A collection of random memories found in and around my desk at the Oregonian as I prepare for my Aug. 28 departure. Today:
Shit. Today’s Aug. 28. Today’s today.
Today we implicate Mike Tokito. That is the cover letter I sent in 1997. I was applying for a part-time prep writing gig. Tokito was the preps editor. Take a look at that for a minute. See what’s wrong?
The address. The address is wrong. The Oregonian is (for now anyway) at 1320 SW Broadway. Not 7320 SW Broadway. Mike either didn’t catch that or didn’t care.
Everything that has happened since is owed to either his incompetence or his benevolence. And a whole lot has happened. Pretty much all of it good.
I could go on, but I think we’ve done just about enough of that. Even I’m sick of the nostalgia — and it’s my nostalgia.
The only good thing about a nine-week goodbye is there’s time to say thanks, and hopefully I’ve gotten around to all who deserve it. A lot of good editors saved my ass on more nights than I can count. A lot of talented reporters taught me more than I ever thought I’d know.
Some of them are walking out the door with me, and it’s an honor to be part of the class of 2013. Others are staying, and good luck to them.
Now, let’s leave on a song, one my wife thinks is too sardonic. We’re very different people sometimes.