The first time I walked into The Emporia Gazette building, I was incredibly nervous. It was the summer of 2000, and I was looking for a way out of my first job in newspapers at a small afternoon daily in Independence, Kansas.
I’d only been at the Daily Reporter for a year, but I was bored and looking for a way to get closer to home. I was so ready that I was willing to leave sports writing and work as an education/city reporter at The Gazette.
Memories of that day are fresh: Opening the giant, heavy wooden doors leading to the front desk, the long, creaky floor back to the newsroom and an interview that went fine until the final question: “What can you tell me about what’s going on in Emporia?”
I had no answer and did the best I could to cover. Not surprisingly, I didn’t get the job. I remember how disappointed I was when the executive editor called with the bad news, but he finished the call saying, “Don’t get too discouraged. You never know when we might have another opening.”
That was essentially the editor’s way of saying they were going to have something soon. Two months later, I was working at The Gazette as a sports writer covering Emporia State athletics and area high schools.
Those memories and many others washed over me this weekend when I read that the Walker family sold the building, and The Gazette was moving after decades in that location.
One of those memories was of the first story I wrote in Emporia. The executive editor called me into his office and said, “If I was to grade this story, you’d get an F. It’s written fine, but there are three names misspelled.” It was a short conversation. I’d like to tell you that was the last time I got a name wrong, but it wasn’t. But I sure as hell was far more careful and tedious with names. He got the point across.
A young reporter couldn’t have asked for a better place to hone his or her skills. I worked tirelessly, often logging 70 to 80 hours a week to cover the Hornets thoroughly and hit at least a couple of high school games. The sports staff was two people, and thanks to previous editor, Brent Maycock, and a slew of really good sports reporters, we had a ridiculously high standard to meet.
My desk was in the far southwest corner of a small newsroom. I had piles of box scores, scorebooks and media guides all over my small space, surrounding an archaic computer that often moved at the same pace that votes were counted in 2020.
To my left was a wall of plaques for winning first place at the Kansas Press Association competition. Every time I turned to look out the window behind me, I was intimidated by dozens of awards covering that wall.
My fondest memories of the building are of Friday nights grinding away with the sports editor and part-timer (now the University of Kansas beat reporter for the Kansas City Star). We’d cover games in places like Council Grove, Lyndon, Waverly, Olpe and Madison before coming back to the office to take phone calls from coaches for the games we didn’t attend.
It was common to be in the newsroom until 4 a.m., only to be up three hours later and in a van on the way to cities like Rolla, Missouri, or Pittsburg, Kansas, for a 1 p.m. football or basketball game.
I was in Emporia for less than two years, leaving in 2002 for a sports writing job at a mid-sized daily in Texas, the McAllen Monitor. At the time, I was bitter that I hadn’t been promoted to sports editor and didn’t appreciate what I’d learned during that 20-month stint.
In the years since, though, I’ve thought about Emporia often. I remember spending hours upon hours covering the Lyon County League basketball tournament. I remember working with coaches like Brandon Schneider, now the women’s coach at Kansas, Jerry Kill, a longtime Division I football coach, and Jesse Nelson, the winningest high school basketball coach in state history.
I remember grabbing a burger at Bruff’s, snarfing down a free Blizzard from Dairy Queen on the way to a game with Scott Hayes, who’s still calling games in Emporia, and drinking a couple of beers at a college bar downtown.
In the newsroom, I’ll never forget the managing editor’s reaction when I caught what would have been a really embarrassing error on the front page of the sports section. I’ll always remember getting a scoop about two players being kicked off the women’s basketball team (a story that received one of those coveted plaques on the wall to the left of my desk). I’ll always cherish the relationships I had with some very good journalists and even better people.
And, as I finish writing this blog, I can hear the floor leading from those giant wooden doors to the newsroom creaking with every step.
