Bringing The Bee to its knees

You could usually hear it before you would see it. The bright orange blob lumbering around the corner every afternoon about 3:00. Lurching down Valley View Avenue, it looked like some kind of a big box atop four big black tires. The driver barely slowed as he heaved two bulging stacks of freshly printed paper, each held together with a thick wire, onto the driveway of the house across the street. Its deed done here, the truck sped off to its next drop, the faded lettering on the back of the truck, "San Jose Mercury/San Jose Evening News," nearly invisible through the dirt and grime.

It wasn't at News10 in Sacramento. Nor was it at KHSL-TV in Chico, or KPCO in Quincy, or KCSB-FM in Santa Barbara or The Daily Comet at James Lick High School in San Jose where I first delivered the news. It was those summer afternoons as a kid, helping fellow-kid and neighbor Robbie Habernicht (whose route it was) deliver the The San Jose Evening News on our Schwinns.

Under the thin wire that banded each stack of papers which were still warm from coming off the presses, was a cover sheet. It contained routing information, making sure the driver dumped the right stack at the right spot. But clip the wire, remove that sheet, and there it was. One day it would scream "BLAST LEVELS JC PENNEY-3 DIE." Another day, "HOLLYWOOD STAR MANSFIELD DECAPITATED." Another, "BRINK OF SOVIET WAR," or "MAN ON THE MOON." We were the few privy to get a glimpse of the day's news hours before it would be unfurled on driveways and doorsteps. Only on the rarest of occasions did we actually sit and read an article (I think the Jayne Mansfield was one of those). Our job was to hurriedly secure each single paper with a rubber band, jam them into burlap sacks, then fling those sacks over the back of our bikes and be on our way to bring the news to our neighborhood . This was important stuff. And there was an important method in that delivery.

People who tipped would get their papers placed on the front porch. Those who didn't tip, but were nice enough anyway, had their papers thrown onto the driveway. Then there were the others ... those who never seemed to have money to pay you when you went around each month collecting; those (usually grumpy old men) who would yell at you and raise their canes as you cruised down their street on your Sting-Ray; those who would say "I don't know why you're delivering me this crap, it's the same damn thing everyday," then tell you they could pay you with a bag of walnuts (these are the same people who gave you a penny when you came trick or treating). For those people, their paper came "special delivery."

There was the "grand slam." Instead of gently tossing the paper, you'd do the best Sandy Koufax you could muster and zing the paper onto the driveway, preferable exposed aggregate. The result would be a badly deformed paper that would be difficult to open without ripping. Added points were given when the paper, after impacting the pavement, actually skidded a few yards, etching away the print.

There was also the "wet willie." In the days before automatic water systems, it was always a treat to see that old man Johnson had turned on his front lawn sprinklers to give his picture perfect yard that fresh evening look. With proper timing of our delivery, it also meant that instead of reading how the San Jose Bees were fairing, old man Johnson would be scooping up a soggy pile of pulp that just an hour earlier had been his newspaper.

There were some carriers who would throw the paper with such force into a screen door that it would dent it (hmmm, somehow my grandparent's delivery boy seemed to enjoy that bit of revenge). And there were those who loved to toss it onto the roof. We avoided both of those scenarios because fixing the door could get expensive and if some old man fell off a roof getting his paper he might get hurt. At that young age, we did have a conscience. Puny, but it was a conscience.

I am retelling this blissful childhood experience because of something I read today in The Sacramento Bee. The capital city's only major daily newspaper is offering buyouts to 55% of its full time staff, including many in the editorial department (that means reporters, editors, photographers). Two months ago, 86 Bee employees were given pink slips. By all accounts, after this next cost cutting move, the Bee will be decimated. Its news coverage, already suffering from previous layoffs, will deteriorate further. Colleagues I have talked with wonder whether or not at this point The Bee can survive.

Perhaps as disturbing as the prospect is that Sacramento could become a newspaperless town is the online reaction from readers, many of who are simply gushing at the demise of The Bee. State workers angered over the Bee's recent posting of state workers' salaries are among the most celebratory.

"Good riddance," writes robertcameron. "None of you will be missed. Welcome to (sic) unemployment line."

"This paper is such a rag," says Bordeau. "Good Bye and Good Riddance."

Another said it didn't matter to him. He nevers reads the Bee and gets all his news from FOX News (perhaps lost is the irony that he apparently did read the story on Sacbee.com and took the time to write about it).

Folks, there is nothing, absolutely nothing surrounding the serious problems at The Sacramento Bee that should bring joy to anyone.

Over the past three decades, I have worked alongside and with some of The Bee's journalists, and in fact for several years back in the 1970s was a Bee "Correspondent," writing stories from the hinterlands of California. Walt Wiley and Bill Carr in the early days. More recently, people like Sam Stanton, Mareva Brown, Ken Chavez, David Barton, Mark Glover, Andy Furillo, Rick Kushman, Cynthia Hubert, Art Campos, Bryan Patrick, Randy Pench, Jennifer Garza, Sam McManus, and many others. These are hard working journalists who yes, may step on some toes, may expose things that others don't want exposed, and may at times not share my or your viewpoint. But they have done their job and have done it well. And for 150 years, The Bee has served Sacramento and northern California with quality reporting, stimulating opinions, and a commitment to the truth.

