Go kiss a pig

Being Frank, by Frank Ameduri

As the editor of a local newspaper, you sometimes get invited to take part in club or civic functions. I've had the opportunity to be a food-tasting judge at various fairs and celebrations, I've sat on a few boards and I once got to be a contestant in the "Kiss a Pig" competition in Craig, Colo. I was fortunate not to win the competition, but there was beer present, and I ended up kissing the pig anyway … a couple of times. She still sends Christmas cards.

I'm also invited to speak at club and organization meetings from time to time, and I always try to accept those invitations. It's hard to know why people want you to speak. I used to think it was because editors are smart, enchanting people who can instantly engage a crowd and fire the imagination. I also used to think I looked good in denim cutoffs and muscle shirts, and that wasn't true, either.

Now I think people invite me for any of a number of other reasons. Usually it's because they're genuinely interested in what their local newspaper is up to. They want to know when the Frontiersman might become a daily, or if we might add our own press at some point. They want to know why some features or columns have been discontinued and why others have been added. They're all great questions from people who are active in the community.

Sometimes it's not so easy, though. Once, a local businessman asked me, "If someone calls me and asks me why they should believe anything written by an editor who's only lived here a couple of months, what should I tell them?" I was taken aback. I thought maybe this guy was like the local oracle or something. Why else would people call him and ask him questions about everyone else? I wondered, if someone calls him and asked for the long-range weather forecast, would he take a stab at it or refer them to the local meteorologist? I simply said, "If someone calls you with questions about me, you might refer them to me or my mother. Either of us can set them straight."

Another inquisitive soul once asked me, "What is it with the liberal media, anyway?" At first I thought such an open-ended question deserved a powerful one-word response. I thought that response might be, "Prosthetics." But after some thought I decided it was a serious question that required a serious answer.

"The thing about the liberal media," I said, "is that they only have subtle differences from the other media. For instance, the liberal media have knees that jerk, but the double-jointed media have knees that bend in both directions. Also, the liberal media like to hang out in tea houses where NPR is playing on the radio, while the hillbilly media prefer bonfires with burning tires, homemade shine and banjo music. It's not that one is better than the other, but you do tend to find a higher tooth-per-mouth ratio in the tea house affairs. You can make of that what you will.

"The old-school media are steadfast in their insistence upon wearing button-down shirts, bad dress pants and little fedoras with a press card stuck in the band. This liberal media has switched to jeans, tennies and tee-shirts that read, 'Are we kinder and gentler yet?' Either way, the entire ensemble can be purchased at the second-hand store for under $15 -- press card is extra. The way you tell the conservative media apart," I concluded, "is that they're the folks who write that nothing should ever be done for the first time."

One of my favorite speaking engagement moments happened not too long ago. A man sat in the back of the audience and squirmed in his chair the entire time I spoke about journalistic ethics, the importance of the community newspaper and my recent dental work. He obviously had something he wanted to say, and he was waiting for just the right moment. Finally, sure that he'd have the last question, he said something like. "I just wanted to comment that I noticed when you advertise for a new reporter, you always require that candidates have taken some fiction classes in college … like one science fiction class and a regular fiction class." Then the gentleman stood up from his chair and walked out of the room. It was the equivalent of hurling a bean ball at a hitter and then running for the dugout before the batter and his teammates trot out to the mound to discuss the matter.

If he'd made the statement earlier, and not headed for the door immediately after, I'm not sure what I would have said. It probably wouldn't have been witty and light. Journalists may not always be the most popular people in a community, but the journalists I work with now are among the most honest and ethical people in this community. It may have been said in jest, but you don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't pull the mask off the ol' Lone Ranger, and you don't question the integrity of the Frontiersman newsroom staff.

Frank Ameduri is managing editor of the Frontiersman newspaper.