Category Archives: local news

‘My Life in Print’ awaits

I pledged some time ago that I would keep you apprised of certain aspects of my private life as I continued on my retirement journey into old age.

With that I will make an admission: I have fallen short on one of my key goals, which was to complete the draft of my memoir by the first quarter of 2025. OK. I got that off my chest.

Now I will make another pledge. My intention is to finish that task by the end of this year. I need to parse the language just a bit. Notice I said it is my “intention.” I intend fully to complete this task.

For those who are unaware, I spent nearly 37 years covering communities in Texas and Oregon for newspapers. I worked for four of them, two in Oregon and two in Texas. I pursued my craft with great joy … until the end began creeping up on me. The end came on Aug. 30, 2012 when I learned I had fallen victim to the changing media environment. My boss at the Amarillo Globe-News informed me I would no longer do the job I thought I did pretty well for 18 years there. I resigned on the spot.

Then my bride said to me, “You know, you need to tell the story of your career. You’ve met some fantastic people and done some unbelievable things. Put it down and give it to our boys.” I agreed. I started work on it.

I had to compile the lengthy list of notable folks I encountered along the way. Some of them were great men and women; others were, well, not so great. I did some remarkable things along the way. I flew over an erupting volcano in early 1980; I returned to Vietnam in 1989, where I served for a time in the Army; I took part in an aircraft carrier tailhook landing and a catapult launch in 1993.

Only recently, I came up with a working title for my memoir. It’s called “My Life in Print.” It has a bit of a double entendre. It tells of my career using a print medium; and it tells the story of my modestly successful — and fully joyful — career in print journalism.

I got distracted along the way. I lost my bride to cancer 2 1/2 years ago. We had moved from Amarillo to the Dallas area six years ago. My effort to rebuild my life has taken more of my attention than I imagined. One of my two sisters recently passed away.

But … it’s not a downer. I have finished about 65% of the writing. I am pretty much done adding names of individuals to my already lengthy list. The end of this project is in sight. At least I think it is.

I also intend to publish it in some form. I want to bind the pages in a binder with an engraved cover. I also plan to dedicate to my bride, Kathy Anne, my immediate family and to the men and women I encountered along the way who have given me the grist to help me tell my story.

Moreover, when I’m done, you’ll be among the first to know.

Heroism abounds in Hill Country

Hill Country heroism is alive, well and flourishing as the nation grieves the horrifying loss of life and the destruction in the wake of the Guadalupe River flooding that began on the Fourth of July.

I cannot keep up with the fatality count these days. It’s past 100. It figures to climb. Many more are missing. Time is running out on those looking for survivors.

Through it all, we keep hearing about the men and women who drop all they are doing to pursue their lives to lend aid, comfort and assistance to the first responders who, themselves, are behaving with heroism beyond the call of duty.

Fire departments and medical organizations from all across the nation are deploying personnel to lend aid to the recovery effort. That’s what Americans do. We rally. We reach out. We offer love, prayers — and pickup trucks — to help our fellow Americans bring closure to the drama they are enduring. And by closure, I mean happiness as well as sadness.

I feel helpless sitting in my comfortable North Texas home. I am left to offer my best wishes to those who have survived the carnage. Prayers to those who are grieving the loss of those they love.

I also can salute the heroes who are answering the cries for help from Central Texas. They fill me with pride and hope that they might be able to minimize the suffering as we seek to recover from our collective grief.

Keep it in perspective

Once in a while, news of the day can render whatever discomfort we are feeling to be irrelevant, if not laughable.

Here’s what happened to me on Monday morning.

I was delivering my weekly run of Meals on Wheels to shut-in residents of Princeton. I left the house wearing just my shirt, a pair of shorts and sandals. I picked up the meals to deliver at a local church and went on my way. I made the first stop, chatted up the gentleman who is always waiting for me.

I drove to the second residence. On the way, it started to sprinkle. The rain worsened the farther along I drove. By the time I delivered my second meal, the sky had opened up. It poured. I got soaked.

I grumbled to myself as I drove to the third location. Damn rain, I wish it would stop … or so I muttered under my breath.

Then the news came on the radio, which I had turned on my truck to National Public Radio. The reporter told me of the suffering in Central Texas. The raging river had killed dozens of residents. Many of the victims were girls attending a church camp in Kerrville, It had destroyed thousands of homes. The deluge roared down the Guadalupe River bed at enormous speed, sweeping away trees, homes, big and small vehicles and presumably people.

That was the moment I realized I was bitching about something that didn’t matter one damn bit. Why am I complaining because I am getting wet from rainfall.

Needless to say, I realized in real time that my concerns about wringing my clothes from the rainfal paled in comparison to the unfathomable tragedy that has gripped our Central Texas neighbors.

I learned my lesson.

Worrying about friends in the flood

Leave it to a crackpot climate-change denier to cheapen the worry and the grief of those of us who are sickened by the loss of life in the Central Texas floods.

One such moron has called the floods a hoax, a product of cloud-seeding. She said the climate change argument doesn’t hold up, calling the events of the past few days all part of some government plot to lay blame at the feet of industries that everyone with half a brain understands knows are responsible for the dramatic change in Earth’s climate.

