13 August 2008 My Good-bye

We are creatures of habit. For about 20 years, my habits have involved getting up early to assure delivery of the newspaper of the day: Wall Street Journals, Crain’s Chicago Business, Chicago Tribunes, Chicago Sun-Times, Daily Defenders, Daily Heralds and then the Chicago Tribunes again. From time to time, I may follow that path again, particularly in these early days as I struggle to gain a firm financial footing. But I can’t see myself retiring anymore in this field.

It is time to go.

Unfortunately, the company picked the moment to show me the door, before I had developed my escape plan fully. So, I have an unknown future.

Editorial will not be writing, nor will the Ink-stained Wretch, about how talent walked out the door Friday. And that is okay. Like the carrier on the street or the union driver, I’ve silently done my part, delivering news to people’s doorsteps. It is a simple act. It is an act that is critical to the final experience of many of subscribers. It is uncelebrated.

Consider, if you will, the consumer caring for their dying father. The 20 minutes spent reading the newspaper may be the only moment of peace for that individual. Or the farmer, two miles from the Illinois border and due south of the Kankakee River, our service is a link to a wider world.

How could you not love a business that allowed me to hear the roar of lions in the pre-dawn near the zoo or drive past a pheasant, waking to the cracking freeze of day? We spent summers climbing on the roof of my friend Roger’s Jeep, picking apples in Glenview, and winters throwing Wall Street Journals between gang bangers in Englewood. The stars shown bright, the snow was sometimes deep and I grew to love a warm bed after a winter route.

I loved talking to Casey on the night shift of the city desk. I loved the fact that security issued me a badge with a picture of Jim Belushi. I was horrified by seeing a decapitation late one night, fascinated by watching a foot chase near the United Center, tickled to tease a particular con-artist I nick-named the Reverend. (He is still out there, 20 years later, hustling).

I came into this business wounded from a poor career choice, a bad economy, a new-born baby to feed and a relationship headed for divorce court. I’m leaving after one of the best quarters ever—saving the company $1.3 million in hauling fees. The economy is still a mess, the baby is in college and I’m about to celebrate 10 years with my lover Jane.

I’m 51, feel and look 42 and have more respect for what can be done and what needs to be done. I’m ready. Good luck to you all.