Forty-four
years ago this week I started work as the Las Cruces Bureau Chief for
The El Paso Times.
It
was a different town in a different time. Cruces was much
smaller then, though it had
added a second high school. Telshor Boulevard was quite new, and
there was nothing but desert between it and the Cox ranch
house up in the Organ foothills. I-10 met up with I-25, but didn't
continue through town. Folks used University Avenue, Valley Drive
(“Truck Bypass”), and Picacho to get back on I-10 toward Deming.
One of the town's biggest businesses was the Palms Motel on Picacho.
The county commission was three
people, and met in a tiny room in the courthouse. Tommy Graham was
mayor. Bob Munson and Albert Johnson were on the city commission,
each to become mayor within a few years.
I
wasn't a journalist. I needed to make money. I lived cheaply, in a
big green school bus I'd driven from Brooklyn back to Las Cruces. I'd
been substitute-teaching a little, and working part-time as a night
projectionist, showing Deep Throat and similar flicks, way out
in the county. (Just that one memory speaks to how much things have
changed!)
When
editor Fritz Wirt interviewed me, all I could give him as a writing
sample was some poems.
I
knew nothing of local politics. After my civil rights work and
antiwar activities, I'd thought of myself as exiled (or self-exiled)
from mainstream society. I told friends the new job would be “a
crash course in Middle America.” With long, braided hair and a
motorcycle, I was such an oddity that Graham, after watching me plunk
my helmet down on the reporter's table at a city commission meeting,
mockingly dubbed me “Captain Zoom,” which some old-timers still
call me.
It
was intense. The Times wanted to increase its presence in Las
Cruces. I covered everything, from murder to county fair hog
competitions. The “bureau” was the bus, staffed by the dog and
me. Naturally curious, I threw myself into the work. I became
immersed in local life, and all the ideals and cynicism, joys and
sorrows, and ups and downs that entailed.
People
talked to me. I had no dog in any local fights; the Times
was miles away in El Paso, impervious to local pressures; and people
figured the crazy biker probably wouldn't get intimidated into
revealing his sources. Therefore, whenever local authorities wanted
to keep something secret, people whispered to me, and I broke the
story before the Sun-News.
It
was a different world. I dictated stories on the phone or used some
primitive ancestor of the fax machine. Gannett was building the
Times,
not shrinking it. Newspaper and radio were what there was for local
news. No Internet. No cell-phones. Computers were huge things few
had actually seen. People who were gay kept that fact to themselves,
to survive.
But
it was also the same. Occasional stirrings of hope for the Las Cruces
Airport; exciting changes that outside experts said would make
downtown special (then, the new downtown mall, now, relief that we've
gotten rid of it); a long-time mayor facing a challenge; and
impeachment under discussion for a president who'd committed crimes,
or tried to cover them up.
Those
three years with the Times deepened my love for this place,
taught me that there are almost always two sides to any story, and
created many lifelong friendships.
-30-
[The column above appeared this morning, Sunday, 10 February 2019, in the Las Cruces Sun-News, as well as on the newspaper's website and KRWG's website. A spoken version will air during the week on both KRWG Radio and KTAL-LP, 101.5 FM, (www.lccommunityradio.org)]
[There's a lot more to say about that time. It was eventful. Jerry Apodaca's election as Governor in 1974; Bob Munson was a truly interesting person, and I remember too well the time when he and Diana died tragically in the crash of a small plane in 1977; Countess Jones was a wonderful, older reporter, working as a radio journalist, a staunch Republican with whom I was often allied on press freedom issues and others we just saw as "commonsense" or "good government" point; and there were so many other folks I got to know and enjoy. From that, I'll add a couple of anecdotes below. The "Bureau" was so successful that after awhile we got an office (130 South Water St.] and another reporter, and an assistant. Meanwhile I got kind of interested in law. I watched trials, and realized trial-lawyering would involve a couple of things I had done a fair amount of, advocating causes in public and acting; and when I covered lawsuits involving the city or county, lawyers would show me the relevant statute or contract and explain how each side interpreted the language, and I would enjoy the discussion and sometimes point out a third possible interpretation (an intellectual exercise known as "statutory construction," although I certainly didn't know that phrase yet); so I bought some book in a drugstore on the LSAT, and started doing pieces of the test when I was eating supper, as I might have read the bridge or chess column or (later) done the sudoku. I enjoyed it, and decided maybe I'd go to law school; but as Las Cruces had none, I had to leave town; and although I returned here most every year after I left, if I was in the country, it took me about 34 years to get back here to live.]
[One thing I learned was that if you reported the facts and quoted both sides (or all sides) a lot, the stories went over pretty well with everyone. The Democrats, or the plaintiffs in a lawsuit, or the city commission would see their sides' quotes and feel pleased that the story expressed them, and they'd see the quotes of what their opponents or critics had said, all of which they thought was dishonest nonsense, and be glad I'd shown up those bastards by quoting 'em. One of the clearest examples was the morning after my weekly TV show on KRWG. I usually had several guests with different views on an issue; but Bob Munson (who'd become a close friend, though I also often criticized him) had been defeated for re-election to the commission. He was pretty thoughtful and interesting, so I had him on as my sole guest for the whole hour, and we just talked. The next day, when I went on my rounds as city hall, I had at least one employee invite me in, close the door, and say, "Thanks for showing Bob as the wonderful leader he was!" while at least one other did the same and said, "Man, I am so glad you nailed that sonofabitch!" I thanked 'em each, and felt like maybe I'd learned something.]
[Let me add one suggestion, irrelevant to the column: see the LCCT production of The Crucible! Next weekend will be the last, but its brilliant theater -- miraculous theater for a small city in New Mexico. A great (and, sadly, perennially relevant) play greatly performed. ]
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