We are journalists; be very afraid

Being Frank, By Frank Ameduri

In today's Frontiersman sports section there are two articles about full-contact martial-arts-style fighting that takes place in the Sullivan Arena in Anchorage.

Reading through the articles, you get the idea these guys are pretty tough characters. They basically fight inside a cage with no chance of escape, and anything goes -- punching, kicking, choke holds and so on. Reading the article kind of got my blood pumping. I thought, hey, we journalists are pretty tough cookies, too. There should be a venue for us, too.

When I was in the U.S. Air Force, I served with a gritty bunch of meatball journalists with a reputation for a savage brand of journalism. "Type to kill," was our motto. This is not a business for the meek.

You never know when you'll have to step out of your car and into something unexpected, like really gooey mud.

I used to cover agriculture for a New York business magazine. I can tell you, I had to step in some things even worse than mud, but I didn't complain about it … much. On one mission I ended up on the wrong side of the fence at a turkey farm. I can assure you, until they've got their lumpy heads whacked off and a good deal of dressing stuffed up the other end, you don't want to be within beak's reach of one of those birds.

It wasn't pretty, but I'm a full-contact journalist. I came out of the deal needing a new pair of pants and two dozen Band-Aids, but three of those gobblers made it to Thanksgiving a little ahead of schedule that year.

The newsroom where I work now is filled with some of the toughest characters you're likely to meet in these parts, all due respect to the full-contact-martial-arts-type people mentioned above.

Casey Ressler and Jeremiah Bartz sit closely together in one corner of the newsroom -- with their backs to the room. When they both get going on stories, it sounds like two angry razorbacks fighting over a computer keyboard over there.

Neither one of them collects a paycheck. I just walk by the "Dark Corner" twice a day and toss in a bucket of chicken wings, ribs and pizza. On Saturday the cleaning guy comes by and hits the boys with a fire hose, and on Sundays we slip a TV into the pit for football.

Rindi White is known around town as a top-notch government reporter and all-around good egg. In the newsroom we just call her "Flying Fingers of Fury." Rindi types and flips notebook pages so fast people in nearby buildings are getting carpal tunnel syndrome and fatal paper cuts. If you think surviving a choke hold is a big deal just watch Rindi squeezing information out of a reluctant legislator. You'll have nightmares for three days.

The Davidson brothers, Joel and John, each came into the newsroom quietly. "Maybe this wasn't your best move, Frank," Ressler said. "I don't see an edge on these punks. Joel's been typing over there for two days, and he hasn't broken a single key off the computer. Maybe they don't have the right stuff."

That didn't last long.

As soon as Joel volunteered for the education and agriculture beats, I knew we were headed in the right direction. Then John said he wanted crime and courts, and he wasn't taking "no" for an answer. I had my guys.

Education might sound like a cream-puff job, but the only thing worse than a yard full of deranged turkeys is a school board meeting during contract negotiations. The fact that Joel wanted education and agriculture at the same time quickly earned him a chorus of approving grunts from the Dark Corner.

John has taken to the crime beat like no one I've ever seen. Anybody who can read police press releases every day without developing a twitch and a drinking problem is either tough or completely bathouse. Either way, I want that guy on my team. It's fair to point out that John already had a twitch.

Anyway, those fighters ain't got nothin' on my newsroom. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to sharpen a box of pencils -- with my teeth.

Frank Ameduri once interviewed a 70-year-old nun into a near coma.