journalism

August in December

~ Lee Swanson ~ 5 Comments

There was a retirement celebration last night at the television station where I used to hang out. Surrounded by friends, co-workers past and present, and a few dignitaries, J. W. August was lauded with deserved accolades, honors and, because it is television, the inevitable tribute video.

He accumulated an obscene number of awards and honors in his career, but his greatest accomplishment may have been working at the same television station for 32 years. I traveled through seven stations in that time span; leaving some because I wanted to and others because they insisted.

At one time or another he held a lot of jobs and job titles there, but his devotion and his heart is in investigative journalism. And more than once last night I heard him described as a journalistic pit bull who grabs on to a story and won’t let go.

It’s been said of him before and, while it’s true as far it goes, it strikes me as an odd compliment. After all, isn’t that in the definition of the job? Get a lead and follow it to the end, wherever it takes you. The thing is, he does it better than most.

But those who see him only as a pit bull don’t know the same guy I do. They have never been in the newsroom with him when a child walks in. Never seen him drop whatever he is doing, deadline be damned and plop down on the floor in front of the kid, pulling a box of toys and a bag of candy from his desk while magically producing quarters from thin air and giggling and smiling.

They’ve never gone to him with a problem, large or small, real or perceived and had him turn his full attention and energy to them, not to ask what he can do, but to tell you what he’s going to do.

A pit bull? The J. W. who is my friend is a puppy dog. Kind, caring, undyingly loyal and – if you stand next to him – likely to lick you on the cheek.

On Writing

~ Lee Swanson ~ 9 Comments

Funny thing happened this week. San Diego’s chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists held its awards dinner and along with a great many well-deserved recognitions,  gave the Herbert “Woody” Lockwood Award for Humor Writing to this blog.

I was not there to accept it because the last time I stood in front of a large group of people and got a woody it wasn’t a pleasant experience.  I was probably about 13 but like receiving this richly undeserved award, it was both memorable and embarrassing.

The difference is I’m talking about this one. Having spent something more than 30 years writing what passed as serious news stories, getting recognized for humor writing is a major change of pace.

It is also the only sort of formal recognition I’ve ever received for writing.  There are writing categories in television awards, but I never thought my stuff qualified.   Writing television news doesn’t feel like writing, even to me, because if someone wearing makeup and reading out loud is the only person to read it, it’s not really writing, no matter how many people hear it.

Of course by that standard—and several others—this blog is still just barely writing.  Not that anyone is reading this out loud, I hope, but the loyal following is somewhere between the middle single figures and the low double figures.

Spending a career writing stories that are measured in seconds instead of pages means I don’t really have anything to show for it. Once it’s read on the air it’s in the air and on its way to Mars.

Several years ago, a friend who was also a news producer was at my apartment and pulled a book from my bookcase — How to Make $30,000 a Year Writing. “You do, you know,” she said.  That says a lot about a lot of things, primarily my impression of what I think writing is, and the kind of salaries news producers get.

So thank you SPJ for this misguided recognition of which I’m rather proud.