by John Jefferson
Last week, I attended the Annual Convention and Trade Show of the Texas Press Association (TPA) at the new Kalihari Resort near Round Rock.
When newspaper journalists get together, recorders sometimes get turned off! Tall tales abound. One man from Akun Island in the Aleutians off the coast of Alaska showed me down- right gorgeous pictures from a caribou hunt, there. He also had close-up images of several bald eagles – including some in flight. He was surprised when I told him eagles wintered here – something readers of this column already knew!
The convention is a learning opportunity. It’s also a chance to unwind from the woes of decreasing circulation, constant deadlines, and increasing costs of doing business in a challenging economy while keeping the presses running. But it’s their life.
It’s the old story of having been born with printers’ ink in their blood. Some who didn’t inherit that gene – assuming there is such – acquired it by osmosis being around second, third, or even fourth generations of families that had pioneered Texas newspaper production.
I guess I’m somewhat in the latter category. I had a cousin, Robby Blevins, who was the editor or publisher (or both) of the Seguin Gazette. I was never around him much since he was always racing a deadline, but I held him in the highest regard anyway, figuring that being a newspaper editor demanded respect.
Knowing the late T.T. Hunt, managing editor of the Beaumont Enterprise and father of my best friend – Tanner Hunt – further enhanced my awe of people in newspaper publishing. Mr. Hunt radiated poetic excellence regarding the English language. He also took us to ballgames.
Once, Tanner invited me to go with him and his father up to Texas Governor Allen Shivers’ little log cabin in the Piney Woods. Tanner said to bring my bathing suit. The Governor’s kids were in the pool when we arrived and invited us to join them.
Waiting for my turn on the diving board, I noticed Mr. Hunt and Governor Shivers, the most powerful political man in Texas, sitting in rocking chairs on the front porch sipping Schlitz Tall Boys and laughing. That image has stayed with me. There’s no telling what amused them there – secluded from the press deep in the woods near the Big Thicket.
Tall tales also abounded at the TPA conference last week. I even contributed a couple.
An outdoor writer friend, Marty Malin, died recently. He had told me President George H.W. Bush spoke at a conference he attended.
Wanting to meet the president but knowing Security might prevent it — and knowing the Prez loved to pitch horseshoes — Marty took two iron horseshoes with him. He raised them high over his head and clanged them together. He said President Bush jerked his head around, pointed at Marty and grinned. And then came over to shake hands.
Really? Or another Tall Tale?
Marty was known for saying, “I ain’t lying to ya THIS time.”
JJ
