Ken Burger retiring

Final column is print-only. PM me if you want it.

 

If you know, or appreciate, Ken, now would be a great time to let him know.

 

From everything I'm hearing (I'm admittedly much farther away from Charleston than I used to be), Ken is nearing the end stages of his battle with cancer. Gene Sapakoff wrote a beautiful column today.

Sapakoff: ‘How is Ken Burger?’ The answer will endure

 

Looks like Ken's final column isn't so web-only any longer.

KEN BURGER: After 40 years, it's time to exhale


Ken Burger hard at work in 1973. /File

The first day I walked into a newsroom I inhaled the smells of hot type, glue pots, printer's ink, newsprint, pencil shavings and that sensuous scent of urgency that singed the air with excitement.

That was almost 40 years ago, and a lot has changed in the newspaper business since then.

For one thing, newsrooms are much quieter these days.

Where once there was a cacophony of clacking typewriters, editors shouting to be heard over teletype machines and reporters arguing vehemently for a byline, now there is just the soft thumping of keypads.

While technology has improved the speed and pace of how we deliver the news, it also has muffled its once-exhilarating environment, something akin to putting fuzzy slippers on a racehorse.

Even the pungent smells of cigarette smoke, smoldering ashtrays, and bad coffee stirred with deadline anxiety have been replaced by conditioned air and the imperceptible hum of computers.

Dangling participles

For me, the newspaper business was love at first sight.

As a rather aimless and underachieving poet, I had stumbled into a world where words mattered and ordinary people were empowered to change the world.

Amid the jumble of headlines and deadlines, laughter and pain, I found a place where you could be discussing a triple murder one minute and a dangling participle the next.

Such intoxication was not lost on a soul immersed in mystery, yearning for an audience and aching for adventure.

So I grabbed the handrail and hopped aboard, neither knowing nor caring where it took me. And, oh, what a ride it has been.

Unfortunately, a day comes when it's time to let go.

Last column

This is my last column.

I've decided to retire, mainly because I can, but partly because I want to be that rare commodity -- a columnist that left too soon, instead of too late.

Timing, as they say, is everything. I don't want to become that muttering old man in the newsroom.

Over the course of my career, I've covered sports, business and politics, and enjoyed the privilege of writing Washington, sports and metro columns for this newspaper for 25 years.

This writing romp through four decades took me to the halls of power in Washington, to the inner sanctums of business, to the sidelines of every college encounter imaginable, Super Bowls, Final Fours, major golf tournaments, the Olympic Games and into the homes of everyday people I never would have known but for having a reporter's notebook in my back pocket.

I've been blessed to mingle with some of the world's most important leaders, including presidents, major celebrities in sports and entertainment, as well as those unsung heroes who carve walking canes for disabled veterans or deliver meals to the homebound.

I've felt your pain when it comes to the fate of your favorite sports teams, marveled at your loyalty in the face of long odds and seen so many coaches come and go I scarcely remember their names.

I was there when Arnold Palmer retired and when Tiger Woods made his debut at Augusta National. I followed the Atlanta Braves to five World Series, covered Ryder Cup competitions, state championships, regular-season rivalries, the Bronze Derby, the Carolina Cup and the Southern 500.

Along the way, I've been to sea on an aircraft carrier, flown in almost every kind of plane I could talk my way into, even jumped out of one, worked on a shrimp boat and tried to take readers to places they might not have the opportunity to go.

In my time I've uncovered unfairness in our government, exposed dangers in our environment and turned a phrase or two about the little things that make life what it is -- like ironing and shaving and growing up southern.

We even shared my experience of going through treatments for prostate cancer, a journey in which I was humbled by your support. And, I'm happy to report, the doctors say I'm doing fine.

Mostly, I appreciate the trust people placed in me, allowing me to write their stories for the newspaper, which is no small thing.

For me, it's been a great trip, and proof that a tiny tad of talent can be a one-way ticket into a world where few are allowed to go, all in the name of news.

To those of you who have been along for the ride since the beginning, I thank you for your patience and patronage. Over time and space, we have become friends on a level few get to experience in their lifetime.

While it may look like a one-way conversation, it has been anything but.

I've been honest about my life and listened with great interest when you told me about yours.

The things I will miss in retirement also are the things for which I am most grateful: your faithful following and those precious moments of your undivided attention.

Now, it's time to exhale.

 

Ken died tonight.