We’re seeing it play out in real time in places like Kerrville, Comfort and New Braunfels, Texas.

Just so you know, I have friends and former colleagues who live in the flood zone. I cannot account for all of them. Last I heard, the death count has surpassed 70 people, including at least 21 children.

I checked in on my brother-in-law, who lives on the outskirts of the flood zone and was glad to hear he is safe from the ravaging floodwater.

None of this is about me and my particular worries. It is about the Texans struggling to stay alive in the wake of Mother Nature’s relentless wrath. This level of flooding doesn’t occur usually in this part of the world. However, here it is in the present time.

Money and other forms of relief are pouring into the region. Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones has kicked in a half-million bucks to provide aid to the stricken residents. Others are chipping in, too.

Everyone else — at least those of us with a heart — are left to worry and pray for the safety of those affected by the deluge that has befallen them.

May these good folks find the strength to carry on once the water recedes.

Now we get to test our system

Donald Trump’s big ugly bill is now law, which means that the next big test of the strength of our democracy awaits in the form of congressional elections, which are approaching rapidly.

Can you believe it?

Americans who are concerned about the slashing of social programs, the effect it all will have on our national debt, the tax cuts for the mega-richest of us, the pardoning of criminals who attacked our Capitol on 1/6 will get a chance to elect a new Congress in November 2026.

It’s up to us, kids. You and me. All of us.

Talking about it, attending rallies, spending money to political causes won’t do the job. To finish the task, Americans who say they oppose the big ugly bill need to get out and vote. President Obama was fond of telling us to avoid the boos and jeers. “Vote!” he would say. Just vote your conscience. If your conscience moves you to cast your ballot for someone other than those who support the big ugly bill, you are afforded the right to do so in secret.

No one needs to know. Just vote!

I won’t keep my preferences a secret. I will continue to speak out on this blog about the direction I hope the country takes in a little more than a year from now. We have a congressman in North Texas, a gentleman I happen to like personally, who is on the wrong side of this big ugly bill issue. I intend to let Keith Self know my feelings frequently. I just hope he gets a worthy opponent who can speak intelligently and pledges to act accordingly to fix what I believe is wrong with the direction we’re taking.

No hard feelings, OK congressman?

That was some celebration

I have been home for a couple of days, but I remain filled with emotion over an event I attended this past Saturday in the church where my wife and I belonged for more than two decades.

It was a celebration of life to honor a woman who lived a glorious, joyful and faithful life on this Earth. Her name was Caroline Woodburn, a former Potter County district clerk, a self-described Barry Goldwater Republican, mother of three accomplished children and wife of a district judge in Amarillo.

The church sanctuary was packed. The Woodburn kids — two daughters and a son — all spoke eloquently about the life their mother led. The music was appropriately dignified and glorious. The preacher who presided gave a wonderful eulogy, filled with humor and love.

Then came the kicker.

As the service neared its end, a musician from Amarillo — Chuck Alexander — decided to play the great Neil Diamond hit “Sweet Caroline,” and he invited everyone to sing along. If we didn’t know the words, he said, you’ll know the refrain. Then he began. The song is played at every Boston Red Sox game at Fenway Park and is popular among Sox fans.

When we got to the refrain, everyone in the church sanctuary belted out “Sweet Caroline!” … and then followed that with the “bom, bom, bom” contained in the song. What a great moment!

As God is my witness, I am certain there couldn’t possibly have been a dry eye in the room as we sang that song to honor our friend. I also am certain as surely as I am typing these words that there were as many tears of joy as there were of sadness. My own eyes were drenched with tears, but it wasn’t a sad moment for me. I was laughing and crying at the same damn time!

I walked away from that service thinking one thought only. That was a true celebration of a life well-lived. If only we all could bring such joy to those who we meet along our journey on this good Earth.

Words of wisdom live on

AMARILLO — The late Gene Howe, one-time publisher of the Amarillo Globe-Times, coined a phrase that ought to become the credo for every media organization that is still standing.

It is engraved on the side of the newspaper building and it reads: A newspaper can be forgiven for lack of wisdom but never for lack of courage.

The newspaper no longer occupies the building you see with this post and they have torn down the sign denoting the company that operated there for decades.

I drove by a couple of times this weekend and I was filled with sadness at the emptiness of the space. Some windows have been broken and they have put plywood in the sills to keep the weather out.

The company that owns what is left of the newspaper moved the few remaining staffers out of there a few years ago. They work in a bank tower in the downtown district. I haven’t had the guts to darken the office’s door since they moved in. I don’t know what I would say. No one there would care that I once worked for the paper, running an opinion section that used to provide daily commentary on issues important to the community.

They do not have an opinon section any longer. Commentary? Leadership? Courage? Pffttt! It’s all gone, man!

A new dynamic now fills the void left by the virtual demise of the daily newspaper. The Internet is the medium of choice. Newspapers such as the one where I worked joyfully for nearly 18 years haven’t  yet figured out how to compete in this new age. Certainly not the parent company that once ran the Globe-News. The Morris Communication brain trust — and I use the term with caution — gave up the fight and sold the papers for a song to another company.

