It was autumn of 1972. I was 19, and working as a copy boy for United Press International — my Northeastern University co-op job.
Suddenly, one of the editors on duty — Dave Haskell — got a phone call. Jackie Robinson had died of a heart attack at his home in Stamford, Conn. The Boston bureau sprung to action. I was among the first to spring.
“Hey, Steve, go in the morgue and get me everything there is on Robinson,” yelled Stan Berens, the New England news editor. “And hurry up.”
Morgue, in newspaper lingo, means a library of files and past articles. Thank God I found Robinson’s file right away and gave it to Stan. Then, I sat at my desk and watched in awe as he read a few clips and dictated off the top of his head, clean as a whistle a 1,500-plus-word obituary on the man who broke Major League Baseball’s color barrier.
The urgency, excitement and the pure adrenaline rush of that moment has stayed with me for 49 years. But it comes to an end today — my final day as a full-time reporter at The Item. The decision to retire involved a lot of “should-I-or-shouldn’t-I” vacillation. I may still look like I’m in the prime of my life (in the dark!), but I’ll be 68 at the end of next month. More and more members of my high school class of ’71 have retired, and their pictures in alumni bulletins are all of them riding in golf carts, or hiking or traveling. It’s time for me to join them.
What could possibly top these last 49 years anyway? I have worked for, and with, some tremendous people, from that first staff at UPI in Boston all the way through today. The staff at The Item has had so many iterations I’ve lost count. With very few exceptions, I’ve enjoyed — and learned much from — everybody.
When I came to The Item on April 18, 1979, I was among the youngest people in the newsroom, and the inestimable Tom Dalton labeled me “Kid Krause.” That seemed too much for Ted Grant to say, so he shortened it to “Kiddo.” It stuck. And there you have the answer to one of life’s great mysteries. It also tells you how far back our publisher and I go.
One day, in 1985, our staff played the Salem News in a softball game. This kid, whom I’d never seen, showed up to play for us. He just looked like a ballplayer. He played like one too. His name was Paul Halloran.
Ted, Paul and I formed a bond over the years — a bond I’ve always enjoyed because, as crazy as we can make each other, we’ve also been there for each other at the moments that really mattered.
I figured this would be a four- or five-year gig. It turned out to be seven, and in 1986 I moved on to much greener pastures — public relations. But it didn’t work out, and a year later — thanks largely to Mssrs. Grant, Halloran, Peter H. Gamage, Rich Fahey and the late John S. Moran — I was back at the paper, in the sports department.
How did I ever get this far without talking about John? I wish everybody could have had a chance to work for him. He was Lou Grant and Mr. Chips at the same time. He could scare you to death one minute and make you feel like a million bucks the next.
John was a news junkie, and there were times, I swear, where he’d be sitting at his desk with telephone receivers in each ear, smoking his cigar and fielding news tips. When he’d spring up from his desk and rumble into the newsroom to find a reporter, he sounded like the subway rolling into Park Street Under.
John was Runyonesque; he could have been in “Guys and Dolls.” He had such a “Nicely-Nicely” vibe about him that he even looked a little like Stubby Kaye. But the impact he had on my life was immeasurable.
If I were to list everybody over the course of an almost-50-year career, this piece would be nothing but names. So I’ll limit it to the space I have and hope everybody else understands.
First, there were the late Fred Goddard and Jim Tagalakis. One had to pass muster with Fred, and until you did things could be tense. I did, finally, and all was well. Jim Tag taught me the importance of obituaries, and how they were often the only true biographies written about people.
Allan Kort was my first news editor here. I didn’t know a thing about editing until I began working for him. Some would say I still don’t.
Mike Williams and Billy Brotherton, two of my closest friends even now, were also on that first staff.
When Ted bought the paper in 2014, he succeeded in getting some of the old band back together. One of the members (probably the sax player) was Jimmy Wilson, another FOJ (friend of John), who spent his intervening years as an award-winning photographer for the Globe.
Mike Shanahan is Holy Cross (as is Halloran) to Ted’s Boston College. Somehow, they forged a friendship. Mike is our CEO.
It was during my second stint at The Item that I became sports editor, and had two of the best assistants a guy could ever have: Joyce (Delehanty) Erekson and Rich Tenorio; and stringers such as Matt Roy, Gordon Vincent, Jim Bianchine, Al Segal, Mario DiNitto, Bob Trieger and Cary Shuman. I loved that staff.
There were a lot of “gee whiz!” moments. I grew up worshiping the Red Sox, and was at Fenway Park in 2013 when they won the World Series. I also saw Bernie Carbo’s and Carlton Fisk’s 1975 World Series homers.
I was fortunate enough to see the Patriots clinch Super Bowl spots four times (but saw them lose the only two I ever went to) and saw Tom Brady’s entire career with the team unfold — up close and in person.
I also saw the unbounded joy of high school kids winning state titles (and the agony of seeing them lose) and found that it was more fun to cover the kids’ games.
I can’t run around the corner, but telling the stories of local Boston Marathoners was a true privilege.
In fact, what I learned in 42 years here was that Lynn is my home. I believe in it. And I have enjoyed writing about it, and its surrounding communities, and the people who make them tick, so much.
My only advice to the next generation is to give proper diligence to any story you write, however insignificant it seems to you. Everything else will fall into place if you do.
So now, I go. My wife, Linda; son, Andrew; my sister, Jayne and her husband, Steve, have waited patiently for the day we can all be together without negotiating work schedules.
My instincts tell me it’s time to turn the keys over to talented young reporters such as Allysha Dunnigan, Tréa Lavery, Sam Minton, Mike Alongi and Dan Kane (at least until he starts putting out fires); editors Gayla Cawley (whom I hired and trained, and who makes me proud) and Sophie Yarin; and photographer Spenser Hasak.
I’ll certainly miss veterans like Thor Jourgensen and Anne Marie Tobin (I don’t know what I’d have done without either during these last four or five years).
It’s time to bid adieu to La Voz editor Carolina Trujillo, IT guy Tim Noyes; designers Trevor Andreozzi, Edwin Peralta, Amanda Lunn and Aaron Fee; the business side with Will Kraft, Sue Conti, Paula Villacreses and Marian Kinney (especially Marian); the front office people like Lisa Mahmoud and La’Mosha Ball; ad people Ernie Carpenter, Ralph Mitchell and Pat Whelan; and, of course, Frankie Mitchell. And that’s not to mention the countless others who have come and gone over the years.
As for me, all I can say it’s been an honor, a joy, and an absolute blast to have been “in the room where it happened” for 49 years.
