My first Christmas “away” was in 1999. That was my first year out of college, and though I wasn’t far from home, I was on my own and working at my first job at the Daily Reporter in Independence, Kansas. It was an exciting, fun time.
I’m not even sure I’d heard of Independence in 1999 when my father dropped by to see me a few weeks after my final class as an undergraduate student at Washburn. The conversation went something like this:
“So, what are you going to do, son?” Dad said.
“I’m not sure. I thought about working a couple of jobs around here or even going for a master’s degree,” I replied.
“What, are you going to be a career student?” he countered (keep in mind I graduated in 4.5 years, under the average).
Before I could respond, the old man pulled out a business card from a photographer at the Daily Reporter and handed it to me.
“This guy took my photo at the show (in Coffeyville, just 15 minutes from Independence) and said they were looking for a sportswriter,” he said.
That was how I got my first job as a professional writer. It wasn’t exactly what I envisioned five years earlier out of high school, when I figured I was destined for the Kansas City Star or New York Times.
All these years later, I wouldn’t trade my experience in Independence for those two papers or any other gig. I wrote at will, working up to 70 hours a week for about $9 an hour (with only four hours of overtime paid every week). That adds up to a salary of $20,000 a year … but my rent was $350 per month.
I’ve written about my experience in Independence in this space, namely working for the late, great Hub Meyer. Hub was an ink-stained wretch to the heart, running the paper he inherited from his father. He was tough, grizzled and unapologetic. He was also fair. I will always remember his last words to me when I left after 14 months for the Emporia Gazette: “Ernie, you did a really good job here, and you’re a talented guy. I expect you do really well. The best of luck to you.”
Compliments from Hub were few and far between. Twenty-five years later, those words stay with me.
As for the holiday season in Indy, I was only there for one in 1999. One of my memories of my experience in the small town in Southeast Kansas is of that $350 apartment, which was part of a large house converted into four living spaces. For a kid right out of college, it was fine, except for my heating unit crapping out in early December.
I didn’t have heat for three days, using a space heater the landlord provided to stave off frostbite while he worked on it. One other thing about those three days: I couldn’t run my computer and the space heater at the same time, or the power would go out. Needless to say, it was a rough stretch.
Another memory of that December is the Christmas season itself. The girl I was dating at the time invited me to hang out with her and her family at the Neodesha Christmas parade, during which it began to snow. It was a beautiful scene, and her family was wonderful and funny (her father introduced himself by saying, “So, I hear you used to be really fat.”) Ah, tis the season.
That young lady also convinced me to spend a small fortune (especially when you’re making $9 an hour) on a real Christmas tree and decorations. Despite the cost, we had a blast shopping for ribbons and ornaments and putting the tree up in my first apartment.
I only lived in Independence for 14 months, but I have a lifetime of memories from that short period of time, including Hub, covering a few future NFL players, my frozen apartment and that tree, which was the last real tree I owned.
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