Post by david on May 26, 2009 21:49:59 GMT -8
Enrolling at Fullerton College in Orange County at mid-life led to my second career.
It all happened in a rush. A year after I showed up at the school without any thought of becoming a journalist, I was editor in chief of The Hornet, which is the oldest community college newspaper in the state. And a few months later, while still enrolled at FC and serving as advertising manager for The Hornet, I was also matriculated at Cal State Fullerton where I had been accepted into graduate school.
I had become a huge fan of the community colleges. Without the opportunities provided there at very little cost, my mid-life crisis might have stretched on for years.
While celebrating my own good fortune and while giving credit where it was due to the college, I was distressed by the number of my younger classmates who were failing to apply themselves to the tasks at hand.
Standards for success in college are unfortunately set rather low these days. As an instructor, I later discovered that almost any student can obtain passing grades and earn a degree simply by showing up and completing all assignments.
Because so many students miss class too often, don't show up for exams and fail to turn in papers, even those with low scores (who do the work) garner enough points to pass – often with a “B” or better.
The failure to follow through permeates the community colleges and has even infected journalism classes and campus publications – where deadlines are traditionally held sacred.
The failure to meet deadlines results in newspaper production strategies that include working late into the night (often past midnight) to complete tasks that should have been done earlier. This leaves little time for editing and polishing and results in an inferior product.
But the students still tend to be very proud of the result – after all, they worked like crazy all night to get it done. And they actually consider the long nights working past deadlines to complete work that should have been done sooner to be a part of the fun.
My job was to determine the size and shape of the “news hole,” I had to create the “ad lines” – the border between my territory and that of the editors – at least a day before the paper went to press. And that meant while others were in a mad scramble to put the paper to bed, albeit after midnight, I was under no such pressure and could just hang out, eat pizza, observe and make wisecracks.
A popular target for my wisecracking was entertainment page editor Barrett Marson, a very personable young man, fun to be around and even more fun to make fun of.
He suffered, however, from the same malady that infected most of of his classmates: he was lazy and frequently missed deadlines.
Barrett was otherwise serious about his work and had the makings of a good journalist, so I decided to challenge him.
In the past, press rooms were dangerous and dirty places. Paper dust and ink filled the air and the presses threatened to tear, smash, dismember or otherwise mutilate body parts.
One of the few safety devices was an origamic invention called the pressman's hat. This box-shaped device fit perfectly over the average head and while it provided no protection from serious injury, it kept most of the airborne ink and other debris out of pressmen's hair.
I found the instructions for making such a hat and put one on in the newsroom. When Barrett saw my unusual headgear, he derided me.
This presented a golden opportunity and I struck immediately.
“OK, Barrett,” I began. “If you think this hat looks silly, how about making the following wager...”
The hook was set, I had Barrett's attention and I laid out my scheme.
“There are six issues remaining this semester. And I'll bet you can't meet your page deadline for all of those six weeks.
“And if you do meet your deadline...” I paused to make sure I had Barrett's undivided attention.
“If you do meet your deadline then I will wear this printers cap during our end-of-the-year journalism banquet and whenever anyone takes note of it I will declare: 'This is a pressman's hat and I am wearing it to pay tribute to my good friend Barrett Marson who is the greatest journalist ever to attend Fullerton College.
“But if you fail to meet every deadline, you must wear the hat and make the same statement substituting my name for yours.”
Knowing he was fully capable of meeting deadlines and motivated by the opportunity to have one over on me, Barrett took my hand.
“It's a bet.”
The night of the banquet, I took the front page of our last Hornet and folded it into a cap. I arranged to be recognized early in the evening and walked to the podium, hat in hand.
Donning that paper headgear, I leaned into the microphone.
“About seven weeks ago, I made a bet with Barrett Marson,” I began. I could see Barrett beginning to beam.
“I bet that he couldn't meet his deadlines for the last six issues of the paper. Well, I lost that bet. Barrett met every deadline with time to spare.”
I adjusted my hat and glanced again at Barrett who was obviously enjoying the moment.
“This is a pressman's hat,” I said. “And I'm wearing this hat to pay tribute to my good friend Barrett Marson who is the greatest journalist to ever attend Fullerton College.”
After allowing time for the crowd's reaction to play out, I leaned back into the mike.
“By the way,” I said in a voice loud enough to regain their attention. “I'd like to share some news with you about a few side bets that I made.”
Neither Barrett nor most of the rest of the attendees knew I had planted some props with people seated at the dais.
“After betting Barrett that he couldn't meet his deadlines,” I continued. “I then bet a few other folks that he could. Please let me collect from folks who never thought Barrett could do it.”
At that point, nearly everyone seated at the long table in the front of the room raised their hands and waved a dollar bill in the air.
