Category Archives: Personal

Whad’Ya Know? I’m gonna be on the radio

Don’t know if I mentioned this, but I’m going to be on “Whad’Ya Know?” when it broadcasts live from the Koger Center on Saturday. Show starts at 11, but I have to be there at 10:30. They said there’d be coffee.

And that’s about it. No prep. I’m told that host Michael Feldman is prepping by reading thestate.com and this blog, which is probably why his signature answer to the title question is, “Not much.” The Web site, in case you haven’t been there, is notmuch.com.

And if you haven’t seen the show at all, Otis Taylor provided a taste of what it’s like in his story today. The State also provided some “if you’re going” info.

Do you know what your sin is?

Yes, that’s a quote from “Serenity” — the Operative, in point of fact. Do you know, I once took a quiz online to find out “which “Firefly” character are you?,” and it said I was the Operative. Some of my libertarian friends out there will get a chuckle out of that, but I didn’t like it a bit. Then I took it several more times — going the other way on questions that had been close calls — and each time I was somebody else. Never did get to be Jayne, though, which was disappointing. I didn’t even get to be Mal (I was stuck with the doctor — my least favorite character — and Shepherd Book).

But that’s not the point of this post. The point is that I did the first reading in Mass today, which is a rare privilege. I much prefer doing the 1st reading (Old Testament, usually), but I almost always get scheduled to do the 2nd (usually Paul’s epistles). I really get into the Old Testament readings — they tell stories; they take you somewhere — while Paul is usually too dry and abstract to mean as much to me as it should.

So it fell to me today to do the 1st reading, and this was it, from Jeremiah 31:

The days are coming, says the LORD,
when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel
and the house of Judah.
It will not be like the covenant I made with their fathers
the day I took them by the hand
to lead them forth from the land of Egypt;
for they broke my covenant,
and I had to show myself their master, says the LORD.
But this is the covenant that I will make
with the house of Israel after those days, says the LORD.
I will place my law within them and write it upon their hearts;
I will be their God, and they shall be my people.
No longer will they have need to teach their friends and relatives
how to know the LORD.
All, from least to greatest, shall know me, says the LORD,
for I will forgive their evildoing and remember their sin no more.

One of the ways that my faith manifests itself is that I see meaning in my being chosen to read this to the people. And this reading seems particularly pregnant with meaning for me.

You see, I’m going through a rough patch in my professional life at the moment — what with being laid off and all. And it reminds me of when I went through a much worse one, almost exactly 22 years ago. And God delivered me and my house from that. I’ll tell you the story of it in greater detail another time, but suffice it to say that the four seemingly interminable days it took my wife and me to drive our two cars and (then) four young children out of the Western wilderness to the East Coast caused the 40 years of wandering in the desert to be much more immediate and real for me. And I have always thanked God for leading us out of there, to the land of my fathers, where we have been blessed.

So that part of the reading, about the earlier covenant when God took the people by the hand and led them out of Kansas — I mean, Egypt — is a reference I personally find applicable.

But God says through Jeremiah that that deal is now off, just as my time of being blessed in my job at The State is over.

So that leaves me with two questions:

What was my sin, if indeed sin there was? Maybe there wasn’t one in particular, since I don’t feel all that much of a sense of loss. But if there was one, I should know what it was.
What’s the new deal?

Mostly lately, my mind has been focused on the new deal, the new covenant that lies before me. As it has begun to take shape — just bits of it so far — I’ve gotten pretty excited about it. And the mind naturally turns to “What’s next?”

But this reading causes me to wonder: Is there a lesson yet to be learned from where I was? If so, I need to figure that out. I’m planning on going to the Lenten Reconciliation Service at St. Peter’s Monday night. So I’m reflecting upon this…

Too heavy for you? Well, then go to the mall, as Jack Black’s character said in “High Fidelity,” just to bring us back to the realm of pop culture, for those who are more comfortable there.

Blogging is harder when you’re unemployed

You know, I thought I’d be posting more than ever once I wasn’t working. I was really wrong.

When I was working, I was at a computer all day, and could post while I was doing other things. Run across something interesting in e-mail? Post it. Waiting for somebody’s column to come in? Write that post you’ve had at the back of your mind all day.

By contrast, this week I’ve found myself running around town meeting with various people — working on getting employed again — and once I stop for a minute and find myself at a machine, I’m too tired to blog.

I seem to hit a wall about 4 p.m. each day — total exhaustion. Maybe it’s psychosomatic, but I don’t know. I mean, I was just as stressed those last two weeks of work, but I never felt tired. I’d work until 8 or so without batting an eye. Remember, I wrote three columns in three days, there at the end, and energy was never in short supply.

Now, suddenly, when I don’t have to put in the long hours at the office — I’m worn out at the time that I normally think of as midafternoon. I’m fine in the morning — full of pep, ideas and so forth. But by 4, I want to lie down.

Presumably I’ll adjust and stop doing that, I guess, but in the meantime I’m getting up earlier to make my productive time a little longer — which makes me even more tired when I hit the wall, but whatever.

Anyway, I was going to write a “column” — a column-length post that would go up on Sunday — about the Senate hearing I attended Wednesday at which the presidents of USC, Clemson and MUSC made their budget pitches. That is, I was going to write it today. But I’ve spent the afternoon babysitting the twins instead (which is more fun). Looks like I’ll have to write that tomorrow.

Why didn’t I think of this?

Did you hear about the French 3M employees who took their boss hostage to try to get a better severance deal? (Apparently, they let him go last night.)

Now, why didn’t I think of that?

I’ll tell you why — I’m civilized, that’s why. Sure, I just got laid off, but I just can’t begin to identify with the kind of proletarian rage — or Gallic sense of entitlement, or whatever is being expressed here — that leads to this kind of lawlessness.

