Memories of an October day in 1977

The AP Top 25 college football poll includes five Big Ten Conference teams this week and the October 30 slate of games included a match between Michigan and Michigan State, the first time since 1964 between the two when both were rated in the Top 10. (Michigan State won, 37-33.)

All of this reminded me of boyhood Saturdays, when my Dad would corral me and my two younger brothers or some work, followed by college football.

It is frequently said that we don't always recognize memorable moments when they occur, and that's true. I've been blessed with a keen sense of awareness and have long practiced the habit of striving to live in the moment. I still miss a lot of stuff, but I'm as good as most at noticing things and better than others at making mental records of them.

My parents resided in a Chicago suburb for decades and raised their eight children there. TV broadcasts in the 1970s featured local and regional teams and whoever they were playing. 

Consequently, I was raised a fan of the Cubs, the Blackhawks, the Bears, and Big Ten college football. We also had to watch another team, Notre Dame. 

The Big Ten Conference then (and today) was dominated by the Michigan Wolverines and the Ohio State Buckeyes, with occasional solid seasons from Purdue, Minnesota, and Northwestern (rarely). We often cheered for Northwestern, but we had other favorites, too. Our favorite teams didn't always win, but we did view some good games. 

Dad rose early six days a week, sleeping in only on Sundays, but still getting up early enough to attend 10 a.m. Mass. 

His Saturday morning routine included morning visits to a local bakery and a grocery story. He always purchased a variety of deli meats (called cold cuts back then), cheese, and fresh-baked sandwich rolls. 

He then returned home and put me and brothers, Patrick and Mike, to work, usually doing yard work. 

In addition to our regular indoor chores (running a vacuum cleaner, putting away toys, and helping wash dishes), we had weekly and seasonal tasks to complete outdoors. I was responsible for mowing the lawn, beginning in the 3rd grade and continuing through college. 

All three of us assisted with special tasks, such as painting the garage, trimming trees, raking leaves and shoveling snow. 

Dad always had special projects or maintenance tasks for us. One repair project stands out in memory, because it was part of a near-perfect Saturday in many respects.

Saturday, Oct 22, 1977 was a sunny, dry day, with seasonal temperatures in the upper 40s. Dad determined we would perform some routine but necessary work to the rooftop chimney. 

Under Dad's supervision, we pulled the wood extension ladder from the garage, and the four-man (well, one man and three boys) working party climbed up to the roof, a steeply slanted number with one bedroom dormer located at the rear side.

The project involved cleaning the area around the chimney base, applying some sealant to the chimney stack and the roofing shingles at its base. Dad explained why the work was necessary, told us about the materials we were using, and gave each of us a specific task to complete. 

The work wasn't complicated and was completed in a short time. We sat on the rooftop for a while, just talking, enjoying the view and waving to neighbors as they went about their Saturday projects. 

I remember Dad telling us about a few of the other seasonal tasks we needed to complete in the coming weeks, including replacing the window screens with the heavy storm windows. 

By the time we climbed down from the roof, we were ready for lunch. Dad set out all the fixings and we'd assemble our sandwiches. My favorite was a roast beef with cheddar cheese, topped with a tomato slice, lettuce and mayo - all stacked high on a fresh onion roll. I'd add a side of potato chips and a glass of cold root beer. 

We didn't always have soft drinks in the house, but root beer was Dad's favorite soft drink and he'd enjoy a glass with his Saturday lunch.

We'd gather around the family TV (we had only one in the house for many years) and watch the Big Ten game that was featured for the day.

Northwestern hosted Ohio State that Saturday and lost, 35-15, but we also heard how unranked Minnesota upset No. 1 Michigan 16-0 at Memorial Stadium in Minneapolis. We hated to see Northwestern lose, but I was a Minnesota fan then (and now) and found some comfort in learning of the Gophers' big win.

There are, of course, special occasions that instantly become lifelong memories - a wedding, the birth of a child, a college graduation. But the routine or the ordinary rarely signals it has the potential for lasting significance. Somewhere along the journey it becomes memorable and important.

That rooftop project and that day in October became memorable for me, and it comes back to me in vivid detail whenever I think about the Big Ten football conference. 

Dad passed away after a long illness in 1995, Patrick died suddenly in 2008, and Mike is retired now. But each is young and full of energy,  laughing and enjoying a meal of fresh bread, meats and cold root beer,  whenenever I think back to that brisk autumn day in October 1977.  

-- Thank you for reading. Please feel free to comment. Feedback is always welcome. 

  

We need more reporters, fewer journalists

 

"One can be a cat or a dog, but can't be both. Which one are you?"

A longtime business associate of mine is fond of saying that. It's both an accurate statement and a pointed question that forces one to focus attention on the challenges at hand.

I thought about that simple observation the other day, when a young friend asked me if a reporter is the same thing as a journalist, and if so, why don't we call them one or the other and be done with it? 

I said a reporter is different from a journalist these days, but it is understandable how so many view them as the same type of creature. 

I started my work in the news-reporting field 41 years ago, first in radio (for a short time) and then in newspapers, both the weekly and daily type. I am no longer paid to report news, but I still consider myself a reporter and use skills refined over four decades to gather information and share it with readers. 

I told my friend that journalists and reporters shared many of the same qualities when I started in the field, but things changed over the years. Specifically, journalism programs at colleges and universities changed significantly from the 1980s to today. You can check that for yourself, I said.

Once upon a time, a solid J-program taught not only the mechanics of the trade - the who, what, where, when, why and how foundations of news gathering - they also taught ethics. The most important rule taught to me on the subject was to be an objective observer to a story.

A reporter was to be unbiased, an umpire of sorts. "Tell the reader what happened at a meeting or an event and let the reader form an opinion or reach a conclusion," said a favorite professor and mentor.

If the story involved conflict, reporters were trained to craft a balanced presentation of both sides and attribute arguments and assertions to identified sources. Good, reliable reporters still do this today, I think.

Many journalists today, particularly younger ones, self-identify as social justice warriors first, reporters second. 

I read about a reporter last week who was described as a specialist in covering social justice issues. That's a good example of how the news industry has changed. Years ago a reporter might cover the cops, the courts, local schools, the state house, city hall, or any one of several other "beats." 

Some of the best reporters I worked with were "general assignment" reporters, individuals tasked with covering whatever story might break during their work shift. The work required skill, energy, and a lot of brains. 

I preferred working a beat and was productive when assigned to one. "Social justice" was not a beat during my years as a daily reporter, and I worked with several solid editors who would have fought against establishing a "social justice" beat, arguing the name was itself biased and assumed an injustice existed. 

Those editors are no longer producing the news. They've been replaced with workers who aim to correct injustices, real or otherwise, and they do battle with those they believe will commit more injustices if not exposed and stopped. They call themselves journalists, and they mimic reporters in many ways. 

I don't consider them reporters. I make a point of calling them journalists, and reserve the title "reporter" to individuals who practice their trade according to the traditions and guidelines established to provide accountability and safeguard credibility, the most precious element of the news industry.

And that is the true distinction between a reporter and a journalist, in my opinion. A reporter understands credibility and fights to preserve it by adhering to guidelines that protect objectivity. A journalist, as we know them today, surrenders objectivity to advance "social justice" or advocate for the "voiceless." 

One can be a journalist or one can be a reporter, but one can't be both. At least, that's how I see it. 

-- Thank you for reading. Comments are always welcome.