I'm not certain from where the motivation for this trip down memory lane stems, but it's been a boon to my posting, so here goes another fit:

Perhaps the Cox News Service and the Waco Trib recollection spurred this fit. I am reminded of my first job interview with the Waco Tribune Herald. I was about nineteen years old, and interviewing with the editorial office manager, a woman named Barbara something. If the Wicked Witch of the West had an identical twin, Barbara was a shoe-in for her. I was interviewing for an entry-level position with the newspaper. Allow me to attempt to convey the emotion that I was feeling at having landed a job interview with a newspaper. I was years (one or two) away from disillusionment with the whole truth-in-editorial-news-reporting deal, and was under the mistaken impression that a newspaper was some sort of hallowed ground of the written Word -- that I was sitting in one of the last bastions of grammatical sanctity. Boy, was I in for a shock! After my interview, during which I stopped just short of kissing the threshold to the newspaper, Barbara paused for a moment to tell me that I was "too honest" in my interview. I would soon learn, through the newspaper, how volatile and expendable honesty and truth are, and how either one can get in the way of what would otherwise be award-winning journalism. Of course, one might be led to wonder of what value news reporting is when it is told without truth or honesty. I didn't get the job. Barbara's letter arrived and my heart sank. Would I ever be worthy of employment by a Literary Institution like the Waco Tribune Herald? In retrospect, it is nothing short of laughable to think that I -- that anyone could aspire to work with the denizens of the inkwell that flows from Satan's own veins. A couple of years later, I landed a job in the Trib's advertising department. Because I shot with Nikon cameras, and was therefore compatible with the editorial photogs' lenses, I was allowed by the chief photog to shoot for the editorial department from time to time. For what I think may have been my very first editorial assignment for the Trib, I was sent to Oakwood Park to photograph the police officer who was hailed as Waco's "Cop of the Year" for the work that he had done to "clean up" the vicinity of Oakwood Park, which was formerly a hotbed of illicit activity by local at-risk youth. With my first editorial assignment staring me in the face, I wasn't about to take any chances. I loaded up on film stock of all types, carried all five of my Nikon bodies and all of my lenses. I may have even bummed one from the editorial department. The day was overcast. As I exited my car, I began to ponder the lighting situation. The reporter for the story, Mark England met me in the small parking lot adjacent to the park. It was late Autumn, and it was beginning to drizzle. I had to work fast. England pointed me toward a park bench where Sgt. Gary Green was standing with a group of young African-Americans, mostly guys. They appeared to be carrying on with a congenial aire. Mark looked me over and saw that I was all camera gear. "You're loaded for bear," he remarked. I told him that I was not about to blow this opportunity to shoot some local "art". "Art" is what newspaper editors call photos that illustrate their stories. As I approached the police sargeant, I drew the attention of one of the young black men who was hanging out with the cop. He was about 6'8" and about 280 lbs. The young man was so large that I think that his vocal cords were smothered by his sheer girth. He asked me something that I found to be unintelligible. Even when he repeated it, I still could not make out what he was asking of me. It sounded a bit like, "Areyafit'nfilm?" I turned to Mark, who offered up a translation. "Oh, uh, yes. I am here to take a picture of the sargeant over there," I said. The young, huge man's eyes widened, as if he had seen a ghost. He turned to his cohorts, who numbered just shy of a dozen, motioned to them and within seconds, they had scattered to the furthest corners of the park -- maybe even out of the county. Mark observed, "Wow, you sure can clear a room." The group had obviously scrambled away after getting the signal from my unintelligible friend to get out of camera shot. I thought little of it, being pressed for time, as the drizzle was rapidly becoming full-fledged rain. I made my photos, and the next day eagerly snatched up the first issue of the paper that I could find. Prominently plastered on the front page of the local section was my photo of a pensive police officer, sitting on his own at a concrete park bench in a park that was devoid of any other souls. I was pleased. But only until I read the lead-in for the Mark England story, which read something like, "The black youths that were gathered Oakwood Park scattered as Waco Police Sargeant Gary Green approached." He was there, and saw exactly what I saw. Why was it so important to manipulate the facts in this little local story? How often, do you suppose, was he led to do the same thing, thinking that it would pull in a reader? That being said, Mark England is an award-winning journalist for the Cox News Service. The awards are generally for deadline reporting, but I think that he should receive a second accolade for his creative and inspired work(s) of fiction.