His first job in the industry was delivering newspapers. That led to a job delivering newspapers to the guys delivering newspapers. That was followed by a job as an inserter in the packaging department, which led to a job in the pressroom. A year or so later, he was working in the color separation lab before landing a position as a staff photographer. Before long he moved on to The San Diego Union-Tribune, where he served as photo editor for the past several years.
Mike Franklin was a lifer. And a leader. A couple weeks after I began working at the old Times-Advocate in Escondido, the editors needed someone to fill a Friday night shift on the cops beat and decided I was ready for it. I had never covered cops before, and while I was perusing a cheat sheet that listed the various police radio codes, the scanner began lighting up with reports of a hostage situation and a police chase. I was like a deer in headlights. Suddenly the code for "shots fired" blared across the radio, and Mike - then a staff photographer at the paper - appeared like a vision and calmly said, "Let's go."
I had no idea where the hell we were going, and before I could grab a Thomas Bros. guide, Mike pulled me by the arm and said he'd drive. In no time, we were in his Jeep en route to a cul de sac, where police had just killed a bank robber - and his hostage. When we got there, the bank robber's body was in a pickup. The body of his hostage - a young woman - lay in the middle of the street.
Cops weren't talking and Mike wanted me out of the way. "Why don't you go talk to those guys and see if they know anything," Mike said, pointing to a pair of middle-age men in oil-covered clothes. So I did. Good thing, too. Turns out they had been working on their car when they saw the drama unfold, leading to the fateful decision of an officer to shoot the hostage as she tried to escape, in the mistaken belief that she was in cahoots with the robber.
I tell this story because Mike is no longer working in the industry. He was given a layoff notice a couple weeks back and his last day at work was today. He'll probably freelance for awhile, maybe longer. But the newsroom for me will never be the same. When I saw Mike, I often remembered that crazy evening some 26 years ago, an evening that made me grow up - fast - as a reporter.
Mike was one of nearly 50 people in editorial who lost their job in the recent round of downsizing, and each of them left their mark on this industry. Each of them helped make their community better. None of them deserved to become victims of a dying industry. Some of them left yesterday. Most left today.
I'll miss them all.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
It's all Vin Scully's fault
As I sit here watching the Dodgers on MLB.com while listening to Vin Scully call the game, I'm reminded of why I decided to get into journalism in the first place. Because of baseball.
Back when I was a kid, I didn't just listen to the games. I lived them. I kept score. Meticulously. I jotted down notes. And as soon as a contest was over, I would plop a piece of paper into my old Olympia typewriter and start writing a game story - on deadline. In the morning, I'd check my piece with what the hacks were printing in the Los Angeles Times. It was then that I realized I could make a living as a sportswriter. It was then I realized that I wanted to be a newspaperman.
Somewhere along the way, sportswriting gave way to covering city councils, school boards and the police beat, but it was the Dodgers, and more specifically Vin Scully, who inspired me into this line of work.
It was a choice I never regretted. Not even with the apocalypse upon us. But I find myself much more subdued than I ever was. I find myself often thinking of the thousands of journalists who have been laid off over the past few years, many of them friends of mine. And I find myself often thinking of the dozens of co-workers who will soon be leaving from the Union-Tribune.
To prepare for deadline writing by listening to the radio back when Maury Wills was still playing shortstop for the Dodgers requires a passion that you cannot fake. Yet what is happening today is sorely testing that passion, and I have found myself wondering if there are other careers - teaching perhaps -that I should transition to before my middle age years are up.
But then I listen to Vinny and fall back into my bedroom, circa 1970, typewriter atop a milk carton, stubby little fingers flailing away. That I never put the teddy bears in a row of chairs and pretended to present lessons in history underscores where my passion lies.
A journalist I am. For now. And it's all Vin Scully's fault.
Back when I was a kid, I didn't just listen to the games. I lived them. I kept score. Meticulously. I jotted down notes. And as soon as a contest was over, I would plop a piece of paper into my old Olympia typewriter and start writing a game story - on deadline. In the morning, I'd check my piece with what the hacks were printing in the Los Angeles Times. It was then that I realized I could make a living as a sportswriter. It was then I realized that I wanted to be a newspaperman.
