Michael D. Davis

Last February, I received an email. It was from the North Tama reporter, Ruby McAllister. She told me the current editor of the News Chronicle gave her two weeks’ notice, and they didn’t have anyone to cover the weekly Supervisor’s meetings.

She asked if I could cover for a few weeks and go to the meetings until they found a replacement. I said sure. That was a year ago. Things have sorta spiraled since then.

When I was in high school, depressed, sick, clutching my inhaler, wondering what was gonna happen next, I never thought I’d end up here. But that’s life, man. It’s like falling down a hill; ya never know what you’re gonna roll in next.

Things had a little bumpy start with the Chronicle’s last editor, who told me reportin’ for the paper wasn’t my vibe. I just shrugged.

I figured my vibe is what I make it, and when I thought of a newspaper reporter, I thought of those old black and white noir movies. Ya know, the ones where the guy has a press card in his hat, and he always has to get the story before midnight. Oh yeah, I could definitely make that my vibe.

I figured if I was gonna do this, I had to do it my way because there’s no other way I could do it. For example, my editor Rob, the Rocky to my Apollo Creed (R.I.P. Carl Weathers), oversees four local papers. He’s a good guy, but my first several articles that ran past him, he edited the snot out of. No offense, Rocky.

I eventually asked him what was up, in case I should be doing something different, and he said, “That’s not how a journalist would write it.” I thought about that for a few minutes before it dawned on me; I’m not a journalist. I am and forever will be an artist or cartoonist or whatever ya want to call me. I simply write these things between paintings and doodles. Eventually, I think Rocky started likin’ my writin’. Now, he mostly just whites out the expletives.

Although, this doin’ it my way reportin’ thing has also backfired in a couple of ways, too. I’ve racked up my fair share of complaints; and infuriated my fair share of politicians or upper crusty types, as well. But that was bound to happen whether I was workin’ for the paper or not.

This last year I was outside more than any other year of my life. I’ve met more people, learned more things, and written more, in the past year than any other. In the past year, I’ve reported on crime, conspiracy, law, scandal, and cover-ups.

I’ve received anonymous letters, back alley tips, and whispered hunches. I’ve gone to places I’ve never been before to take pictures of things I’ve never seen before. I started the job with Johnny The Kid and saw him move on to better things. I’ve talked to mountain dwarves, ents, and elves. I interviewed rock legends and shook hands with Marcus McIntosh. I’ve been called stupid by a politician and smart by a fellow reporter. It’s been a wild year.

All of this takes me up to last week, the awards. I sat at home as Rocky, Ruby and a few others attended the ceremony in Des Moines — It’s not my scene anyway. I stood in the kitchen with my Ma as she cooked breakfast for dinner, and I received text after text telling me the News Chronicle won FIVE awards.

My name is engraved on two of them. The one dearest to my heart is the one that names me ‘MASTER COLUMNIST’ for this that I do right here. The thing that started with a joke column name and a few stories. I didn’t even know about these awards a couple of months ago, and now I’m the master.

The master columnist award will find its home on some wall in the house. If it’s lucky, next to the portrait of Elvis. After all, these are the only real awards I’ve ever gotten. In first grade, I received a plastic trophy for finishing first grade. Then, in fourth grade, I was awarded an oversized key because I was the loudest kid in our play. Other than that, I’ve received squat up until last Thursday. I’m flyin’ pretty high.

This past year has been strange and wonderful, constantly filled with new experiences. I don’t know what this year has to offer, but It’s already started with a bang. I guess I’ll just plod along. Starting each week with the supervisors, well, until they finally get that replacement.