It wouldn’t even occur to me to resort to harsh words, much less violence. Not that this is violence, we’re told. Here’s an excerpt from a story during the standoff:

The stand-off, which isn’t violent, started on Tuesday when workers refused to allow plant director Luc Rousselet leave his office unless 3M sweetened severance packages being negotiated for the fired workers. Negotiations between the two sides are supposed to re-start late on Wednesday to try to find a solution.

Right. Maybe holding another person, physically, against his will isn’t technically violence, but it seems a prosecutor could make a good case for kidnapping, which in this country (to use a great Jack Nicholson line) is considered a more serious offense (I think; you lawyers correct me if I’m wrong) than simple assault. In fact, in some jurisdictions, doesn’t holding someone against his will constitute grounds for a lynching charge?

Apparently, after the workers let the boss go, negotiations on the severance were to continue. Seriously. Instead of everyone involved being hauled in and put under the jail, negotiations are to resume. What a country.

Meanwhile, workers are busting windows in Edinburgh to express their rage at a bank exec’s sweet retirement deal, so worker lawlessness is not restricted to France.

Of course, I will say that civil behavior cuts both ways. I’m parting with my newspaper amicably, and the paper is as responsible for that as I am. Robert and I received some nice tributes in the paper, and we were able to clean out our offices without armed guards standing over us. Robert tells me that another cartoonist laid off last week was told one day that he would lose his job the next, then when he came in the next morning to clean out his office, he was locked out.

As David Brent says, “Professionalism is… and that’s what I want.” Either you understand how to behave in a professional, civilized manner, or you don’t. Some companies, and some workers, don’t. Some do.

I’ll take the public sector queue, please

When I told my little tale of minor annoyance about having to get a new Social Security card a couple of weeks back (35 years I went without one, and the first time anyone asks me for it is when I find myself unemployed), some of my libertarian friends out there predictably pointed to it as a sign of the inefficiency and unaccountability of gummint. Which I expected, having handed you such a beautiful opportunity. (Don’t say I never gave you anything.)

But here’s the thing about that — it really didn’t take very long, and aside from the hassles from security guards, it all went pretty smoothly. My new SS card arrived in the mail sooner than expected. I gave it to Mamanem to put in a safe place.

Contrast that to my experience at my wireless phone provider, where I went to get my Blackberry wiped clean of stuff from the corporate server (how’s that for a band name: Corporate Server), and set up my new e-mail and such. An hour and a half. The young man who helped me couldn’t have been nicer (which is why I removed the actual name of my wireless provider, because I don’t want to get him in any trouble with his boss), and admittedly the transaction was somewhat complex. But what gets me is the wait before someone starts helping you. When I asked about whether there was a time I could come back and not find such a crowd, I was told there wasn’t. One employee mentioned that his wife calls the place “the DMV of wireless.” Which is a good joke, except for the fact that the DMV has figured out how to provide its services without making people wait forever. Maybe the cell phone companies should ask the DMV how they did it.

Finally, they took my red cells

The last couple of times I’ve tried to do the Alyx system at the Red Cross — it’s this deal where they take out a couple of pints of your blood, remove the red cells, then pump it back into you with a little saline — it didn’t work out. Once my iron was too low, the next time it was too late in the day or something. I gave whole blood instead both times, but it was a letdown, because Alyx is pretty cool (literally, since the stuff they pump back into you isn’t quite as warm as what they took out, which might be more than you want to know).

But today, I scored a 13.6 on the iron measurement, which requires a 13.3 before you can do this (the standard for giving whole blood is lower). So I feel a sense of accomplishment.

For months, I had been putting them off, because I just didn’t feel well, starting with that crud I got before Christmas. But I’m pretty healthy now, and I certainly have time on my hands. So I finally got it done.

You should, too. We need the blood here in the Midlands, where we almost never have enough for the community’s needs, and have to import from elsewhere. I mean, you don’t want me lording it over you with how good and fine and generous I am, and you not giving — do you? Because you know, I will do that — unless you stop me by donating.

I’ve given two-and-a-half gallons over the years, by the way.

By the book: Apparently, I’m doing everything right

You will not be surprised to learn that I took a particular interest in a book review, in the opinion pages of The Wall Street Journal this morning, of Martha I. Finney’s Rebound: A Proven Plan for Starting Over After Job Loss.

And I was reassured that I seem to be doing the right things, just by instinct:

I didn’t blow my stack over losing my job. In fact, beyond some peevish moments while dealing with paperwork — y’all know how I hate forms and such — I haven’t actually felt anything like anger, much less acted out. That’s good, because according to the review, the book says “Throwing a tantrum is out. Not only can it get you an unwelcome reputation as a hothead, it could lose you what little you can hope to take away in benefits.”
I still get up at the usual time, shave, get dressed and go to the usual place for breakfast, thereby staying in sync with this advice: “Ms. Finney presents some basic strategies for depression- avoidance, including such simple tactics as getting out of bed and getting dressed as if for work.”
The reviewer disagrees with the book one on point, and so do I: “And downright unhelpful is Ms. Finney’s suggestion that one abjure such ‘stress hormone-inducing substances’ as coffee. The last thing an unemployed java junkie needs is to go job-hunting sluggish and glassy-eyed from caffeine deprivation.” Amen to that. I’m trying not to overdo the coffee, because it can cause anxiety (even in the best of times) — but I’m not about to go cold-turkey.
The reviewer also objects to the author’s advice that the job-seeker call attention to himself by starting a blog. “Exactly how many employers will be eager to grant you an interview if they think that it might become material for your blog?” wonders the reviewer. That might be a good point for someone who wants a job in banking. But this is what I do, folks. This is my way of staying in shape for work.

The very best thing about this review is that I don’t feel compelled to read the book itself. That’s good, because being unemployed is hard, tiring work, and it takes all your energy and time. I say that based on one day. But at least I can say that every day I’ve been unemployed so far, I’ve received a standing ovation. Here’s hoping the second day is that good.