I walked the length of the table collecting these faux winnings. Then I jammed that cash-laden paper hat back on my head and returned to my seat.
It all happened in a rush. A year after I showed up at the school without any thought of becoming a journalist, I was editor in chief of The Hornet, which is the oldest community college newspaper in the state. And a few months later, while still enrolled at FC and serving as advertising manager for The Hornet, I was also matriculated at Cal State Fullerton where I had been accepted into graduate school.
I had become a huge fan of the community colleges. Without the opportunities provided there at very little cost, my mid-life crisis might have stretched on for years.
While celebrating my own good fortune and while giving credit where it was due to the college, I was distressed by the number of my younger classmates who were failing to apply themselves to the tasks at hand.
Standards for success in college are unfortunately set rather low these days. As an instructor, I later discovered that almost any student can obtain passing grades and earn a degree simply by showing up and completing all assignments.
Because so many students miss class too often, don't show up for exams and fail to turn in papers, even those with low scores (who do the work) garner enough points to pass – often with a “B” or better.
The failure to follow through permeates the community colleges and has even infected journalism classes and campus publications – where deadlines are traditionally held sacred.
The failure to meet deadlines results in newspaper production strategies that include working late into the night (often past midnight) to complete tasks that should have been done earlier. This leaves little time for editing and polishing and results in an inferior product.
But the students still tend to be very proud of the result – after all, they worked like crazy all night to get it done. And they actually consider the long nights working past deadlines to complete work that should have been done sooner to be a part of the fun.
My job was to determine the size and shape of the “news hole,” I had to create the “ad lines” – the border between my territory and that of the editors – at least a day before the paper went to press. And that meant while others were in a mad scramble to put the paper to bed, albeit after midnight, I was under no such pressure and could just hang out, eat pizza, observe and make wisecracks.
A popular target for my wisecracking was entertainment page editor Barrett Marson, a very personable young man, fun to be around and even more fun to make fun of.
He suffered, however, from the same malady that infected most of of his classmates: he was lazy and frequently missed deadlines.
Barrett was otherwise serious about his work and had the makings of a good journalist, so I decided to challenge him.
In the past, press rooms were dangerous and dirty places. Paper dust and ink filled the air and the presses threatened to tear, smash, dismember or otherwise mutilate body parts.
One of the few safety devices was an origamic invention called the pressman's hat. This box-shaped device fit perfectly over the average head and while it provided no protection from serious injury, it kept most of the airborne ink and other debris out of pressmen's hair.
I found the instructions for making such a hat and put one on in the newsroom. When Barrett saw my unusual headgear, he derided me.
This presented a golden opportunity and I struck immediately.
“OK, Barrett,” I began. “If you think this hat looks silly, how about making the following wager...”
The hook was set, I had Barrett's attention and I laid out my scheme.
“There are six issues remaining this semester. And I'll bet you can't meet your page deadline for all of those six weeks.
“And if you do meet your deadline...” I paused to make sure I had Barrett's undivided attention.
“If you do meet your deadline then I will wear this printers cap during our end-of-the-year journalism banquet and whenever anyone takes note of it I will declare: 'This is a pressman's hat and I am wearing it to pay tribute to my good friend Barrett Marson who is the greatest journalist ever to attend Fullerton College.
“But if you fail to meet every deadline, you must wear the hat and make the same statement substituting my name for yours.”
Knowing he was fully capable of meeting deadlines and motivated by the opportunity to have one over on me, Barrett took my hand.
“It's a bet.”
The night of the banquet, I took the front page of our last Hornet and folded it into a cap. I arranged to be recognized early in the evening and walked to the podium, hat in hand.
Donning that paper headgear, I leaned into the microphone.
“About seven weeks ago, I made a bet with Barrett Marson,” I began. I could see Barrett beginning to beam.
“I bet that he couldn't meet his deadlines for the last six issues of the paper. Well, I lost that bet. Barrett met every deadline with time to spare.”
I adjusted my hat and glanced again at Barrett who was obviously enjoying the moment.
“This is a pressman's hat,” I said. “And I'm wearing this hat to pay tribute to my good friend Barrett Marson who is the greatest journalist to ever attend Fullerton College.”
After allowing time for the crowd's reaction to play out, I leaned back into the mike.
“By the way,” I said in a voice loud enough to regain their attention. “I'd like to share some news with you about a few side bets that I made.”
Neither Barrett nor most of the rest of the attendees knew I had planted some props with people seated at the dais.
“After betting Barrett that he couldn't meet his deadlines,” I continued. “I then bet a few other folks that he could. Please let me collect from folks who never thought Barrett could do it.”
At that point, nearly everyone seated at the long table in the front of the room raised their hands and waved a dollar bill in the air.
I walked the length of the table collecting these faux winnings. Then I jammed that cash-laden paper hat back on my head and returned to my seat.