When there was talk a while back that the Kings may leave Sacramento, the outcry was loud and widespread. How could they? Sacramento would be considered a hick town. The Capital City would lose its stature. I guess that shows the sorry state of society. There is such an uproar over a sports team leaving town, yet when the city's only major watchdog and source of information is threatened, there is barely a whimper. Sacramento should be up in arms.

For those of you taking pride in putting a stake through the heart of the region's largest daily newspaper, don't come crying down the road when your city council passes some inane ordinance and you didn't know about it. Don't whine when no one shows up to report on the efforts your church is making to improve the community. Don't yell foul when you can't find the box scores to last night's Kings game. Without The Bee, government becomes more powerful, the people become weaker (and don't try to say "Oh, but the government is the people." It simply doesn't work that way).

The days of old man Johnson grumbling about a newspaper that's all wet because the hoodlums that deliver it threw it into his sprinklers are long gone. But some semblance of the newspaper industry can hopefully survive. And to the fine residents of Sacramento who are about to throw a block party if and when The Bee folds ... don't expect FOX News to be there to cover it.

Can I turn the TV off now?

It has not been a good year for the United States. The deep financial crisis on so many levels continues to impact a large chunk of Americans, rich, poor and especially those in between. The scar known as Iraq also continues, claiming young lives and poisoning the thoughts of the world toward the US. As the John McCain ad says, "Washington is broken, John McCain knows it. We're worse off now than we were four years ago." Whew!

But during the past eight days (eight days and eight gold medals) the slumping economy, the mess in the Middle East has been softened by Beijing ... and Michael Phelps.

Today, we took a boat to the small beach town of Las Animas south of Puerto Vallarta. Off season, we were about the only non-natives there. But before long, a large tourist boat packed with Mexicans arrived, the moms and dads and kids bouncing off for a day at the beach.

In the line of folding chairs facing the slapping surf, a man chose the seat next to me. Speaking nearly perfect English, he said he was vacationing with his family from Guadalajara. A chemist for an international pharmaceutical firm, he was educated in Mexico City and Chicago. He loved being in the U.S., he said, adding he felt sorry about what is happening there now. He mentioned the economy, and how it is impacting not just the US but Mexico and the world. And he raised the thorny issue of Iraq, asking (as we have heard so many times) how Americans could let something like that happen. "It just does not seem like something that is what people in your country do," were his exact words. Then came the uniting question.

"Did you watch Michael Phelps? Oh my God (a favorite saying here) he is amazing. What pride you must have." Yep, really amazing ... historic ... uniting ... yes, proud (like I had a hand ... or a stroke ... with his performance).

But think about it. For a moment, there has been no economy, there has been no Iraq, there has been only Michael Phelps. Like a fresh summer breeze blowing out stagnant noxious air. Michael Phelps.

Well, our lunch came so I went off to eat (fresh fish quesadillas ... yum), and he went off to be with his family, graciously saying how much he enjoyed talking again with an American (even if it was an American who now lives in Mexico).

Fast forward to tonight, watching Phelps being interviewed by Bob Costas, reliving not merely a surreal experience but an historic one. It's tough not getting teary eyed. It's like you want him to live next door, invite him over for a beer (OK, maybe not a beer since he had a DUI four years ago but you get the idea). He seems like a normal guy, except for all those gold things hanging around his neck.

Anyway, I know, there is another full week of Olympics ... amazing feats of competition among the brightest athletes in the world. But maybe it is best if we all turn off our TVs now and relish the Phelps phenomenon. After all, it can't get any better ... and pretty soon we'll be back to the news of foreclosures, bankruptcies, lay offs, and oh yes, that thing in Iraq.

Canada takes the gold! USA wins the silver! Mexico is eliminated.

OK, so there hasn't been any real 2008 Olympic event (yet) where that has been the outcome. But when it comes to TV coverage of the Olympics, if I was the sole judge sitting in the review box, I'd have to give the edge to ... the CBC. However, NBC comes in a close second. And TV Azteca doesn't even rate.

Yeah, I know ... I live in Mexico ... you're saying "Has he had one too many margaritas? Does he really think he's watching the Olympics on US and Canadian channels?" Well, yes, it's magic (in Mexico we call it satellite). "OK," you're saying, "So he sees Olympic coverage from three different countries. Big deal. But why would he become a turncoat to the good ol' USA's NBC and give the thumbs up to the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Company)?"

Here's the deal. Starting Friday morning at 6:00 AM (Central time), while you're watching "The Today Show" or "KCRA Reports at 4:00 AM" or "Hello Toledo" or whatever your NBC station has on, the CBC is carrying live, in HD the Opening Ceremonies from Beijing. By the time NBC showed it, 12 1/2 hours later (15 1/2 hours later on the west coast), it was already Saturday and the games were underway ... games which were being shown live on the CBC Friday night (while NBC was showing the aging opening ceremonies).