My standing ovation

Well, it wasn’t quite in Leon Lott’s league, but then I didn’t wear an Ellie Mae wig, either. And the standing ovation I received when I got up to speak to the Columbia Rotary Club today was pretty overwhelming. I was humbled, awed and bowled over. I had been pretty calm up until that time, taking all the kind comments I had received from so many readers with tremendous gratitude, but also with a certain equanimity. This came close enough to choking me up that I had a little trouble with my delivery, but I made it through.

And I got some laughs, which was my aim. See, it was my turn to do Health and Happiness. If you aren’t a Rotarian and don’t know what that means, it basically involves passing on items of personal news about other members (births, deaths, hospitalizations and such), followed by a few (preferably tasteful) jokes. I had been scheduled to do it today for some time.

Since everyone I’ve talked to over the last couple of weeks had shown a lot of interest in my being laid off, I decided to just talk about that, rather than read a bunch of one-liners lifted from the Internet.

Here’s the written text I worked from:

Did you ever hear the one about the guy who had to do Health and Happiness on the first working day after he got laid off?

For some reason, for the last few days a Saturday Night Live skit has been going through my head, and I’m wondering if I dreamt it because I can’t find any reference to it on the Internet.

It was one of those spoofs that Eddie Murphy did called “Mister Robinson’s Neighborhood,” in which he was a down-and-out version of Mr. Rogers. It was a recurring skit. Anyway, I think I recall that one time he said something like this:

“The boys and girls in the park say, ‘Mr. Robinson, you’re so nice to us. You play with us, you tell us stories, you sing songs with us…’
“You ain’t got no job, do you?”

Anyway, I keep hearing Eddie Murphy’s voice saying that – whether he ever actually said it or not – and every time I hear it, I smile.

Which is not the reaction you might expect.

Friday was my last day at the paper. Robert Ariail and I had spent every moment we could find for the week before that cleaning out our offices. At about 7 p.m. Friday, we had been sharing the hand truck back and forth, and we finally got the last loads into our vehicles. Then we headed to Five Points to get a beer. Or two.

On the way in to Yesterday’s, out on the sidewalk, I turned to Robert and said, “Do you feel bad yet?”
He said “No. Do you?” I said “No,” and we just started laughing. Anybody seeing us at that moment, knowing the circumstances, would have thought we’d lost our minds. Mind you, we hadn’t had the beer yet. But we each knew what the other meant.

Don’t ask me to explain it. I dearly loved my job and worked with a great bunch of people, and I am very touched by the outpouring I’ve received from folks – friends and total strangers – who have expressed the sense of loss they feel now that Robert’s work and mine won’t be in the paper any more. And I wish the best for my good friends who remain behind, trying to keep putting out the paper in these difficult times. There’s just this thing where, perhaps selfishly, Robert and I are sort of glad they’re going to be struggling on without US.

So for the moment we’re pretty satisfied. But we realize, as do our 38 co-workers who also left the paper Friday, that sitting back and relying on unemployment checks is not the best long-term strategy.

For one thing, in South Carolina, the biggest unemployment check you can get amounts to $326 a week. If the job you lost paid a million dollars a year, that’s still the biggest check you can get. And don’t think oh, that’s OK, you can supplement it by flipping burgers a few hours a week until you get back on your feet. No. If you make $200 at a part-time job while you’re looking for full-time, that week you will only get $126 in your unemployment check. The $326 is a ceiling, not a floor.
Besides, you can’t even rely on the $326 a week in a state where Mark Sanford is the governor.

(What, did you think I’d stop expressing political opinions just because I’m not getting paid for it? … I can’t help it; it’s a compulsion.)

So anyhow, I figure I need a backup plan. So I’m working on a resume. One thing the employment security people said when they came to the paper to give us advice was that we should show our resumes to as many people as possible and get feedback. This seems like an excellent opportunity.

So tell me how this sounds:

Starts out with my name, e-mail address, phone number, etc. Then…

OBJECTIVE: A job, any old job, that pays more than $326 a week. And oh, yes – benefits, since we can’t seem to get our act together in this country on a National Health Plan, unlike the rest of the world.

JOB HISTORY: Assembled and led a highly skilled, motivated, effective team of 8 professional journalists who… No wait, that was several years ago, before cutbacks in our industry. Make that, “team of 7 people…” No, “6 people…” uh, 5… 4… 3..?

You know what; the number’s not important. Leave that out.

SKILLS: Writing, editing, pagination using QuarkXpress, general newspaper production, consensus building, interviewing, analysis of complex issues, blogging, photography, video production, community relations, and just generally going around acting like I know the answer to everything …

Is that too much information? Well, maybe it does need work. I’m open to suggestions.

Seriously, folks, I’ve been overwhelmed by the kindness I’ve been shown by so many of you over the last couple of weeks as I prepared to leave a job that has meant so much to me, and, I’ve been gratified to learn, to many of you. I feel humbled to have had the opportunity to do that job for the past 22 years. And to have so many of you tell me how much you appreciated the job I did just means more than I can say.

And I’d tell you all that, instead of making silly jokes about it, except that, you know, I’m a guy, and we don’t like to talk about our feelings.

Thank you. You’ve been a wonderful audience.

