AS some of you know, the Bendigo Addy held a big reunion last weekend, and workers from as long as 50 years ago turned up, possibly just to reassure themselves that their old mates were also ageing.
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As Monday’s report said, I was editor for about eight years, and I should therefore have known what to expect at the reunion. But I didn’t.
First up, if editor Rod Case will excuse this exposition, you need a quick insight into the life of a regional daily editor.
You never clock off. You have to manage or cope with the emotions, needs, demands and egos of many dozens of staff, the demands of many thousands of readers, the agendas of every lobby group in the region, the economic demands of owners and shareholders, the quality of the work being produced, endless crushing deadlines... and the certain knowledge that at one time or another, you will fail them all. Just hopefully not at the same time. A cross between an orchestra conductor and a punching bag.
I always wondered at the process which throws up newsroom executives. You try to be a good reporter or a good sub-editor, and one day, if you convince your corporate owners that you are reasonable at what you do, they stop you doing it and put you in administration.
Anyway, sorry Rod, but I just needed a bit of background here.
I’d hoped that 15 to 20 years down the track, everyone (including me) had moved to a more mellow and comfortable place. That we would have reached what Phillip Adams once referred to as “anecdotage”.
Within seconds, it was clear the same old dynamics survived.
I was copping an ear-bashing for things real or imagined from the late 20th century, and the people I had really creative relationships with were still the same great companions.
There was one attendee I ran into at the bar who set my teeth on edge instantly as he used to many years ago, and to tell the truth, I think I did the same to him and we behaved like nervy Chihuahuas defending our turf.
One bloke blurted out bluntly that I’d done him a favour by encouraging him to swiftly pursue a career change.
And it was delightful to tell one bloke that he was simply the best and most creative photographer I’d ever worked with in a lifetime of journalism.
There’s a memory I’ll cherish from the evening.
Not one, not two, but three people whom I regard as true professionals and all of whom became stars in the industry, thanked me for employing them as kids, or for having faith in them where they dared to be different. And sometimes stuffed up.
No matter how long we live, or how many times we re-invent ourselves, we are always the sum of our days. And the old joys, the old anguishes, the old satisfactions and bruising disappointments never quite go away.
The next time someone suggests a reunion, you would do well to remember that, because I won’t.