In the Arena

From 2010, during a commercial break on the old set at KUSA in Denver. This is probably the best photo of me as an anchor. I actually look like I belong there.

The first time I discovered this crazy profession called “journalism” was in 1982. Yes, there were these things called televisions back then - in an age when mastodon seemingly still roamed this planet.

My parents were taxidermists in town and they had been asked to supply some background elements - deer and fish mounts - for a local outdoors show. It was a nice chance for them to get a little free advertising, so they didn’t pass it up.

They asked me if I wanted to come with them to the local TV station. This may have been the most important question my mother and father ever asked me.

We arrived at the station and watched the 6 p.m. news from the studio. All I could do as a 7-year-old boy was look at my surroundings - the cameras, the lights, the of-the-era beige anchor set, the large weather map (this was 1982, after all).

From that moment on, I knew I wanted a career in this line of work. It wasn’t the flash of being the one person on-camera which got me excited. Rather, I was amazed by what all went into a local television newscast. It was a team of people coming together for a common goal.

This sense of esprit de corps has lingered with me nearly 40 years later. Each night, there’s a sense of exhilaration to see this collection of lines on a grid become a 30-minute newscast. My current seat as a producer in the control room looks out to about 25 monitors - each having my eyes on them at any given point. Seems like the perfect job for this results-based, mental thrill-seeker.

It’s that feeling of being, what Theodore Roosevelt called, “in the arena”. The then-former president coined this phrase as part of a speech at the Sorbonne in Paris in 1910.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

This isn’t a look of anger or frustration. This is just a look of focus on my task at hand. It’s on display nightly, and means I’m getting things accomplished.

To anyone who has certain and specific reasons for looking within my website, take note. This personifies my journey through journalism and life - then, now, and in the future. Now, I know that’s a default remark for people to make - everyone from former world leaders to Instagram influencers say it’s all about being “in the arena”.

Yet, for nearly a quarter-century in journalism, I’ve wanted to think this is how it’s done and any perceived success that comes my way is because I’ve adhered to this credo. There’s a sense of understanding you have when you’re right in the thick of the action.

Looking at T.R.’s quote in detail, I can’t find anything that more eloquently epitomizes my journey through daily journalism and life.

We all have critics and plenty of doers-of-deeds throwing dismay back into our faces. It seems this point is further accentuated in my craft. Unlike many professions where much of the activity is done behind prying eyes, our work is constantly on display. It is rare when success is noted by the general public, but failure is recognized and returned to us - sometimes, with the hope of degrading the crafters of the work. Fine. There is no effort without error and shortcoming, and it is the effort we put in which will help give us the greatest return on our investment.

Vince Lombardi is credited with roughly saying: “Perfection is not attainable. But if we chase perfection, we can catch excellence.” I get it, but unlike a bartender making one sub-par mixed drink, our work is put out as fast as possible and as accurately as possible. Is perfection possible? Well, most days, we can nail it and I take pride in that.

Being in that arena has always captivated me. Again, it wasn’t the fact of being on display that hooked me as a 7-year-old, but all of the stage work it took to pull it off. Yes, there have been times in my career when I’ve been required to suit up, apply enough pancake makeup on my face to satisfy any IHOP customer, and become the ringleader of the circus. Through it all, the exhilaration of putting it all together gives me a rush.

Yes, there are times when I’ve put on the makeup and sported the French cuffs to look as good as I can. Yet, I enjoy knowing this career is deeper than that.

I’ve been around people who were struck by the, what I call, “shiny things'' that came with working in journalism. They forget that there’s still work to be done. It takes a lot of effort to get into this line of work, even more to stay in it, and even more to advance. This point has never been lost and now I’m using it to find a level of achievement which was once a dream inside a 7-year-old boy’s mind.

True journalism isn’t held back. A true journalist is also one who doesn't run away from a challenge. As I said in a previous post, I’m always going to want to get to a major news story yesterday. This is not a profession for timid souls. Success in journalism comes from peeling back those apprehensions and searching for whatever is found to be true.

A quarter-century in this line of work doesn’t come without some error and failure - and, those moments have popped up at times. Yet, there’s a beautiful part of my craft. Once we finish a broadcast or a publication, there’s always the next one. I can recall a conversation I had with a long-time journalist while I was working for KUSA-TV in Denver. They had just gotten out of the business and I asked what it was like not being in the arena.

Their answer: “It’s amazing to now not see an ambulance or police car speed by and instantly think ‘What’s my story for the next day?’”

The next day? Try in the next hour! Our business has shifted so dramatically that I’m constantly taken back by where we are, while still keeping my wits about me to know where we’re going. Think back to the tragic events of Sept. 11, 2001. When the World Trade Center towers came down, we saw it on television. The first iPhone was still six years away. Yes, there was the internet, but there wasn’t Tiktok, Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook … not even LinkedIn! I mean, we did have GeoCities … and, I may still have a listing under the TelevisionCity neighborhood.

Now, any news event - or things which are now regarded as “news events” - are placed in this arena. Imagine 9/11 in the age of social media, you likely would have Facebook Lives coming from inside those twin towers, reporters on the ground live-tweeting what they see and hear, and tons of information and misinformation permeating the news cycle. It takes a certain sort of mindset to know how to navigate these moments, while still adhering to the bedrock principles our craft was founded on and has flourished under.

Standing in the KUSA newsroom, during a return visit in 2015. It was amazing to know I’ve actually spent time working for one of the most top-shelf news operations in the country.

It’s at this point in my life where I now yearn to be back in the major arena. Once you get that experience of being at the top, you never want to let go. One of the saddest moments in my life was leaving Denver in the summer of 2011. My four years at KUSA were full of much education, excitement, and excellence. Each day when I worked there, I’d find myself stopping in the newsroom, just for a few seconds, to look and soak in the surroundings. Every time, I’d find myself saying “How in the hell did I get here?”

After a few years of being removed from this world, I was offered the chance to get back in the game. Granted, it was theoretically down in the minor leagues of Cheyenne, Wyoming. However, my brief time there was perfect. Add on another 5½ years coming back home to Eau Claire, Wisconsin. I know it’s made my mother happy to have me this close, and I’ve marveled at how much the city has changed … and - for better and for worse - it’s stayed the same.

There is still a hint of that 7-year-old boy in me, enjoying how the sausage of television news is made. As soon as I enter the office, it’s game time and the work doesn’t stop. 

Now, I’m looking forward to getting back into a major arena and I’m taking steps now to hopefully move into the greatest journalism arena there is. This website has allowed me to assess what my career has become and I’m even amazed at the depth of my experience.

That next arena will bring me in. It will be the top. It will be the zenith. Most importantly, it will be for all the right reasons.

There won’t be an overriding feeling of “How in the hell did I get here?”

Instead, it’ll be “I made it. I’m ready. I belong here. Let’s get to work!”