Those nice letters in today’s paper

I’m loving me some letters to the editor today. I thank my (ex-)colleagues for running them. The thing I like about them aside from the nice things they say about me, is that they represent a nice cross-section of readers — or as good a sample as you can get with just one day’s letters. A brief overview:

Harriet Hutto remembers our friendship starting differently from the way I do. She says it started with an e-mail response she wrote to me. She’s probably right. But I particularly remember getting to know her when she became the most persistently loyal reader I know. She lives on a rural route in the Holly Hill area, and it was one of those routes that was so rural, and had so few subscribers on it, that the paper dropped it. She refused to do without her paper, and she began a quest that involved me, Kathy Moreland in the publisher’s department, and Eddie Roof in circulation, trying to find a creative way to get her paper to her. Here’s what we came up with at one point: A friend who lived several miles away was on a route we were keeping. Harriet got the friend to put up a second box, and Harriet’s paper was delivered there — and she drove over and got it every morning. Anyway, Harriet has over the years written some of the most fascinating e-mails chronicling life in rural South Carolina. She is a talented, and prolific, writer, and a dear lady. Oh, and FYI, she’s Sen. Brad Hutto’s mother.
The night of the first presidential debate, I hung around to meet the panel that the newsroom had put together to react. It had been another long day, and I was tired. Since it was a newsroom deal, I felt sort of like a fifth wheel. I sort of justified my being there by passing out a bunch of “State in ’08” coffee mugs. And now, I see this nice letter from James Frost, saying he was glad to meet me that night — that it was, in fact, an honor. Likewise, Mr. Frost. I’m glad I showed up.
Jim Stiver was an honors college adviser over at USC in the mid-90s when my oldest daughter started there. As I recall, he interviewed her for a scholarship. I learned that he was an ardent libertarian, and that he had mentioned to my daughter that he was familiar with my work. (She said he asked her a question — “What is the difference between anarchy and chaos?” I forget what my daughter said, but I remember what I told her I would have said: “About five seconds.”) Uh-oh, I thought. My poor child will never get that scholarship. But she did. And that testifies to what a fair-minded man Prof. Stiver is.
Milly Hough is the communications director at the SC Arts Commission. I don’t know what to say to someone who says I was the “conscience” of the paper. Feels like a heavy burden I’ve just put down. I do truly appreciate it, though.
When I read this proof on Friday, my red pen struck at Nancy Padgett saying, “I always knew that he was going to end up voting Republican.” But I let it go. Nancy meant it kindly. It’s SO demonstrably untrue (my count shows that we endorsed slightly more Democrats than Republicans in the years I headed the editorial board), and to me insulting (the idea that I would identify with either of those execrable factions appals me), that I was going to protest it to me colleagues. (Of course, they would have told me that I had no say, that I had to recuse myself, but I was going to protest it all the same.) But the thing is that I knew from years of correspondence with her that this was what she truly believed — she’s one of those Democrats who, if you endorse a Republican once at any point in time, you are a Republican, and incontrovertible evidence to the contrary has no effect — and that she was only saying it to dramatize her kind intentions toward me. And besides, the following letter was a nice counterpoint to it…
Once, early in my friendship with Bud Ferillo, I was a guest for dinner at his home, and I was pretty impressed by his study. Wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling, nothing but pictures of prominent Democrats, national and state, and remembrances of past Democratic campaigns. It was a shrine to his party. So I figured, if readers see that Bud Ferillo of all people, expresses his “deepest appreciation for the causes and hopes we have shared,” readers will probably take Nancy’s kindly-intended error with a grain of salt. So I left it alone, and did not protest.
I’m particularly pleased by Carole Holloway’s anecdote about my playing phone tag with her until I reached her at 8 p.m. on a Friday when she had a complaint. It pleased me because I know that in recent years — as my staff shrank, and it became harder and harder to get the simplest things done in the course of the day — there have been too many people I failed to get back to. At least, that’s how I remember it. We tend to remember our failings; or I do. I don’t remember everything about my conversation with her, but what I probably said is this: I appreciate that you care so much about what I do for a living that you don’t want less of it. But I ask you to consider, if you don’t like having fewer editorial pages being put out by fewer people, how do you think I like it? Do you think I would give you less if it were in my power to give you more? Just to be clear, I would not. My whole career has been about doing more, doing a better job than I did the day before. And now I can’t. I’m sorry, and touched, that you don’t like it. But I like it far less. Or something like that. I’ve said things like that a lot in recent years. I felt every cutback like it was coming out of my hide, but I also fully understood the horrific bind that my industry was in, with the advertising revenue base melting under our feet. And I understand it now that I’ve lost my job. Of course, understanding doesn’t make it any better. The awful thing is, there’s no one to blame — and no one who might put it to rights if only you complain passionately enough. It’s just the world changing.

Check out bradwarthen.com

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There's not much there — the new blog is just taking its first, teetering, baby steps — but I urge you to go check out bradwarthen.com, and watch it grow.

I will no longer be doing THIS blog after Friday, so if you want to continue the conversation, you'll have to go there. Again, that address is:

bradwarthen.com

And I promise, there will be much more to see there soon…

Video: A brief history of cartooning at The State

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Robert Ariail delivered a lecture last Thursday night, as part of the prestigious Calhoun Lecture Series at the Strom Thurmond Institute at Clemson U. It was about the history of cartooning in general, and at The State in particular.

Today, he dropped by my office to share an anecdote that he told up in Clemson, one which seems particularly apropos to share today, the day the news came out that his career at The State is coming to an end.

It's about the only other cartoonist The State ever actually employed full-time, back in the days of the Gonzales brothers, and why it took 74 years for the paper to hire one
after its first experience...

Cindi’s very kind words today (and Bob’s last week)

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Don't know if you saw Cindi Scoppe's very touching column about me today. I pass on the link in case you missed it.

It means even more to me than you might think because, as she notes, she's not the sort to butter up the boss (certainly not one who's leaving), or anybody else. Cindi refers to herself as the "designated mean bitch" around here, which of course is entirely (or almost entirely) inaccurate. I prefer to think of her as tough-minded, which is what makes her one of the best in the business.

