And gets what sounds like a great gig, perfectly suited to his skills and interests…
Our friend Burl Burlingame posted this on Facebook last night, after days of buildup that something big was coming:
OK, everybody. I’ve been recruited by the Pacific Aviation Museum Pearl Harbor as their Curator. Last day as a full-time newspaperman is May 6. I’ve been in the newspaper business since 1975, full-time since 1977. Yikes!
Wow. I’m deeply impressed. But then, Burl is one of those rare journalists who built a parallel career — in his case, developing a well-deserved reputation as an expert on Pacific military history. (You may recall when he appeared on “NOVA” as a leading expert on Japanese midget submarines.)
Some of us — no names will be mentioned, to avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest — spent all those years working 60 and often more hours a week at the paper (not writing books, not having hobbies or social lives, and worst of all, largely missing our children’s childhoods), climbing the ladder, becoming senior editors and vice presidents, only to have everything we had worked for all those decades disappear in an instant. Not that said people are bitter about it or anything.
But this isn’t about those people. You know, the ones who had their horses shot out from under them, and ended up wandering the desert for months at a time with their saddles on their backs, thinking about eating their boots. No, this is about Burl, who managed the feat of leaping to another fast horse while at full gallop.
Oh, and get this: His novel (which he finally got me to read, and critique, before telling me he was the author) is being published today, too.
Just makes you want to hit him, doesn’t it?
No, seriously — this is great. And this is Burl all over. He was a Renaissance man in high school — musician, photographer, cartoonist, actor and publisher of an underground newspaper — so this is just what you’d expect from him.
Way to go, Burl.
A few pointers for living on the outside… watch your oxygen supply, and see to the integrity of your stillsuit. And if you lose pressure in your suit or helmet, your blood will immediately boil…
OK, I’m out of metaphors now, for the moment.