Crazy things you've had to do to file a story

State track meet, 2001. First night.
Photographer gave me memory card to E-mail pics along with the three stories I had that night.
Should have been no problem, but I wouldn't be writing this unless it was.
Finish all three stories in plenty of time, then the fun begins.
The paper provided the laptop, but the paper's E-mail and Internet system at the time was horrendous -- if filing from out of the office, you had to call to have anyone who was on the Internet at the time to sign off so you could sign on and then basically send the story to yourself. It was more Intranet than Internet.
It was a stupid system and a waste of time that could be better used, but I guess the company saved a penny here or there, so that's how it was.
So I wrote, I called, I sent -- each story separately, plus the photos.
I called back.
Big problem. Actually, two of them.
This wonderful system lost the photos, and not just for a day or so. They have never appeared. Remember, this was 2001.
The system then took the three separate stories and combined them, and not just end to to end. No, it wove paragraphs together in alternating fashion as if it was braiding a literary rope.
I had to dictate three stories over the phone, and they ran without pictures, which led to a few upset calls.
Of course the paper ran late, and I later learned the circulation guy continuously looked over the sports editor's shoulder and commented on how late it was and how his carriers would have to wait to get their papers.

 

That was YOU?? Mofo.

 

Oh...so you were fired then? ;D

 

Calling a high school to check on phone line availability was useless. Basically if they had a multi-line system, I was hosed. And they always did. Which is why I turned to things like covering 55 miles of backroads through the swamp in 40-45 minutes and just making deadline. No clue how I'm still living.

 

What's a deadline?

 

During my TV days, first gig was at a station in Michigan's Upper Peninsula and I was covering a prep basketball game in the dead of winter, temperature well below 0. The game I'm covering is near one of our bureaus -about an hour and a half from the station - and is in the central timezone. JV game ends up going to OT so the varsity starts late and doesn't end until about 10:30 eastern, show starts at 11. I race back to the bureau and find the lock frozen. There's no way I can drive back to the station in time, I try the lock a few more times and can't get it to budge, so I call the boss and he tells me "Go to the gas station across the street, buy some coffee, then walk back to the bureau and call me back." I do, thinking he's telling me to do this to buy some time so he can think of another option. When I get back to the bureau and call him back he says "OK, now pour the coffee out over the lock." It worked.

 

Things a writer says.

 

That man must be a genius!

 

well he hired the both of us, so his genius is suspect at best.

I'll let you tell the Jason Woolley story

 

State track meet, 2003. First night.
First year for state track at new facility in state capital.
Laptop provided by paper did not have capability to use Internet at site, so I planned to finish up the stories at the meet, then go to the hotel to send them.
Was the last one to leave the stadium, and by last one I mean THE last one. Janitor was heading out a few minutes before me and said to just shut the gate and it would lock automatically.
Unfortunately, all of the gates were locked and I had to crawl over the 8-foot wrought iron spike fence with a computer bag and a camera bag. Managed to not get anything punctured or snagged, including me.
Got to the hotel room (Red Roof Inn) and tried to log in to the hotel's Internet. For those wondering, the paper by then had changed its Internet to a regular system (see previous post about 2001 state track meet).
After several attempts, went to the hotel office for help and learned that Red Roof Inn had a digital Internet connection and the paper's laptop was analog.
However, the night clerk gave me directions to a Kinko's a few miles away.
After avoiding a very curious raccoon who was rummaging through the overwhelming bags of garbage near the staris, I went to Kinko's to send the story.
But even that came with a hitch.
Their computers couldn't recognize the laptop's writing program (I can't remember its name; it was some cheap, unknown program the company used), so I called over the technicians on staff. They'd never heard of it either, but one of them figured out a way to transfer the information into another format that could be sent along.

 

Ha.
No. They would have had to fire me, the photographer who gave me the memory card of pictures, the sports editor and the full-timer who took my dictation over the phone.
Oh, forgot to say this was the year I had to cover nearly 60 athletes by myself in two divisions of boys and two divisions of girls. Good times.

 

Juco softball regionals about 20 years ago, with a TRS-80 on its last legs and everyone in the department knows it, except the techie, who insists it will work. Knowing better, I swing by my place before leaving and grab that typewriter I got for high school graduation and hadn't used since college. The one game I had to cover was in the afternoon, so plenty of time to check in, get a nice meal and write. Except, about halfway through, the typewriter ribbon breathed its last. Printed out the rest in longhand, took it to the hotel desk and had them fax it in. Beat the hell out of dictating it!