I'll tell you a little anecdote — Cindi was the first person (and just about the only one) to welcome me my first day on the job here. As Gordon Hirsch (a frequent commenter here) informed me, I was regarded as the "Knight-Ridder spy" because I was the first editor to come from another KR paper. It didn't matter that I had left Wichita the way Lot left Sodom. It was a lousy working situation, and I never looked back. But many here were convinced I was the corporate guy, so I got a lot of suspicious looks. (When I explained to Gordon how ridiculous it was, he shook his head and said none of that mattered. Far as scuttlebutt was concerned, I was the spy, so I might as well get used to it.) But Cindi, all of 23 years old at the time, strides through that cloud of suspicion right up to me, sticks out her hand and makes it clear that she, for one, was glad to have me here.

So it's fitting that she should bid me a public farewell. She didn't care who knew she was glad to meet me, and isn't a bit shy to let folks know she's sorry to see me go. And I've appreciated it both times.

While I'm thanking people, I have to apologize because in all the craziness of last week, I never got around to thanking Bob McAlister for the kind words that he wrote on his blog, which we published as an online-only column (online-only because we had recently run a column of his in the paper, so he was under our "30-day" guideline).

Bob, as I recall, regarded me a good deal more warily than Cindi, upon first meeting me. He was the communications chief — later chief of staff — for Gov. Carroll Campbell. It was his duty to be suspicious. But over the years we've fought a few battles together and become good friends. Bob is one of many such friends who have reached out and offered to do whatever they can to help in recent days, and in his case has actually taken action to ease my transition to … well, to whatever comes next.

Anyway, I wanted to be sure to thank both Cindi and Bob for thinking so kindly of me, from their differing perspectives.

The news about Robert Ariail

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Several of you asked whether my great friend Robert Ariail would be laid off. Well, today you got your answer. The delay because Robert was mulling an offer to stay on part-time, which he decided to decline.

Read Chuck Crumbo's story about Robert here. An excerpt:

Ariail, who joined The State in 1984, said he planned to continue
his work through United Media syndicate, which serves more than 600
newspapers and magazines.

“I
hope to find another job in editorial cartooning,” said Ariail, whose
last day at The State is Thursday. “I’m 53. It’s difficult to remake
myself, and I don’t want to.”

Among those laid off was Ariail’s boss for the past 15 years, vice president and editorial page editor Brad Warthen.

“Robert is probably one of the most talented people I’ve ever worked with,” Warthen said.

One of Ariail’s strengths is his ability to needle and criticize leaders of all political persuasions, he said.

“Even
people who hate everything else on the editorial pages have to throw
him bouquets,” Warthen wrote in a forward to cartoonist’s 2001 book
“Ariail!!!,” a compilation of cartoons published in The State.

I'll post more about Robert later. I just wanted to go ahead and get this up, to give y'all a place to comment.

Thanks for all the kind words, folks

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Yes, blog regulars, you did read much of this piece earlier in the week. But people who don't do blogs (a much larger number among newspaper readers) missed it, and there is some new material in it, at the beginning and the end. Not much, I'll admit, but some…

By BRAD WARTHEN
Editorial Page Editor
ONE OF THE tough things about getting laid off in a very public way is that you can’t get your work done — you can’t even walk down the street — for all the wonderful people who come up to you and say kind things. (Never mind the phone calls, e-mails and letters.)
    Of course, it’s also the best thing about the experience, so don’t stop, folks. It doesn’t get old.
    I’ve heard from everyone from Gov. Mark Sanford (yes, he was very kind and cordial, despite all those things I say about him) to old friends I worked with decades ago, far away from here. And I appreciated every one of them.
    For those of you who missed it, I was in the news last week, along with a lot of my colleagues. To quote from thestate.com:

The State Media Co. today announced the layoff of 38 people — 11 percent of its work force — and wage reductions ranging from 2.5 percent to 10 percent for the rest of the employees.
Among those laid off were three vice presidents including editorial page editor Brad Warthen.

    My last day is March 20.
    For those of you who ask “why,” the answer is simple: The money’s just not there, and somebody had to go. I was one of the 38. You might say, to borrow a phrase from the Corleone family, this isn’t personal; it’s strictly business.
    I’ve tried to keep readers on my blog in the loop about the profound changes going on in the newspaper industry, which have been accelerating. I’ve written about everything from the departures of longtime friends and colleagues who are not replaced, to the horrific news sweeping the industry more recently, with some newspapers going under.
    This has not been a comfortable thing for me to do. For one thing, I always wonder how much my readers will care. Someone I respected in college — actually, he taught a course in editorial writing that I took — warned us that when one talks about one’s own industry, one runs the risk of boring one’s audience.
    (So, what I try to explain when I do talk about it is that this is about you, too. Newspapers reflect their communities in more ways than simply publishing news and commentary. We also reflect our surroundings economically. Newspapers went into this recession in a weakened condition, and now we’re like the canary in the coal mine. If you’re hurting, we’re hurting. And vice versa, whether you realize it or not.)
    For another reason, I recognize my own lack of detachment.
    Finally, there is such a delicate balance to strike between telling all that I know or imagine I know, which is my instinct as a journalist, and respecting the confidentiality of things I know only because I’m an officer of this company — which gives me both an unfair advantage and a responsibility to those I work with. It can be awkward.
    Anyway, in spite of that, I’ve tried to be frank about the situation whenever I’m asked — and on the blog, even when I’m not.
    I leave here with a deep love for this newspaper, which I hope has been evident over the past couple of decades. It seems to have been evident to my boss — President and Publisher Henry Haitz — judging by the kind and gracious things he had to say about my service in his note on this page on Wednesday. (Sample: “He is a remarkable journalist and writer, with keen understanding of the issues most vital to our community and our state.”)
    And I appreciate that.
    What will I do next? I don’t know. I’ll be spreading my resume around, online and otherwise. In the meantime, give me a holler if you hear of a suitable position. One advantage I have over so many people who are looking for work now — more than 200,000 in South Carolina, I heard last week — is that a huge portion of the state has watched me on the job and formed a pretty detailed impression of my capabilities. (Of course, whether that works for me or against me depends on the individual reader.)
    I can tell you this much — I have zero intention of “relocating,” to use an ugly word. When I came to the state of my birth in 1987 after years in this business in Tennessee and Kansas, I did so with the intention of staying for good. My days as a newspaper vagabond were over. Either things worked out at The State, or I would find some other line of work. And the thing is, things worked out very well.
    The day I was interviewed here (for the job of governmental affairs editor), I told then-Executive Editor Tom McLean that my ultimate goal was to become editorial page editor. I believed that position offered the greatest opportunity to serve my state, which I believed needed its largest newspaper to have a strong, frank, lively editorial page. Thanks to Tom, I got my chance to do just that 10 years later, and I could not be more proud of the team I have had the privilege of working with, or the excellent job they have done — and that those who remain will continue to do, if I know them. (And I do.)
    Obviously, this is a stressful time, but beneath it all is something that I don’t quite know how to describe, a sort of anticipation driven by curiosity. I wonder, with great interest, what will happen next. (That sounds either terribly trite or unintelligible; I can’t tell which, but I explained it as well as I could.)
    So much for this subject today. This will not be my last column. For one thing, I promised you last week to write something about U.S. Rep. Gresham Barrett’s candidacy for governor. I was going to do that for today, but I got distracted again. I’m sure you’ll understand.

