Just a song before I go

TU’S master of writing clever headlines says goodbye after 48 years

I’m back. Well, kinda, sorta . ... For those old enough to remember me, kudos to your longevity.

I used to write a little bit. Actually, writing ended my reporting career and transitioned me into content editing (copy editing is the older and wiser term).

The story: It’s November 1985. High school football. Shaker at Burnt Hills. No press boxes or statisticians in those days. Taking notes, as all reporters did, on the sidelines. Awful, rainy, muddy conditions. No one knew from artificial turf, or fields that drained well. Well, while the king (in this case, me) was looking down, and the players took the field, my planted knee refused to yield. And Shaker defensive players diving in their attempt to intercept a forward pass put the jester on the sidelines (actually a hospital) in a cast.

Driving was not an option. Thanks to fellow reporters at rival newspapers (we cooperated in those days), the story got to the Knickerbocker News (which did not cease publication until April 15, 1988).

So, that led me to the copy desk after my recuperation. I guess the head honchos of the time must have liked me there. For the majority of the next 35 years of a 48-year career, that’s where I’ve hung the hat I only wore on election nights.

Until I retired recently. Mostly I’ll be singing. Karaoke, when venues reopen. I am now the masked singer. Or, in some venues, “The Amazing Steve.” (It was a night when there were at least three other Steves in the house). I’ve been called worse. Often.

But just a song, or several, before I go ... a musical look behind the scenes of my professional life.

“Leaving on a Jet Plane”: I was the Knick’s first beat reporter with the brand new Adirondack Red Wings (of blessed memory). We were navigating uncharted frozen waters. The company was dedicated to covering them home and away.

Well, “away” included the Canadian Maritimes.

The plan was to meet up with the team and fly with them to the Maritimes.

Naturally, I thought the flight would be from Albany airport, so why not just park my car in nearby Colonie, rather than drive all the way to Glens Falls? So, young and innocent me called and said “Meet you at the airport.” Not realizing that to them “the airport” was Saratoga County Airport, which I didn’t even know existed . ... which led me to ...

“Ticket to Ride”: Into whatever jalopy I was driving at the time, high-tailing it to Montreal, the nearest place I could find that connected with Air Canada and the Maritimes.

“Taxman”: Once the company found out what the bill was for such trips, we were one-anddone, like Kentucky basketball players.

“Telephone Line”: Again with the Wings. This is a tale of telecopiers. Square pegs, round holes. The phones at the hotel in Springfield, Mass., had the former, the telecopier the latter. Ended up dictating the story.

“Operator, could you help me place this call?”: Before Glens Falls, the high school boys’ basketball championships (I’m guessing 1980 or so) were at Rochester War Memorial Auditorium. The plan was to send via telecopier (that word again) from the press box. “Nobody Told Me” (another song title) that the phone was exclusive to the Democrat and Chronicle. So, I ended up going across the street and tying up the restaurant’s payphone. Yet another thing that wouldn’t happen today.

“Let it Snow”: And it did. Along with ice. Downed power lines and lost power, even at Capital Newspapers. “Fall’s Snowy Crippler,” Oct. 4, 1987. Used press at the Troy Record, whose page widths were different from ours. We pressed (pun intended) on and published, as we always do, because ...

“We Are the Champions”: Never more so than today, when my colleagues too many to mention, working mostly remotely with only a few (like me) in the building, are keeping our readers informed amid the pandemic.

“Miss you:” More than you will know, my friends. and finally ...

“In My Life” I’ve loved you all.

“End of the Line.” “Imagine.”