Since we are in the central time zone, NBC does provide us with live coverage of a select few events ... we’ve seen Michael Phelps take home the gold live, tonight we’ll see US women's volleyball duo win (I hope). But more often than not, while watching a tape delayed women's gymnastics competition on NBC, on CBC and their separate sports channel, swimming and soccer are unfolding live.

Technically, both are excellent with crystal clear HD signals. And the announcers on NBC are as qualified (or as obnoxious) as those on the CBC. I want to watch NBC, but I keep going back to CBC to see what's going on now.

It's even worse for those on the west coast. I talked with my brother last night in Nevada City, CA who was frustrated that the tape delayed broadcast he was watching was three hours older than the tape delayed broadcast I was watching earlier.

Enough criticism ... remember, I awarded CBC and NBC gold and silver ... you can't get much better than that. Especially when you compare it to TV Azteca. That's the Mexican network carrying the Olympics. We get it here on Channel 7. There is really no schedule when you can find out what's on. Almost everything is tape delayed. And the video quality is, well, think of Jim McKay in Munich in 1972. It's so bad, the Mexican workers in our complex like to come in here during their break and watch the CBC or NBC in HD. They don’t understand a word the announcers are saying, but they often mutter “Imagen bonita.” Translated: “That’s one pretty picture.”

If you'd like to check out my brother's editorial in the Nevada Union on this very serious subject, click HERE.

Spectacular Summer Storms

"Slow and go on the Mexican 200 between Bucarias and Nuevo Vallarta. Along the Malecon this morning, the annual summer influx of tourists from Guadalajara is keeping speeds down . And remember, keep it at 40 kilometers per hour on both ends of the Puerto Vallarta bypass tunnel. The PV police are using radar again and they will nab you even if you're going one kilometer over the limit." If they had it, which I don't believe they do, that is likely what traffic and weather together every ten minutes would sound like on a Puerto Vallarta radio station. And it would likely conclude with the forecast ... the same forecast, day after day after day. "Mostly sunny this morning with increasing clouds by mid-afternoon. A severe thunderstorm watch is in effect from 6:00 to 10:00 tonight with the possibility of heavy rains, flash floods, and dangerous cloud to ground lightning. High today 92, overnight low 78."

It is 9:00 AM. The sunlight has just started to splash the high rise resorts across the bay. Being on the far western edge of the Central time zone and closer to the equator, it isn't until after 8:00 AM that the sun finally creeps over the mountains to the east of town to start the day. It is a beautiful crystal clear morning, clean air, with unlimited visibility. Within nine hours, that will all change dramatically. And as we are learning, with few variations, each day here during the summer is pretty much like the one before it and the one after it.

A fourth generation Californian, I am used to repetition when it comes to summer weather. Unless you're in the desert (where it's over a hundred every day), along the coast and the valleys you get the morning low clouds and fog, clearing by midday, highs from the upper 60s at the beaches to the low 90s inland. Rarely each summer, and sometime never, did we ever have the type of storms that pound this tropical city each and every day. It is fascinating.

The first rumblings are usually heard in the distance as the storms form in the tropical forest mountain range that separates this Pacific coast city from the inland valleys. It's usually around 6:00PM. If we happen to be indoors and watching TV, the next indication of the pending deluge is that the picture goes out. The heavy rain, even before it hits the ground, blocks the signal from the satellite to the dish on our roof. That tells us that within one to two minutes, the clouds will open, the skies will turn white with streaks of light, and a storm, the likes of which would flood any town in California will make its daily visit to Puerto Vallarta.

Last night's storm was one of the best yet. Following a perfect day outside, we had come indoors, showered, and sat down to watch "60 Minutes." It wasn't particularly cloudy at that point, but at about 6:20, the TV picture began breaking up. Moments later, light brighter than a flash from a camera sliced across our den, and no more than a second after that, a deafening blast that sounded like a shotgun being discharged a few feet away split the air with a rumble that shook the windows, the furniture, and the building itself. For the next hour, we were treated to the most amazing lightning storm I've ever seen.

We saw one bolt strike a high rise hotel across the bay. But the most spectacular were three large bolts in quick succession which struck the bay just off the beach. A patch of water which took the direct hit turned fiery red upon impact.

With buckets of rain falling, we could look down onto city streets that were converted into rivers. Mud flows from the mountains choked small streams that flow into the bay, leaving a mosaic of brown haze as the currents carry the storm runoff in various directions throughout the bay. Even as I went to bed at 11:30, the sky was still ablaze with distant flashes.

And this morning, no sign of what was happening here just 12 hours ago. But it's almost a forgone conclusion that this evening, there will be a repeat, though it's unlikely it will be as massive as last night's.

I didn't take pictures of last night's lightning storm ... it was too fun just watching it. But I have edited some video of another storm from a couple of weeks back. If you'd like to see the video, click HERE.