For now, please visit thestate.com/bradsblog/ for more about this subject and everything else. Watch there to learn about my future blogging plans.

St. Paddy’s at Yesterday’s

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Here I am standing at the bar in Yesterday's. So where are y'all?

This is not the usual crowd. Very young, very green, quite drunk, generally speaking. I'll need at least another pint before I can tolerate them. I think I'll have one of those Bud Lights in the special St. Paddy's green aluminum bottles. I don't like light beer, but one must bow to the conventions of the day.

"Born Under a Bad Sign," which I must add to my playlist, was just playing on the rather loud PA. Before that, it was "Up On Cripple Creek," which can't be beat, anyway you cut it. Levon Helm!

Anyway, I'm not going to be here all night, so if y'all want to hoist one with me, you'd best shake a leg. Quick's the word and sharp's the action. Time and tide wait for no man, and so forth.

See, I'm just taking a beer break in the middle of cleaning out my office. I'll be doing it all weekend and much of the week — 22 years of accumulation, or accretion, or whatever (I'm a notorious pack rat) makes a heap o' cleaning up. My task is like that of Hercules in the stables, or, if you're not into classical allusion, that of the noble wee machine, Wall-E.

Some silly bugger knocked his beer over so hard it splashed on my hair — and worse, onto the Blackberry. Drunk as Davy's sow, he must have been.

Somebody passed the word for Duncan, and he came to join me. I broke the news to him about my leaving the paper. He was disappointed to learn it. Duncan's a great guy. While he was here, a young guy who knows my daughter stopped by to say he's a fan. Of course, he doesn't take the paper — he reads my column at his parents' house on Sundays. Which is one of our problems.

I'm going to have a Yuengling before I go back to the office. Then I've got a lot of work to do. See ya.

I infiltrate the unemployment system

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How dedicated am I to my craft? This dedicated: with the conflict between the governor and the Employment Security Commission being a burning issue in our state, I went and got myself laid off so I could go undercover and find out how the unemployment system in this state really works. I'm a regular Alec Leamas or something. That's my story anyway.

I learned an awful lot about it today — so much that I'm too tired now to sort through it all; I'd be writing all night. But it will produce a lot of fodder for the blog in the coming days, I expect. For tonight, I'll just pass on this tidbit…

The State invited representatives from various agencies who provide unemployment services — Employment Security, Commerce, and another program that I need to go back and clarify under which umbrella it falls — out to the paper to get the 38 folks laid off started on filing for help in finding a job, retraining, and getting those checks the ESC processes if you don't find a job right away. (And believe me, those checks are so small that you don't want to be unemployed and dependent upon them for five seconds more than absolutely necessary; they're a tremendous motivation to find a job.)

I spent about three hours with these various folks, and took copious notes. And I want to say that they were all very helpful and knowledgeable and professional and encouraging, which really helped me learn a lot for only three hours spent.

But you should get a chuckle out of this part: Someone was explaining to us about WorkKeys. Do you know about those? Basically, you take a battery of aptitude tests, and you get scores on a range of skills, and employers tell the gummint they want X number of workers who have scored at least a 4 in each category, or whatever, and you get matched up.

The gummint administers the test for free, and will even help you get training to get a higher score where you're lacking. You get certified, I think he said, with a rating of Bronze, Silver, Gold or Platinum. (There aren't many platinums, he said.)

But here's the best part. He said, "You also get a certificate, signed by the governor, saying that you are work-ready."

Now see, if I'd known this yesterday when the governor called me, I could have saved myself the time it will take to take those tests. I could have pointed out that if anybody knows what I am capable of, it's the governor. He probably would have whipped me out a certificate of work-readiness on the spot. So I guess I missed my chance.

Have a heart, Mayor Bob

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When I get home tonight I'm going to be in trouble with the lady who writes the checks at my house. She was already ticked that I got a parking ticket yesterday. One day I lose my job, the next I bring home a ticket. Her position is that it's not that hard to avoid them. I was determined not to get another.

So on the way into town, I stopped to get a dollar's worth of change at Food Lion. So I was set.

