45 years in journalism

Whenever we reach a milestone, we become reflective. Melancholy, too. And the question is obvious — what does the future look like and do I want to dip our toes into new waters, or keep doing what we are?

Those thoughts, and more, have been circulating in my mind for the last couple of weeks.

I knew today was coming and, since it’s kind of a big one, I knew there would be the white elephant in the room question nobody wants to ask.

And, so the speculation begins. We think.

The Paralympic Sports Association held a track meet for wheelchair athletes at the University of Alberta.  I hammered an advance pieced on my IBM Electric typewriter—the one with the ball of keys, remember? — in my room in my parents’ west-end home, and called a Yellow Cab to take my three pages of copy to The Edmonton Journal building downtown.

On the day of the track meet, August 18, 1979, my first byline appeared on page 5, lower left, of the Journal Sports section.

I got a Facebook message a few days ago from Peter Collum on Vancouver Island, the Journal’s assistant sports editor at the time, asking me who gave me my first byline.

It was Collum. Double thanks to the man we affectionately call Moby: for he byline of course, and coming to my rescue six years in ace copyeditor  Al Tebworth’s backyard when I took a gulp of tequila from the bottle and swallowed the worm.

Forty-five years, eh?

It all began one Friday night in the Westin Hotel lobby bar — yes, I was legal drinking age — when, by happenstance, I met Journal sports editor George Ward.

I was offered a freelance position by George … if it was good enough.

“I’m not going to give you any extra special treatment,” Ward silently barked, sizing up my wheelchair and erratic involuntary cerebral palsy.

“If you write a piece of crap in the garbage it goes.”

I didn’t care. I was just ecstatic that I had a chance.

Because, honestly, I didn’t think I would ever work in the media. In May of 1978, in the morning of my college graduation banquet, my program head called me into his office.

“We’ve enjoyed having you here but you’re not a very good writer,” he said.

“Nobody will ever hire someone in the a wheelchair to be a writer. If I were you I would get that idea out of your head right now so you won’t be disappointed.”

Crushing words. As time ticked on, something else was being crushed.

My spirit.

Ward and The Journal tossed me a lifeboat.

My challenge? Make damn sure I made good use of it.

Joining the sports department, I wanted to cover the Eskimos, Oilers and Trappers.

But I was young. More importantly, though, I respected the veteran sportswriters and at twice my age, they had learned to cover the pros.

How dare I run over their toes?

Then the Gary McPherson experience settled in.

McPherson — the revered gatekeeper for so many, encouraging us to reach our full potential — had a new gig: Alberta Northern Lights wheelchair basketball team.

Honestly, I wasn’t interested in covering wheelchair sports. I met with Gary and it didn’t take much convincing to roll down the same path as Gary.

I had never been to a basketball game in my life. Never the wheelchair version.

It showed, too. One of. My first advance stories I had — no kidding “the Lights’ starting six.” I got a call from a reader the story ran asking me to double-check my math.

In the next eight years, I found myself on planes and in hotels in Vancouver, Spokane, Los Angeles, Tucson, Las Vegas, Dallas, San Jose, Eugene, Portland and Lexington covering the Lights.

I had various other assignments at the Journal, including general assignment, kids columnist, future writer, junior hockey and columnist.

Covering Rick Hansen’s Canadian leg of his Man in Motion World Tour was exceptional. Getting to meet, and interview Stevie Wonder, former White House press secretary James Brady, Wayne Gretzky, Kevin Lowe, David Foster, Larry King, Brian Mulroney — people I greatly admired.

As well as the countless people I very quickly learned about and equally admired.

In 2014 I joined the Edmonton Sun.

So what now?

In 1991 I wrote a story about a little girl who was celebrating the Christmas season at Ronald McDonald House. All she wanted was to be a ballerina.

She had terminal cancer.

The Alberta School of Ballet called me and said they were going to give the youngster free ballet lessons for as long as possible … and, if I could help connect them with the girls’ family.

I want to help try to do that again.

I am going to dedicate my columns for as long as I can to helping people who need it the most.

More details next week.

Let’s, together, gracefully dance, to 50 years.