, bought Gambit and have lived happily ever after — and Margo remains my best editor.
Over the years, newspapers changed dramatically, starting with computers. Then came the internet and The Great Disruption.
Newsrooms today don’t look or sound anything like those of a half-century ago. They’re quiet, more like libraries than hubs for ink-stained wretches.
Most newsrooms also no longer have copy desks, which is a shame. The copy desk was home to the newsroom elders who proofread stories, corrected typos and wrote headlines.
Today’s reporters often write their own headlines, which involves much more than accurately summarizing their stories. In this digital age, it’s all about the “clicks” — and headlines drive clicks. Reporters also add “links” to their stories to generate additional clicks.
Alas, the internet has made reporters involuntary members of the paper’s sales team.
As I share these thoughts, I recall a bit of wisdom a veteran reporter gave me many years ago. “There’s two things reporters like most,” he said. “The first is writing for a newspaper; the second is bitching about writing for a newspaper.”
I have no doubt that my younger colleagues enjoy their work as much as I’ve enjoyed mine. I admire how they manage to do so much more than I had to do as a young reporter.
Looking back, I often feel the weight of hard-earned wisdom, the kind that comes from being haunted by one’s mistakes.
I also feel blessed.
My career has traced a half-century of local history and journalism. It also brought me back to where I began. In addition to writing for Gambit, I recently rejoined The Times-Picayune | The Advocate as an editorial board member and columnist.
Nowadays I’m more worldly, less patient and less trusting. But in ways too numerous to count, I’m still that kid who nervously walked into the newsroom 50 years ago with no idea what lay ahead.
Except I know that this is still my dream job.
Clancy DuBos is the politics editor and columnist for Gambit in New Orleans. Email him at clancy@gambitweekly.com.
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