The following things happened:

I parked a block and a half from the federal building, but fortunately there was 54 minutes left on the meter, which was great. Despite my misadventures, I got back in time.
Then I went to get breakfast, and as I dug in my pocket for the four quarters, and it was empty. Yes, when I got my keys and phones and such out of the little tray after going through the metal detector at the federal building, I had left the quarters. So I ran in and ate and got back to my truck within 15 minutes, and no ticket. Good.
I had a lunch appointment with Bob McAlister (who has written a column that is sort of about me, which we will run online tomorrow) at the Summit Club (where he is a member and I am not, so I was his guest). I started to leave the office with plenty of time to get there, but I got slowed down by friends wanting to wish me well on my way out of the building. I finally got to the truck, and realized I had no change. I went back into the building, got two dollars worth, and another friend offered best wishes.
I parked in front of Trinity Cathedral. Figuring on an hour, I put in enough for an hour and twenty minutes (that is, a dollar), and ran to meet Bob.
One hour and twenty-four minutes later, I got to my truck and had a ticket.

I'm not sure what I'm going to tell Mamanem about this. It's not like I can sneak this by her; she keeps the checkbook.

You know, Mayor Bob (and council), you might lighten up just a LITTLE in this awful economy. I'm trying to keep the meters fed, I really am. But I can only move so fast sometimes, and I can only spend so much of my life thinking about making sure to have change in my pocket. I spent WAY too much time on that today, and still failed to avoid the wrath of Lovely Rita.

Get a Social Security card NOW

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I've spent much of today in a series of meetings learning about the various services that the S.C. Employment Security Commission and other state agencies offer to folks in my situation. Yesterday, when I made the appointments, I was told to bring my Social Security card.

Uh… I haven't had a Social Security card for about 35 years, since I was in college. I don't know what happened to it. (At first, I said 25 years, but my wife says I haven't had one as long as she's known me, and we've been married 34 years.)

And in all these years, this is the FIRST time anyone has asked to see it.

Oh, I've meant to get it replaced over the years — at one point years ago, it occupied a "to do" list slot on my old Palm Pilot for more than a year before cleaned the list up and deleted it. I thought it might be important to have one at some time — theoretically — so I should get one someday. But it was very, VERY easy to put off. I downloaded the form once or twice, and even filled it out, but never got it down to the Strom Thurmond Bldg.

A few words about that form, which you can find here:

The actual form is one page. But there are four pages of instructions preceding it.
You can't fill it out electronically. You have to print it out, and fill it out by hand (with a blue or black pen), which to my mind is just a step or two removed from having to chisel it on a rock.
Not all of the answers are immediately obvious — to me, anyway. For instance, they want your full name at the top. Fine. Mine is Donald Bradley Warthen. Then, near the end, it wants you to state your name as it appeared on your old card. Well, I don't have the slightest idea, after all these years, whether that original card said my full name, or "Brad Warthen," or "Bradley Warthen," or "Donald B. Warthen," or "D. Bradley Warthen," or "D.B. Warthen," all of which I have used for various legal purposes in the past.

On that last point — I asked the guy at the window at the Social Security office, and he said it was OK that I didn't fill it out. In any case, he was able to confirm that it was my full name. So I worried over that needlessly. But the thing is, I DO worry about things like that, which is why I really HATE filling out forms, especially if there is no one at hand to ask such questions of. And when there IS someone to ask questions of, I drive them crazy. Because I can always see way too many possible ways to fill out a form. That's how my mind works. When I'm writing a column, I see lots of ways that it could go, lots of possibilities for each word of it — but then I just pick the ones I want. With a form, you have to pick the ones THEY want. What if I screw up? They might do something awful to me — like make me fill out another form.

I did that blasted form three times. Once, I messed up and put my mother's married name instead of her maiden name. Then I filled out another copy, and did it fine, but left it at the office — and I planned to go by the SS office on my way to work this morning. So I printed it out last night at home, and did it again.

Then, I started obsessing about my passport. Near as I could tell from the instructions, I didn't NEED that, since I'd had a card before. I just needed a photo ID. But what if I got an extra officious clerk? Wouldn't it be nice to have backup? I think I was feeling guilty about having let this go for 35 years, and I felt like they would make me pay for my laxness or something.

So I tore up the house last night looking for my passport, finally finding it at the very bottom of a box full of junk I had filled one time when cleaning out my briefcase and clearing my desk. It had a five-pound note in it (in case I ever took it to Britain). I wondered whether leaving the five quid in the passport my grease the skids when I presented it, but decided I'd better not.

When I got to the federal building this morning, my papers clutched in my hand, I emptied my pockets into a little tin plate before going through the metal detector. The guard looked at the itty-bitty Swiss Army knife on my keychain, and said "You can't bring that in here." I asked if I could leave it with him. He said no. I asked what was I supposed to do — I had had to park a block and a half away. He said it didn't matter what I did, as long as I left it OUTSIDE the building. So I went outside, took the knife off, and stashed it under a concrete bench. Then I went back in, and in those few seconds, a line of four or five people had formed at the metal detector.

One of them was a homeless guy (I'm assuming here), who had to take off two layers of coats and other stuff, with a discussion about each layer, and then still set off the machine, and they had to use the wand on him.

So by the time it was my turn, I was ready. I put in my two cell phones, my weaponless keys, my belt I was told to take off, a pen, and four quarters I had for parking meters.

As I was stepping onto the elevator to go to the 11th floor, my Blackberry rang, and it was Nikki Setzler, calling to express his condolences and support. I warned him that he might be cut off in the elevator, just before he was cut off.

Finally, I got upstairs to the SS office on the 11th floor. As you walk in, a security guard tells you to turn off the ringer on your cell phone(s), and if you have to make a call to do it out in the hall, then explains how to take a number. I waited in a short line to get my number, got it, and went to find a seat at the back of the room.

Seeing that there were several customers ahead of me, I did what I ALWAYS do when I have to sit still for a moment. I took out my Blackberry to get some work done — check e-mail, read this or other newspapers online, check my schedule for the day, etc. Trying to decide which was more urgent, it hit me that poor Nikki, my senator, had been cut off. So I called to apologize, and we talked for maybe 30 seconds, when the guard yelled across the room, "Sir! Sir! I told you no calls in here." I told Nikki I'd have to cut him off again, thanked him, hung up, and explained that I had misunderstood; I thought the problem was RINGING… then, as soon as I said that, I remembered the part about having to go into the hall if I needed to make a call.