Somewhere along the way, sportswriting gave way to covering city councils, school boards and the police beat, but it was the Dodgers, and more specifically Vin Scully, who inspired me into this line of work.
It was a choice I never regretted. Not even with the apocalypse upon us. But I find myself much more subdued than I ever was. I find myself often thinking of the thousands of journalists who have been laid off over the past few years, many of them friends of mine. And I find myself often thinking of the dozens of co-workers who will soon be leaving from the Union-Tribune.
To prepare for deadline writing by listening to the radio back when Maury Wills was still playing shortstop for the Dodgers requires a passion that you cannot fake. Yet what is happening today is sorely testing that passion, and I have found myself wondering if there are other careers - teaching perhaps -that I should transition to before my middle age years are up.
But then I listen to Vinny and fall back into my bedroom, circa 1970, typewriter atop a milk carton, stubby little fingers flailing away. That I never put the teddy bears in a row of chairs and pretended to present lessons in history underscores where my passion lies.
A journalist I am. For now. And it's all Vin Scully's fault.
Monday, May 11, 2009
I don't like Mondays
To all my colleagues at The Union-Tribune who will be out of work come July, fear not. There is ample opportunity for working journalists, as evidenced by a piece in The New York Times today about Chevron hiring a former award-winning CNN reporter to do its own investigative piece on the company once the conglomerate discovered 60 minutes was looking at some of its questionable actions in Ecuador.
OK, it was a puff piece fronting as news. But it's work.
Speaking of work, looks like it's not only newspapers and television stations that are going down the toilet. Playboy magazine today announced it lost nearly $14 million in the first quarter this year, yet another victim of free content on the Internet. Ad revenue plummets. Subscribers flee. Subscription rates rise. More with less. Stop me if you've heard this before.
And on a related note, the News Corp., among the leaders in the industry to force people to pay for stories that are damn expensive to produce, says it will introduce a micropayment system, enabling readers to pay for individual articles, instead of a full subscription. Good luck.
And it's only Monday.
OK, it was a puff piece fronting as news. But it's work.
Speaking of work, looks like it's not only newspapers and television stations that are going down the toilet. Playboy magazine today announced it lost nearly $14 million in the first quarter this year, yet another victim of free content on the Internet. Ad revenue plummets. Subscribers flee. Subscription rates rise. More with less. Stop me if you've heard this before.
And on a related note, the News Corp., among the leaders in the industry to force people to pay for stories that are damn expensive to produce, says it will introduce a micropayment system, enabling readers to pay for individual articles, instead of a full subscription. Good luck.
And it's only Monday.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Noticed
The commute to work this morning was similar to the commute to work every other morning: Hop on the trolley at the Alvarado station near La Mesa, plug in the Ipod and pull out The New York Times. On this morning, a particular story caught my attention, a story about the mental anguish that managers at small and medium sized businesses endure when deciding who will lose their jobs when layoffs become necessary.
"Charlie Thomas III, vice president of Shuqualak Lumber in Shuqualak, Miss., had to dismiss nearly a quarter of his work force, which used to number about 160 employees, at the end of October. He also dismissed a handful of workers in January.
He wrote out a speech for the announcement in October in front of his men, whom he told to gather in the lumberyard. Midway through delivering it, Mr. Thomas had to stop and go back into his office to compose himself.
“I couldn’t get it out,” he said. “It just killed my soul.” "
It was a poignant piece detailing how layoffs at small businesses were more personal - like telling a brother he was being let go. But what was especially intriguing to me was a discussion about the factors that are considered when managers decide who to lay off.
"In the management team meetings, each member, armed with an employee roster by department, suggested workers to be cut. A vote was taken on each worker. Some got reprieves; others were added to the list.
A premium was put on workers with diversified skills. One employee was saved because he happened to have a commercial driver’s license, so he could make deliveries as well.
There were impossible dilemmas: what to do about two equally valued employees when one was single and the other had a family to support; how to balance an employee’s talent against his cost."
It's been well known for months that layoffs at my job with The San Diego Union-Tribune were imminent. We were informed of that fact earlier this year. And, in case anyone forgot, Louis Samson of new U-T owner Platinum Equity said as much in a question-and-answer piece on the front page of the paper the day after the sale was completed.
