The Bard of Los Angeles was waiting for an elevator when I arrived at the office one day in 2002. Columnist Al Martinez and I greeted each other, and with a mixture of pride and disbelief, he shared a milestone.
\n\u201cThis is it,\u201d he said. \u201cFifty years in the business.\u201d Martinez was in his early 70s and said he had no intention of slowing down. You\u2019d have needed a tranquilizer gun to keep him from chasing after the next story, and the next, and he was still telling stories until his death in 2015.<\/p>\n
Steve Lopez is a California native who has been a Los Angeles Times columnist since 2001. He has won more than a dozen national journalism awards and is a four-time Pulitzer finalist.<\/p>\n
I was a full generation behind him, and had trouble imagining myself at his age, still on the beat. But time did what it does. It vanished. Now I\u2019m in my early 70s, and I\u2019m stealing Martinez\u2019s line. This is it. Fifty years in the business.
\nNathaniel Ayers and Yo Yo Ma at Walt Disney Concert Hall in 2006. (Francine Orr\/Francine Orr)
\nNathaniel Ayers plays the violin along 4th St. in downtown Los Angeles in April 2008. (Rick Loomis \/ Los Angeles Times)<\/p>\n
Newspapers have soared and sputtered in that time, rising to hero status half a century ago for taking down a crooked president, only to be called the enemy of the people by the current occupant of the White House. In Al Martinez\u2019s heyday, an errant toss of the Sunday L.A. Times could have maimed a standard poodle. But a tsunami of disruption, starting with the rise of the internet in the 1990s, swamped the news and advertising industries, driving thousands of newspapers and magazines under or put them on life support, critically damaging one of the pillars of democracy.<\/p>\n
This is an excellent moment in history to be a crook, a liar, a gasbag or a double-dealing political hack, because there are far fewer reporters rooting around like drug-sniffing airport dogs. But don\u2019t worry, I\u2019m not going to mark this anniversary by rambling on and on about the death spiral, other than to remind you to renew your subscription immediately. I\u2019m here to tell you how lucky I\u2019ve been for half a century, why I wouldn\u2019t change a thing if someone loaded me into a time machine, and why, even though I\u2019m buckled into a seat on the Hindenburg, I still want to order a few more cocktails before we crash-land.<\/p>\n
To be honest, I did have a moment of doubt about my career choice after leaving San Jose State University on a Tuesday night in May of 1975 and starting work the next morning at the Woodland Daily Democrat. Woodward and Bernstein had just changed the world with their muckraking, and what was I doing with my brand-new degree in journalism? I was covering Little League baseball in Davis, an exercise in recycling adjectives to describe home runs that were clobbered, ripped, slugged, rocketed, smoked and launched. Boyle meets with Jose Trujano in October 2022. (Genaro Molina \/ Los Angeles Times)<\/p>\n
But I had a foot in the door, as they say, and shamelessly stalked editors at other newspapers, begging for work. I\u2019d discovered an essential truth about a job in which you\u2019re supposed to go fishing for stories, knock on doors, rattle cages, call out the posers, meet up with life\u2019s winners and losers, and then sit down at a keyboard, take a deep breath, and do your best to turn a blank page into a postcard one day, an indictment the next: It never really feels like a job.<\/p>\n
For 50 years, I\u2019ve been enrolled in a continuing education course, learning a little more each week about this and that, with no end to the variety of topics or the cavalcade of characters and crackpots, dreamers and dropouts. My L.A. professors have included barbers (Lawrence Tolliver), patron saints of second chances (Father Gregory Boyle), social workers (Mollie Lowery and Anthony Ruffin), and a homeless musician who taught me more about humility, hope, and the shame of L.A.\u2019s unsolved catastrophe of homelessness than anyone else (thank you Mr. Ayers, a thousand times, thank you). Anthony Ruffin kneels to speak with a homeless man in Hollywood in January 2017. (Los Angeles Times)<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll admit that when I arrived in Los Angeles in 2001, I was a bit worried about whether, as a transplant, I\u2019d make a fool of myself in print, or have trouble finding enough good stories in a place where I knew only a handful of people and little of the political landscape. But a press credential is like a passport, and it gets you onto front porches and into living rooms where people have stories to tell, some that lift you up and others that break your heart. And I was helped along by the daily flow of breaking news, which doesn\u2019t trickle \u2014 it gushes. As if from a fire hose.<\/p>\n
I hadn\u2019t been here long before the local franchise of the Catholic Church firmly established itself as one of the more egregious offenders in a sprawling sexual abuse scandal. And then an action hero decided to run for governor, and I went to Beverly Hills to see if Arnold Schwarzenegger\u2019s barber could give me the same hairdo and Woody Woodpecker dye job (I had hair at the time, but looked pretty ridiculous for a few weeks). As I began to find my way, Los Angeles became my home, and it was a different place from the one I had imagined from afar. I owe a garden of roses to my wife, for years of support, guidance and religiously reading the newspaper, despite having to put up with my story-juggling distractions and constant carping about the trajectory of the news business.<\/p>\n
In covering L.A., I\u2019m guided by something a Philadelphia Inquirer editor named Ashley Halsey told me by phone at the end of the first Gulf War, when I was reporting from a Kurdish refugee camp in the mountains between Iraq and Turkey. I watched families bury loved ones in a muddy cemetery and was at a loss to convey the enormity of the moment, set against the panorama of geopolitics. Halsey told me he didn\u2019t want a panorama. He wanted a snapshot. Count the graves, describe the terrain, talk to survivors. Put readers in the cemetery. Good advice. It works well, by the way, when you\u2019re writing about ruptured sidewalks in Los Angeles.<\/p>\n
And to the hundreds of reporters, photographers and editors I\u2019ve learned from and been inspired by \u2014 at the Woodland Daily Democrat, the Pittsburg Post-Dispatch, Concord Transcript, Oakland Tribune, San Jose Mercury News, Philadelphia Inquirer, Time Magazine, and the L.A. Times, where, countless times, my columns were informed by the ace reporting of my colleagues. We are, tragically, fewer in number, but the mission has never been more vital. And one last thank you: The best part of the last 50 years has been my relationship with readers. Not every one of you, to be honest. There\u2019s a lot of anger out there, from people who disagree, think I\u2019m a moron, or wonder why I haven\u2019t followed up on their ideas. Television writer David Radcliff, who has cerebral palsy, seconds before he took a tumble while crossing a section of broken sidewalk in his wheelchair in September 2019. (Brian van der Brug\/Los Angeles Times)<\/p>\n
Q: What inspired the author to become a journalist?
\nA: The author was inspired by the work of Woodward and Bernstein, who changed the world with their muckraking journalism.
\nQ: What has been the most significant challenge faced by the author in his career?
\nA: The author has faced the challenge of the decline of the newspaper industry, with many newspapers and magazines going under or being put on life support.
\nQ: What advice did the author receive from a veteran editor?
\nA: The author was advised to focus on telling a snapshot of a story, rather than trying to convey the entire panorama.
\nQ: What has been the best part of the author\u2019s career?
\nA: The author has valued his relationship with readers, and the opportunity to tell their stories and share their experiences.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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