I don’t know what will become of the building that once symbolized a great media organization. I won’t lose any sleep over it. Still, seeing that engraved message on the side of a building where such words meant someting important does leave me wistful.

And, yes … quite sad.

I am the ‘newspaper guy’

AMARILLO — I attended the memorial service of a dear friend today, schmoozed with plenty of folks I once knew back in the old days and came away with a strange loss of identity.

You see, I once called this bustling city of 200,000 people my home, My wife and I lived here for 23 years, longer than in any community during our 51 years of married life together. Therefore, I was a bit puzzled by a seeming lack of recognition from some of those folks I once knew.

When I said the words “newspaper guy” or “Amarillo Globe-News,” I could see the light bulbs flicker on in their minds. “Oh, yeaaahhhh!” came the response. “I remember you now! Hey, welcome back home. Man, we sure could use you around here these days,” they would say … or words to that effect.

There you have it. I am identified by the job I performed for a newspaper that once was a significant presence in the lives of residents throughout the Texas Panhandle. It isn’t any longer. The Globe-News exists today mostly in the memories of those who subscribed to the morning Daily News, the evening Globe-Times or the Sunday News-Globe. Many of them read all three papers, given that they were produced by separate newsgathering and opinion page staffs.

Those days are long gone. Forever, too. The paper — if we can call it that — is merely a dimming shadow of its once-glorious self. The Globe-Times won the Pulitzer Prize for Meritorious Public Service in 1961, print journalism’s top prize.

What does any of this have to do with me? Not much, truth be told. I wasn’t part of that glorious past. I was part of a past that meant more to people’s lives than the present does or that the future ever will. We weren’t a great newspaper when I joined it in 1995, but we were solid and we damn sure reported the news thoroughly throughout the region.

What I didn’t realize is how much the job I did for the community melded itself into my identity. I will not complain about it. I am just realizing it out loud for the first time.

It’s all very strange.

Returning … only to say good bye

AMARILLO — I think it was Boone Pickens — the late, legendary oil tycoon — who once told me he didn’t return often to Amarillo “except to attend funerals.

It’s weird saying so, but I am finding myself in the same boat as the former Amarillo resident. My wife and I lived here for 23 years. She’s gone now and I don’t come back much these days. I have returned to attend a memorial service for a friend we both new. Kathy Anne is here in spirit, while I am here in the flesh.

And the sad truth is that my life has relocated from the Panhandle to the Metroplex. Which means that I don’t return often to the community where my wife and I forged a wonderful life.

We made a lot of friends during our time here. I reckon I’ll see many of them as we all bid farewell to a woman who also cultivated many friendships during her 70-something years on the good Earth. I don’t want my return here to revolve only around funeral services. It seems that is the inveviable trend my life will follow.

Whatever. I have returned this weekend. Hope to hug a lot of folks before I head back home.

City playing catch-up with growth

When you attach the adjective “explosive” in front of the noun “growth,” you might be describing a community that is struggling to cope with why so many people are moving into your neighborhood.

Princeton, Texas — where I have lived for more than six years — is in the midst of a growth explosion. This one-time rural burg is now the fastest-growing city in the entire United States of America. Its 2020 Census was pegged at 17,027 residents. The city’s estimated population, just five years on, stands at 37,000 … give or take. City officials have said the actual estimation is well past 40,000 based on the number of water meters online.

The city council recently extended a moratorium it placed in new residential construction another 160 days, until November 2025. My own view of the future of the building ban? Good luck if you think you’ll have made significant progress on the infrastructure to lift the ban. I don’t see it happening. Then again, I didn’t predict a building ban in the first place.

Princeton has to install a lot of infrastructure to keep pace with the growth that continues to occur. It needs more police and firefighters. The chiefs of both departments say they are making progress in achieving those goals. The police department seemingly needs many more officers to cover the city properly and my hope is that Chief Jim Waters is able to secure the funds needed. He faces additional salary funds and money to equip the officers with state-of-the-art equipment. Fire Chief Shannon Stephens is in the same predicament in needing qualified firefighters to be on call 24/7.

The city needs water to deliver to the thousands of newbies who want to move here. Sewer service, too.

I am a bit dubious as to whether has bought enough time to secure all of that in the next 160 days. For one thing, even though the city imposed the moratorium in September 2024, it still must honor building permits that already have been issued to homebuilders. Take a quick gander in the city and you see plenty of new housing being erected. They soon will be home to new residents who will seek service that the city promises to deliver.

One more aspect deserves a mention: schools. While many communities are closing schools because of dwindlng student enrollment, Princeton cannot build schools quickly enough to accomodate the flow of students who are enrolling here. While it might seem like a “nice problem” to have, Princeton ISD Superintendent Don McIntyre doesn’t smile much when he ponders how he will accommodate all the new children coming into our public school system.

And so, the struggle continues in a city my wife and I barely knew about when we moved here. Now it seems everyone knows about Princeton and they want to be a part of the action.