"We expect some immediate restructuring to stabilize the business in the near term. But the ultimate goal here is to make only those cuts necessary to stabilize the business, and then to focus on growing revenue," Samson was quoted as saying.
So I knew my job was on the line. After reading the New York Times piece, I knew that my future had been discussed by managers with much more authority than me. After reading this piece, I felt I had a little more understanding of the factors that would go into deciding whether I would soon have to start looking for employment elsewhere.
As it happened, I learned my fate 15 minutes after arriving at work. Layoffs were being announced. People were being pulled into offices for private discussions. Before the day would be over, more than 190 people - including about 40 in the newsroom - were told they would be gone in 60 days.
Many, many of my friends were told they were being laid off. Many, many of my friends shed more than a few tears. Many, many of my friends will soon no longer be threatened journalists, but instead former ones.
"Charlie Thomas III, vice president of Shuqualak Lumber in Shuqualak, Miss., had to dismiss nearly a quarter of his work force, which used to number about 160 employees, at the end of October. He also dismissed a handful of workers in January.
He wrote out a speech for the announcement in October in front of his men, whom he told to gather in the lumberyard. Midway through delivering it, Mr. Thomas had to stop and go back into his office to compose himself.
“I couldn’t get it out,” he said. “It just killed my soul.” "
It was a poignant piece detailing how layoffs at small businesses were more personal - like telling a brother he was being let go. But what was especially intriguing to me was a discussion about the factors that are considered when managers decide who to lay off.
"In the management team meetings, each member, armed with an employee roster by department, suggested workers to be cut. A vote was taken on each worker. Some got reprieves; others were added to the list.
A premium was put on workers with diversified skills. One employee was saved because he happened to have a commercial driver’s license, so he could make deliveries as well.
There were impossible dilemmas: what to do about two equally valued employees when one was single and the other had a family to support; how to balance an employee’s talent against his cost."
It's been well known for months that layoffs at my job with The San Diego Union-Tribune were imminent. We were informed of that fact earlier this year. And, in case anyone forgot, Louis Samson of new U-T owner Platinum Equity said as much in a question-and-answer piece on the front page of the paper the day after the sale was completed.
"We expect some immediate restructuring to stabilize the business in the near term. But the ultimate goal here is to make only those cuts necessary to stabilize the business, and then to focus on growing revenue," Samson was quoted as saying.
So I knew my job was on the line. After reading the New York Times piece, I knew that my future had been discussed by managers with much more authority than me. After reading this piece, I felt I had a little more understanding of the factors that would go into deciding whether I would soon have to start looking for employment elsewhere.
As it happened, I learned my fate 15 minutes after arriving at work. Layoffs were being announced. People were being pulled into offices for private discussions. Before the day would be over, more than 190 people - including about 40 in the newsroom - were told they would be gone in 60 days.
Many, many of my friends were told they were being laid off. Many, many of my friends shed more than a few tears. Many, many of my friends will soon no longer be threatened journalists, but instead former ones.
Monday, May 4, 2009
The omen
Nearly nine years after moving to paradise to work for The San Diego Union-Tribune, I am no longer employed by The Copley Press. The sale of the U-T to Platinum Equity has been completed, it was announced today, and folks from City Hall to southeastern San Diego are wondering what vision the private equity firm has for the local institution.
What does this mean to me? Being a person of simple tastes, I don't ask for much. And while discussing the sale in the company gym not long after it was announced, my request was simple: I just hope Platinum puts an end to the deferred maintenance on the treadmills and stair masters and fixes the damn things.
Fifteen minutes after I left, someone was in the gym working on the machines.
A good omen, indeed.
What does this mean to me? Being a person of simple tastes, I don't ask for much. And while discussing the sale in the company gym not long after it was announced, my request was simple: I just hope Platinum puts an end to the deferred maintenance on the treadmills and stair masters and fixes the damn things.
Fifteen minutes after I left, someone was in the gym working on the machines.
A good omen, indeed.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Who cares?
Schools in California are being directed to shut down for up to 14 days if any of their students comes down with the swine flu. So what happens when the swine flu affects a reporter? An editor? a pressroom operator? Will that newspaper shut its offices down in the public interest? Or does anyone care if a bunch of journalists get infected by some mutated virus?
Just wondering.
Just wondering.
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