Years ago when I was a reporter I was a phone-breaking, telephone-book-throwing howler. “No” was not in my vocabulary and woe was the bureaucrat who tried to stonewall me. I truly resented it when someone said I couldn’t get answers to my questions. I channeled that indignation into determination. If they won’t let me in the front door, I thought, I’ll try the back door. If that doesn’t work I’m parachuting through the chimney. I could regale you for quite some time with anecdotes of the contortions I went through to get what I wanted. But I don’t want to sound like Grampa drooling out war stories. Just take it from me. I would get mightily pissed. Kicking in a desk drawer was a routine thing.

But, alas, as happens with most of us the relentlessness of time and routine has tamed me. I don’t think this is a bad thing. Nor is it a good thing. It just is. It’s the normal arc we all follow.

But today I let loose with a real corker. I didn’t break anything, but I sure felt like it. I could actually see myself kicking in my desk drawer, just like old times. Have to admit — it unnerved me a bit. Technical problems with our content management system set me off.

Here’s how it all started. Our ace cops reporter Joe Serna got word a verdict came down in the Janene Johns trial. Joe blazed out of here and I reminded him to call one of the photographers. I wanted this splashed all over the front page. It was a fascinating trial and a story that has really moved the community since that tragic day Candace Tift died. And this month we’ve learned just how wrought with grief Johns was after her husband died weeks before the accident. It lent an air of tragedy for all — a real sense of pathos that you don’t often see in trials.

Joe nailed it. He got us the verdict right away and I typed it up for our website. Just so you know, I don’t often write up stories anymore. I’m an editor so my job is to assign it to someone else, but we were pretty short-handed at the time and it was the fastest way to get it done. I was a wire service reporter for years in Chicago and I have a lot of experience with managing breaking news. We were doing it old-school. Just like those old corny movies: “Sweetheart, get me rewrite! The governor’s given him a stay of execution!” Joe was the reporter and I was rewrite.

So I typed up a short bulletin and lead, as we used to say back at the wires in Chicago. I was ready to publish the story on our website. Just when I’d walked through all the technical hoops to do that, guess what? It wouldn’t show up! The recalcitrant contraption. Now, I’ve got enough experience as web editor having helped launch our websites a few years ago to know that when something like that happens it’s always what the tech guys call “operator error.” In other words, in my haste I goofed up. Somewhere. But damned if I could see where. I appealed to our web guru and all we ended up doing then was getting in each other’s way as we tried to fix it and get it published. I never did figure out what happened. I just kept running through the same motions, hoping that the third or fourth time I did it I’d get it right. Somehow or another I managed to get it right, but not after cussing up a storm, pacing around the office and howling at the moon (and some of my rattled co-workers).

A little while ago Brady and I had a workshop with our reporters. We wanted to teach them a little about descriptive writing. Before the workshop Brady and I brainstormed some folks we know that the reporters could write about. We decided that one of the most colorful characters we could think of would be me. I’m a flake, to say the least, so the reporters would probably get a kick out of writing a short profile on me. But was I brave enough to expose myself like that? No problem. I wasn’t too worried. And they did a great job (by the way the most common description was my rabid, illogical affinity for the Cubs). But when we were done Brady made a really interesting observation about me. He said I have this Zen quality most of the time. I generally greet most news with calm — a sort of aplomb. But when it comes to breaking news this animal emerges. Dr. Jekyll turns into Mr. Hyde.

That’s what happened today. I just didn’t want to see all that great hustle by Joe go to waste. The last thing I wanted was for our rivals at the other Orange County paper (I won’t even plug ’em, that’s how competitive I am!) to get that news out there first. And you know what else? I want you guys to get that news from us first, too (by the way we got the scoop in this case). I really care a lot about our readers — without you there’s no point to what we do. If you keep reading, I’ll keep hustling. (And breathing, and doing that mantra thing, and counting back from 100, and pacing … but no desk-kicking, I promise!).

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