When you work in journalism, you may not make much money and you may work extremely long, crappy hours and you may find suddenly find yourself out of work because of downsizing, but there is one positive. Uh, let's see, crap pay, God-awful hours, living underneath a guillotine...what was that positive...don't tell me...uhhhhh. Ah yes, the payoff is the satisfaction of doing something you love (snickers) and, on occasion, getting to be a part of history. It is reporters who convey major happening masses...may folks see the world through our words. Luckily, in my many years of work, I've covered my share of big stories.
Back in 2009 I was heading out on vacation. A real vacation where you go far away and don't think about work or responsibility for a few days. It turns out the cheapest flights I could find went out of Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta. As my wife and I checked in, I saw a thin, well-dressed fellow stride by, sort of covering his face with his hand. Dang if it wasn't then S.C. Gov. Mark Sanford. Being a person who loves his state and has a keen interest in politics, I wasn't going to pass up the chance to say hello. "Governor, is that you?" I asked. "Could the wife and I get a picture with you? We'd love to add it to our collection of 'famous people' shots. You know, I've got a picture of me with Tully Blanchard. Used to be a wrestler. Ashley met Al Roker once...and some other upstanding member of the NBC News Department. Bryant Willie? Something like that. Name escapes me." "I, uh, think you're mistaking me for someone else," he said as he hurriedly tried to move past. "Hey, it's OK. Trying to be incognito. Don't want anyone knowing you're here. No further explanation needed. One man knows why another man doesn't want to be recognized...because you'd be mobbed. They probably don't have many political celebrities come through here," I said. Unfortunately, at that exact moment an older lady lost control of her little scooter and drove right into me. Then she mistook the gear shift for the brake, I guess, and backed over me. Laid me up in the hospital for a week. Seems like there was some news about the governor later that day, but I don't remember much, because of the scooter-induced concussion and pain-killing drugs, I guess. In September 1989, I was a young freelance journalist obsessed with destructive weather phenomenon. My dream was to work for the fledgling Weather Channel and I was trying to sell them on the idea that what they really needed to do was have a reporter stand in the middle of dangerous winds and lightning. It's much more believable for the folks at home if they can actually see some nimrod getting pelted with giant hailstones and nearly drowned by surging tides and torrential downpours, I told them. People are suspicious and mistrustful of the media. Just telling them about isn't as impactful and they may not even believe you, I said. "But that's just dumb," they told me. "Why would we endanger 'the talent' by putting them in harms way? Only an idiot would think people need to see a guy in the middle of a blizzard or tornado to believe it's really happening." I told them to trust me. I drove to McClellanville, or I had my mom drive me there since I didn't even have a learner's permit at that point. I went out on the beach just as the dark, imposing cloud swirl of Hugo began to unleash it's fury on the South Carolina coast. "This is Travis Jenkins reporting live. The eyes of the world are now on Hurricane Hugo and his powerful eye is on tiny McClellanville," I said. I thought that was a real clever opening so I stopped to smirk at the camera, demonstrating how pleased I was with myself. Unfortunately the wind really whipped up at that point. I was blown into a nearby crabbing shack and don't remember much after that. It seems like that crabbing shack might have landed on a witch in an alternate universe...one with golden roads and lots of little people. There were talking trees and flying monkeys which tripped me the flip out. Anyway, I got no credit for it, but I was obviously right. Weather reporters have stood out in the dangerous elements like doofwads ever since. In 1978 I was a sideline reporter at the Gator Bowl. It was a big assignment for me because I love football and because my home state Clemson Tigers were playing in the game against the vaunted Ohio State Buckeyes. That presented me with quite a conundrum. I'm a Clemson fan, but sideline reporting calls for fairness and objectivity. You owe it to the folks at home to comport yourself in a professional manner and I think I did that. I made a rookie mistake, though. Late in the game, Clemson intercepted a pass to basically clinch the game. Ohio State coach Woody Hayes strode onto the field so I guess I figured the clock had run out. He was headed right for Clemson Charlie Bauman, who had picked off the pass. Good for Hayes, I thought. He must be going out to congratulate Bauman for making a great play, what a show of sportsmanship. I moved in close, wanting to record his comments. Sadly, Hayes reared back (he wanted to shake Bauman's hand I guess) and when he did he elbowed me right in the face. I never did see how all that turned out, but I bet it was a special moment. It reminded me a lot of the time I was covering the U.S. Senate in 1856 when Charles Sumner (of South Carolina) whacked me in the head with his walking cane. He was talking to some fellow from Massachusetts and must have been gesticulating with his cane to make a point or something. Again...concussion, memories are fuzzy. One of my first-ever assignments was as a battlefield correspondent for the "Journal of the Waxhaws." It was January of 1781 and, being so new to journalism, my editor gave me the Cowpens beat. That was kind of like being put at deep, deep, roving right field in Little League. I mean, have you been to Cowpens? Big fat nothing going on there, or so I thought anyway. Who could have imagined that the most decidedly one-sided battle in military history, a game changer where the Revolutionary War was considered, would break out in that exact spot. Daniel Morgan and his boys whipped some mother country butt that day and I was there to see it. As Banastre Tarleton fled in fear and disgrace, I tried to catch up with him for a comment...you want to get every side of a story. Being that recording devices hadn't been invented yet, I had a a quill, a bottle of ink and some parchment paper, and it is a booger trying to take notes with such primitive tools while riding a horse. "Banastre!" I shouted. "Any regrets at all about today? About your strategy? About your men showing up for this war dressed like targets? I mean, red kind of stands out and really..." Just then, an errant musket ball shot me right in the hind end. I fell off my horse, spilled my ink and my parchment blew away. I'd lost the story and lost my job shortly thereafter. These stories may seem implausible, but they are totally grounded in fact. A journalist lives a hundred lives and sees all. I'm hoping that one day, all these experiences can lift me into a network news anchor job. It seems like one might be open now actually...from what I can tell, I'm perfectly qualified.
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