Tips, leads and scoops

by Mainetarr

After spending eight months in an intensive care stall, race horse Barbaro was put down Monday in Kennett Square, PA. He was four years old.

Barbaro succumbed to laminitis, a condition effecting the laminae, causing inflammation to the hoof, making it difficult for the horse to bear weight on the effected hoof. It is a painful condition that horses rarely overcome. There have been many different opinions voiced regarding Barbaro and the extent of his treatment. He had multiple surgical procedures, was fitted with different types of casts and was put into a body sling to alleviate the pressure of weight bearing in his hoof. None of these costly treatments could save him in the end. Some people on different news and radio shows were talking about Barbaro and his owners in the past few days, trying to figure out why they went to such great lengths to save him. He certainly was a talented young horse, blowing away the field at the 2006 Kentucky Derby. On the Opie and Anthony radio show, Barbaro was referred to as one gigantic ATM machine. While there is no doubt the horse was worth his weight in gold, he stood to make millions from breeding, much more than he would have ever won in purse money. People speculate he received the care he did in order to be able to have at least one round of breeding. Others say his owners felt they owed it to him, he was the best horse by far in their 20+ horse barn. He earned his way, and then some. Others say veterinarians used him to find new ways to treat his injuries, using all the technology available today. The majority of folks think his heart was bigger than any purse money he may have won and he had a strong will to live. Barbaro had a unique personality that showed on and off the track. No matter what the reason, he was a beautiful example of a thoroughbred with a lot of heart who loved to race. He will be missed by all who appreciated what a wonderful animal he was.

Not only do I like tipping off Mark, but sometimes I am actually THE story.  A few weeks ago, Feilding’s Oil and Propane came to fill up my propane tank.  It was accidently overfilled and a valve froe open and the tank began leaking liquid propane all over the place.  I immediately called Feilding to get a repairman over, but was told it could take a while.  I ended up calling the fire department and before I knew what was going on, my entire neighborhood was roped off and being evacuated.  Right at suppertime, nonetheless.  Of course, I called Mark and he was already asked to cover the “big propane leak” in Auburn.  Since it was me, he got a play by play on what was going on, and never had to leave his desk.  I didn’t so much care about being in the paper myself, but got a kick out of the story and how he mentioned my two extremely popular dogs.  People came up to me for days asking about the story.  More people recognized one of my dogs names in the paper than mine, but that was fine with me, he is quite the rock star.

I guess this just proves you never know when YOU will be the news.  My work was what first brought me to Mark.  One of my employers was in quite a bit of trouble and I wanted to make sure his partners were kept out of it.  Thanks to Mark’s accurate reporting, he stuck to the facts and reported on the person in question, not all of his associates.  That was what earned my respect for Mark as a journalist.  He had integrity and I knew I would always give him whatever I could when it came to local news.

A Bad Hair Day — Betty Dravis

In the sixties, I wrote a weekly newspaper column for The East San Jose Sun where I also specialized in human interest stories and profiles of prominent local citizens.

For a Halloween feature story, in the late sixties I profiled a woman named June Cheim who was the delight of trick-or-treaters in her rather exclusive neighborhood. Every year, this gracious woman transformed herself into a frightening witch, acting the part to perfection.

Mrs. Cheim–headlined as “The Good Witch of the East Foothills”–brewed a fantastic witch’s brew. Topped by roiling clouds of evil-looking, foul-smelling gray smoke, the mixture looked more lethal than Bette Midler’s in The Witches of Eastwick. June’s brew was apple cider, of course, and it was delicious. The children loved it, and the Cheim home was a favorite haunt on Halloween.

Shortly following publication of the story, I was at home doing laundry when June phoned to thank me for the story, commenting that her friends, neighbors, and family enjoyed it tremendously. She went on to tell me that a popular movie star was visiting them for a few days and asked if I would like to interview him. She explained that she had gone to school with him and she and her husband, Leo, had maintained their friendship throughout the years.

The Cheims’ friend was one of the world’s top box-office draws, rapidly overtaking Charles Bronson. Wow! Interview that hunk! Ohmigod … ohmigod! I thought, but I managed to stammer, “Y-yes, of course.”

I–a low-paid, part-timer at a small weekly–was the only newsperson in San Jose getting a shot at the star. It was my chance to scoop the large daily paper. By no stretch of the i-m-a-g-i-n-a-t-i-o-n was I a career journalist; I was just starting out part-time, not even thinking of going full-time yet. Primarily, I was a mother, struggling to raise six children alone. I was completely stunned at the thought of interviewing that man … and a little frightened. In those days, I had no tape recorder and was concerned that I might write too slowly, botch the interview, and make a fool of myself. Could I do the job properly? Would I be professional enough?

The thrill of meeting such a famous, handsome hunk overcame my professional doubts, and I was hot to trot. After all, I told myself, he’s only a man. But then, being as vain as the next woman, personal doubts crept in. I began worrying about my appearance. I had always been a natural blonde, but as it faded, I’d started touching it up. Well, that day–of all days–my roots needed touching up and I needed a cut and a style.

In other words, it was a woman’s worst nightmare … a bad hair-day. A very bad hair-day.

Even more frustrating was that Mrs. Cheim had set the interview for five that afternoon, and since the star was leaving the next day, it was my only chance.

Time was short, so I called the Sun to schedule a photographer to meet me at the Cheim residence, but none was available. Damn!

