My journalism journey part 16

I had spent four years in Montana and seen and done a lot. But then Wally wanted to buy a newspaper. And it was the Anaconda Leader, at that. The problem was, Dean Neitz, the publisher of the Leader, didn't want to sell.

Wally always claimed Dean promised him when he hired him that eventually, he'd sell him the paper. When that didn't happen, Wally started looking for another paper to buy. He had come from North Dakota, where he was editor of the Mott newspaper, which was owned by Margie's father and uncle. They didn't want to sell the paper to Wally, either, which is why he went to Montana.

So now the new place was the newspaper in Redfield, South Dakota. It was a small weekly in a town about 40 miles south of Aberdeen, South Dakota. When the sale went through, Wally, Margie and JoNae headed east to South Dakota. I was stuck with a new editor.

Initially, I didn't want to be editor and told Dean so. So he hired this man, I'll call him John No. 1. He told us he had worked at all these big newspapers and had all this experience. I wondered why he wanted to work at a small twice-weekly, but we all have our reasons for moving west. I tried to be as friendly as I could be.

He moved into a small apartment above the Washoe Theater and so one day, when we both had off, I offered him the use of my washer/dryer. I told him he could do laundry and have a drink. Now, by drink, I meant whatever he wanted: Coffee, pop, beer, water, etc. He took it to mean alcoholic drink. This invitation would come back to bite me later.

John No. 1 did laundry, had a couple beers and we visited and got to know each other. No big deal. Several other times, he was seen visiting the bars in town, then going to sleep under his desk (apparently more inviting than the bed in Washoe Theater apartment).

One Monday afternoon, he said he was going to the courthouse to look for some stories. He said he'd see me on Tuesday. OK. I went gathering sports news at the sports complex. Tuesday morning came and went and John No. 1 didn't show up. People tried to call his apartment (still no cellphones) but got no answer. I scrambled to find news to put on the front page - think big photos --  and worried how to get through the rest of the week.

I filled a whole 12-page paper by myself, front to back, with big photos, boilerplate, lots of sports filler and a little bit of news. I worked until 2 a.m. Wednesday, went home for a little sleep, then came back at 7 a.m. to finish up. I worked until 2 p.m., went home for lunch and a nap, then I had a city-county meeting to cover. It was 10 p.m. when I finally got home. And then I started all over on Thursday for Friday's edition.

In the next two weeks, I worked 60 hours (got paid for 40) each while putting out the whole paper. I did all the weekend stuff by myself. By the end, I told Dean I wouldn't mind being the editor. I had done it all myself and thought I had done a good job.

Then he brought in John No. 2. The guy wore holey jeans, smoked up a storm and smelled like an ashtray. Dean disregarded my offer to be editor and hired this guy instead. He lived up in a cabin in the mountains, but would stay in town in the same apartment above the Washoe Theater during the week. He'd do no weekend work. That would be all mine. Gee, thanks. I wouldn't be the editor, but I'd get to do more work for the same pay.

John No. 2 smoked at the computer next to mine, even though the rules of the office were no smoking inside. I have a lot of allergies and asked him not to smoke, but he didn't seem to care. He would run 10 stories on the front page, mostly his, and jump them all. I might get one story on the front.

After a couple of months of this, Dean got a letter from John No. 1. He was in the Veterans Hospital in Sturgis, South Dakota, drying out. Seems he went on a bender one night in Anaconda. He was so drunk, he couldn't find his way back to his apartment. Finally, someone got him to the VA.

Now, here's the zinger: He blamed this all on me, because I offered him a drink. He had been a recovering alcoholic (which I didn't know) and I offered him a drink. Well, I offered him a drink, that's true, but he could have had a pop or water or coffee. He didn't have to have a beer. But, yeah, it's my entire fault.

Between the two Johns, it was clear all I was getting was crap. So I started looking. Unfortunately, I was using the typewriter at work to do resumes and cover letters, and our office manager, Pam, found my trash. So one day Dean asked me if I was looking. I lied and told him no. I was just sprucing up my resume, that's all. Someone asked me for it, for another reason.

After a few rejections, I got a call one day in May from the Aberdeen American News in Aberdeen, S.D. How odd it would be so close to Wally and Margie. I talked to the sports editor, Ron Feickert, on the phone, and the editor, Cindy Eikamp. They were interested in bringing me out there for an interview. Memorial Day was coming up and it would be a good time. I could get out there without too much suspicion.

So the time seemed right to get away for an interview. Mick, our ad manager, offered to cover any weekend assignments, for me (because John No. 2 wouldn't) . Wally and Margie agreed to meet me for dinner one night; it would be good to see them. I was feeling good about this one. I hated leaving Montana, but I needed a fresh start.

It seemed the right time to move back east.