What am I doing here?

Early November, a week before Election Day, I had lunch with Mike Wolcott. This in itself was not unusual; he and I had met every few months at T Bar to talk journalism, local politics, sports, etc. He as the E-R editor, me at the CN&R, we had a lot in common. Still do.

Lunch that day started like the others until taking a fateful turn. Casually, delicately, Mike floated the question of whether I might consider working at his paper.

“It depends — what’s the job?” I answered.

“What would you like to do?” he countered.

The rest, as they say, is history. I’m four weeks into working as the E-R’s Weekend Editor while covering Chico city government and health. This marks the launch of a weekly column, through which I’ll comment on local issues. Somewhere in the job description is “other duties as assigned”; after 30-plus years in journalism, I know the drill.

Ironically, my career in Chico started with a similar conversation. My wife (at that point, fiancee) decided to come back to her hometown to practice medicine after she finished her residency in pediatrics. I reached out to both papers; David Little, Mike’s predecessor, asked me to give him a call.

In preparation, I checked the E-R’s website. The top story that morning covered the departure of the editor of the crosstown weekly. I said nothing, but David began speaking about it at length.

I remarked how it was incredibly nice of him to tell me about another job opportunity when we were discussing how I might fit at his paper. He replied, “It’s always good to get another journalist in town.” Implication: maybe I’d come over some day.

I did in a way when Rick Silva invited me to join the Paradise Post editorial board and subsequently gave me a column. But officially, E-R wise and HR wise, I didn’t get over here until January, almost 17 years after arriving in Chico.

Time flies. It seems like yesterday that I was at my first council meeting, sitting in the back, surprised by how chippy people got — councilors and citizens alike. Those were the days of marathon meetings, when disc golf in Bidwell Park turned the community on its head. Folks feared for the farmers’ market, fought to “move the junkyard” and used the word “charrette” like never before or since. (A charrette, I learned, is a meeting to resolve differences, like over a parking structure downtown.)

I’ve since left town and returned. I’ve served on the Chico Planning Commission and, as alternate, on the Architectural Review and Historic Preservation Board. I’ve sat on the board of a charter high school, Inspire, and a groundwater management agency, the Vina GSA, where I represent domestic well-users and, at least until next month’s meeting, serve as chair.

Meanwhile, my wife became a hospital-based physician and medical director. She’s very impressive, clearly my better half by any measure. She works nights, often weekends, caring for the sickest children of Chico and our surrounding communities. Amy signed off on my job switch — hardly a no-brainer, even with the offer I couldn’t refuse.

Now I’m here. I have a fresh opportunity to share stories of Chico and Chicoans. In this space, I get to share my stories, my take on what’s important to me, my family and my neighbors.

Don’t expect vitriol. I’m moderate. A former councilor, the one who appointed me planning commissioner, called me a pragmatic centrist (or was it centrist pragmatist?). I relate to a quip from the 2016 primary that “Bernie wants to take us to Mars; Hillary wants to take us to Akron.” We’re a long way from Akron, even farther from Mars — but if someone builds the rocket ship …

Strap in and get ready for the ride.