Next I phoned my hairstylist only to find that she was booked solid. Double damn!

In desperation, I called a friend, Josie.

Yes, Josie had experience! Yes, Josie could do it! And yes, Josie could even baby-sit.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

I thought things were finally going to work out, but that thought was a little premature. Josie thought ash blonde Clairol worked the same as light blonde; you know, the longer you leave it on, the lighter it becomes? Well, ash blonde works the opposite. She let it develop too long, and voila … brown hair! And to make matters worse, she plastered flirtatious little Spanish sideburns to my cheeks, fashioned a curly topknot and a lopsided cut.

“Definitely not me,” I moaned, since I considered myself more the girl-next-door, cheerleader type. Could Josie be jealous of my lucky break? I asked myself. Then: Na-ahh … she’s not that mean-spirited.

After staring ice-picks at Josie for ruining my looks, I kissed the kiddies good-bye, swallowed my pride, and toodled on to the big interview.

My self-confidence had gone down Josie’s drain right along with my hair, but at least I liked my outfit. It was a yellow-and-white polka-dotted number with a slightly-flared skirt. The dress–and white, high-heeled pumps–set off my tan; not much consolation, but it helped a little.

And, as if that weren’t enough, with no cameraman in tow, I felt like a complete amateur. Oh-h, well, one lucky break a day is all one can hope for, I told myself as I pulled into the Cheims’ circular driveway and bravely climbed out of my clunky old Mercury.

From somewhere deep within I summoned my usual bravado, and knocked.

Several rapid heartbeats later, the door opened and there he stood–Clint Eastwood! The star gazed at me with his gorgeous bed-room eyes, flashed a devastating smile, took my trembling arm, and escorted me into the den for the interview … which went great.

Eastwood was so charming and down-to-earth, he put me at ease immediately. And afterward–when he graciously invited me along for dinner at The Fog Horn–he made a fan for life. Regretfully, I declined because Josie could only baby-sit until nine.

As I was leaving, June took several photographs of me with Eastwood, and although I have never liked my hairdo, to this day I adore the way that sexy, all-male hunk gazed down at me. And, God, the way he cupped my neck with those long, strong fingers still gives me goosebumps.

My best friend was the first to tease me about the picture. “Wow, Clint’s looking at you like he’s in love with you.”

“Yeah, he’s a great actor, isn’t he?” I smugly replied, but I was thinking, I should be so lucky! Then I modestly added, “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

Now, it’s thirty-plus years later, and Eastwood’s a mega-star, mega-producer … mega-everything. And another young journalist–Dina Ruiz, TV co-anchor of Action News Eight (Salinas/Monterey/Santa Cruz)–interviewed him a few years ago … and he ended up marrying her. (Small world, but Dina’s an acquaintance of my youngest daughter.)

That’s one journalist who was really in the right place at the right time. It must have been a great hair-day for her. But with that magnificent mane of thick, dark hair, how could she miss?

Betty Dravis is a former newspaper publisher and long-time California journalist who also hosted a Cable TV talk show. Dravis, of San Jose, Cal., is the author of three novels: “1106 Grand Boulevard,” “The Toonies Invade Silicon Valley” and “Millenium Babe: The Prophecy.” She is currently writing a horror novel.

Wherever I go, I see news happening.  Sometimes it’s right in my own office.  Sometimes it’s in the building I work in, across the street, across town, or at my own home.  You never know where news will happen, but when it does, you can bet I will be on the phone to one of my best friends, who just happens to be a journalist.  I always wanted to be a journalist, so these days, I live vicariously through Mark.  I am a news monger, can never get enough of it.  But the most important part of being a good journalist is getting all angles of a story.  There is nothing worse than a half assed article written by a lazy or biased journalist who wants to report the story first, instead of reporting it correctly.  That’s where I come in.  If I know any more information that would make a story truthful, or shed a different angle on a story, I will call Mark.  When a prominent figure in my office was arrested on domestic assault charges, the paper ran a story on what had happened.  I knew what REALLY happened, so I called Mark, anonymously- it was before we became friends through his blog.  It was the first time I had ever called a reporter regarding a story, and at first I was afraid of talking too much and people reading the article would figure out who his source was.  But he never gave me up and I began to trust him.  I told him more and more of what had happened.  He handled the story so well, people got to know what really happened without being able to figure out where he got his information from.  Since I have always had a knack for being in the right place at the right time, I somehow knew we would become fast friends.  And sure enough, it keeps happening.  I have called Mark when we watched a bank robbery from my office window.  I called him again when some man was running around with a loaded gun near my office and we were all put in lockdown.  Then, on another occassion, I called him because of a propane gas leak in my neighborhood, and wouldn’t you know it, it was MY house!  I could go on and on, but that’s a whole other blog….It’s hard to choose the biggest reason I call Mark first, but it’s pretty exhilirating when you know you can give a scoop to someone and read about it in the newspaper the next day.  Whenever I see something newsworthy, I can’t wait to call him and let him know what is going on.  It’s a huge rush knowing that I may have seen something or know someone who knows the dirt on a story.  It’s the best feeling to know that you can give another side of a story so that the reader knows what really happened.

– No name, No Town

Cops spout off here, but not in police jargon. How to get that cop gossip on the record. How to beat the competition to the crime scene. How to avoid getting pepper sprayed and tasered in the groin.