I've written a story on a notepad while the movie "Rudy" flickered on a bus's monitor screen; it was the only source of light. I was run over on the sideline of a Clemson-North Carolina football game — the famed William Perry was one of the culprits — and I once covered a minor-league soccer match as rain poured and lightning flashed just off the coast of Charleston, S.C.
My favorite get-it-done story, though, came years ago. I was covering a football game at a high school in eastern North Carolina, and I used the principal's office to write my story. I was using a Bubble computer, a cumbersome abomination compared to the modern notebook, and I'd send the story in via phone line. No e-mail in those days.
The principal wasn't going to wait for me, so he locked me in his office, and I had to climb out of his window! After writing and sending the story, I opened the window. I realized I couldn't turn off the light first, so I left it on. I climbed out the window, holding onto the windowsill with my right hand and the computer case with my left.
Naturally, I couldn't close the window behind me, so I left it open. The lights on and the window open — no security for the principal's office.
I slid down the wall to my full extension, and I realized there was at least a foot of air under my feet! So here I was, a 250-pound sports writer, hanging to the windowsill with one hand and desperately clutching that blasted Bubble with the other. After a beat, I dropped into the mud below me, naturally, then slogged around to my truck.
Free at last, free at last, free ... Well, actually, no.
I drove to the exit and realized they'd locked the gate! I couldn't drive into a deep ditch to get out, so I had to go back to the principal's office to call the police (no cell phones back then, either). I shinnied back up the wall and through the window to make the call.
The only good thing is that, this time, I knew what I faced. I made the call, turned off the light and went over and climbed out the window. I couldn't lower the window all the way, but it was close. Security was much better this time.
Finally, about midnight, a policeman came by, listened to my explanation at least twice, opened the gate, and I drove a hundred miles home...
With skinned knuckles, a wrenched wrist, bruised knees, muddy shoes and pants legs, and a slightly banged-up Bubble.
It was rarely this tough, but I was willing to do just about anything for a story.
More EDITOR@WORK blog entries
Entries from The Dog Blog
Blog entries from The Auto Racing Journal
(a book of great stories about the Intimidator)
(the book of great NASCAR stories)
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