I saw the sign saying no cell phones, and wondered why. Did it interfere with some delicate equipment, or did it just irritate someone? It's not like this was a restaurant or something (where I agree that phone talking is extremely rude). This was a busy waiting room. But I decided I was in enough trouble; no point asking "why."

So I started to check my e-mail, all the time wondering whether this would get me into trouble, too. And I glanced around my extremely institutional surroundings — saw the homeless guy and the other citizens, looked at the multiple windows and saw the electronic display with our numbers, heard the loudspeaker summoning the next number in harsh tones, and for some reason thought of the film version of 1984, with John Hurt and Richard Burton. I watched a big chunk of it one night recently online at Netflix. And I began to mutter inwardly to myself, "I love Big Brother. I love Big Brother…" Just to get my mind right, you know.

Then my number was called, and a very nice guy was helpful and assured me that I had filled it out fine. It was even OK that I had started to put my mother's maiden name AGAIN and scratched it out and corrected it. We talked a bit about music — he's really into it. And when he found out where I worked, he told me he had been trying to find something in old newspapers about a concert Led Zeppelin did in Tampa back in 1977. I offered to see what I could find for him, although urged him not to be too optimistic, since that was way before newspaper databases went online. He gave me his address. (And no, I wasn't currying favor with Big Brother; I do this kind of thing all the time. Over the weekend, my Dad and I played golf with a guy who flew jets in the Navy over Vietnam, who was asking my Dad if he knew how he could look up information on a guy he flew with who he thinks later went MIA. I interrupted to ask, "What's his name?" He told me, and I found a bunch of stuff about him — a Medal of Honor winner, by the way — on my Blackberry while we waited to tee off. I later e-mailed it all to him. I like doing stuff like that for people, and in this case it was truly an honor.)

Finally, my card was ordered. It'll take two weeks. In the meantime, the nice guy gave me an official document to prove my Social Security legitimacy, which came in handy later in the day.

Yes, there is a point to this story: If you've lost your Social Security card, go ahead and get it replaced. Don't wait until you need it. You don't want all that hassle at that time, no matter how much you love Big Brother.

Can you believe this guy? (I mean that in a NICE way)

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Sorry not to have posted today. Aside from doing the work I usually do to get the opinion pages out, I'm dealing with a lot of e-mails and phone calls related to my personal and professional news — mostly very kind and thoughtful (although not quite all — hey, you know my public).

When I came in this morning, I was going to write something about our governor's latest, which is pretty wild and crazy and outrageous. I decided the headline was going to be, "Can you believe this guy?" I was going to say, he only wants the stimulus on his terms? Oh, yeah, it's all about him, all right, yadda-yadda…

But before I could write it, I got a call from the governor himself, in which he was very kind and gracious — which actually didn't surprise me a bit. On a personal level, I think he's a fine person, even though I wish he weren't our governor. Can you follow that (because a lot of people have trouble with it)? I said so here on the blog back when we endorsed his opponent in 2006:

If we went on the basis of who we like, I'd probably have gone with
Sanford. I know him, and I personally like him. I really have to force
myself to look at what he's doing (and not doing) as governor and shove
aside the fact that I like the guy.

I mean, I was kidding around a little when I said I was willing to put my life in his hands back here, but I was also being serious. The fact is that on a personal level he is a fine gentleman. Hand in hand with the fact that he places WAY too much faith in the private sector is the fact that in his private LIFE I see him as a good father and husband and so forth.

Anyway, he was very gracious in saying this morning that while we have had our differences, he had a certain respect for me and my colleagues, and he went on to pay us a compliment that you might find curious, but which I appreciated.

He cited the Teddy Roosevelt saying that "The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena." Now, if I stopped there, you would think he actually meant to malign me and aggrandize himself, because here is the context of that portion of the speech TR delivered at the Sorbonne in 1910:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

As you can see, it would be easy to cast me and those like me as the "critic," and the governor as the man in the arena.

But his purpose in saying that was to say that he sees me — and my colleagues on this editorial board — as also being in the arena, as among those who take risks, who strive valiantly, "who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause." I thought that was very generous of the governor, and perceptive, too — in that it's smart of him to know that I would LIKE to be described that way.

When I was 22 years old and starting out in this business, I wouldn't have wanted a politician to suggest I was in the arena. I was filled with all that J-school stuff about detachment and objectivity, and would rather have been cast as the critic. But along the way, I started to CARE about what happened to my community, my state, my country, the world — which ruined me as the kind of journalist I once aspired to be, but which I truly hope made me more useful to society. I have worked hard with that goal in mind — that of being useful, of trying to make a difference.

And I truly appreciate the governor recognizing that, and taking the time to tell me.

So, can you believe this guy? Only in this case, I mean that in a nice way.

Bothering seagulls

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My wife and I were walking on the beach this afternoon, and we saw this flock of seagulls — the birds, not the guys with the weird hair — snoozing on the dry sand, up above the tide line. It was cool walking into the wind, warm walking with it.

My wife mentioned that if Morgan were with us, she'd be scattering the gulls. That was one of her favorite activities. You remember Morgan — I wrote about her back here. Best dog ever.

Anyway, the gulls seemed to be in such a torpor there in the sun that I thought they might let me get really close with the camera. Which they did, although their patience had a limit.

No, I didn't hurt them, so get outta my face. I just thought they were beautiful, and wanted to photograph them. Is that so wrong?

By the way — a few feet away from the gulls was this concentrated pile of shells. They could not have collected this way on their own. My wife's theory is that someone, probably a child, had accumulated this collection in a pail, but had brought them back to the beach and deposited them here.

Giving back to the beach — I liked that thought.