Skip to main content

The Consummate Reporter

Embarcadero - San Francisco
“Isn't it nice that people who prefer Los Angeles to San Francisco live there?”

Recently, during a weekend get-a-way to San Francisco, while strolling along the Embarcadero, we ran across this street sign and Lori spontaneously said, “Take a picture of that sign and send it to Russ - he will know who that is for sure.” My response, “Ok, who is Herb Caen?”

“I remember reading his daily syndicated column living in Los Angeles,” said Lori. “He was a California icon.” A quick Google search, turns out, Caen was journalist for the San Francisco Chronicle. He wrote, just shy of 1,000 words a day from 1938-1997 about; local events, social and political happenings, and offbeat narratives that made him a household name throughout the San Francisco Bay Area. A special Pulitzer Prize called him the "voice and conscience" of San Francisco.

Huh - I never would have known.

“All of this gets written, two-fingered, on an old Royal typewriter,” Mr. Caen says in a 1993 interview by Jane Gross of the New York Times. Now I see the connection. Translate this to today’s technology, I conjure an image of my good friend Russell Shor pounding his imaginary typewriter - or is it his iPhone? Not metal, but a touch-screen, that takes a beating as he prepares his weekly Industry Analysis Reports.

"People came from miles around," to see the only remaining typewriter in the Chronicle building. The youngest gawkers, Mr. Caen said, have never seen carbon paper, a vestige of the pre-computer newsroom. You use it to make dupes, he tells them. What are dupes? they ask.

Today, newspapers have been replaced by digital data, and ones' audience has grown exponentially with the internet; blog posts, electronic newsletters, e-mail, text messages, and social media sites. However, I’ve always admired the consummate journalist. How they can take a subject and within a few minutes paint vivid pictures with words. And, with just a little editing, can draw you into their world of fact, fiction, and the unexpected recesses of the imagination. What an incredible talent.

Russ is connected - a smartphone in each hand, work in his right and personal in his left, pounding the digital pavement, communicating with friends and contacts around the world. Admittedly, his appeal seems to lie in the endless bonhomie he projects.  We may be enjoying a hike at Daly Ranch, or lunch, or having our morning coffee, I catch him texting and ask, “Who are you chatting with?” It’s usually a friend from London, South Africa, or India. Something Caen would never do as an old time journalist pounding the streets of San Francisco for stories.

Personally, I love having our consummate reporter and tech user in Carlsbad. You might say, this is my humble way of nominating him for the Pulitzer Prize or its equivalent recognition in the jewelry industry. To paraphrase Herb Caen, Isn't it nice that people who prefer anywhere on earth to San Diego live there?”

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . . Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration. Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds. Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different. Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite , coax...

The Endless Work of Wisdom

It always makes me smile. The moment people learn I've officially entered what I like to call the Great Un-Working (retirement), they almost immediately ask the same question: “So . . . What do you do now?" I think they're expecting me to say I'm restoring a vintage sports car, hiking the John Muir Trail, or finally becoming fluent in French.   Instead, I tell them: "I live life deliberately." That's usually the point when I get a polite nod, followed by the unmistakable look of someone wondering whether I've simply found a more sophisticated way to say, “I’m becoming a bum.” Apparently, "living deliberately" sounds suspiciously like unemployment, just better branding. The truth is, what living deliberately looks like for me right now is taking time to synthesize a lifetime of experiences into these weekly reflections. It's slowing down long enough to ask what those experiences have taught me, while keeping the door wide open to the poss...

A Tucson Typewriter Tale

One of the great joys of wandering without much of a plan is that the universe occasionally rewards your lack of organization. During my recent visit to Tucson, AZ, Robert and I were strolling through the Annex this afternoon, doing what tourists and newly minted retirees like me have elevated to an Olympic sport: meandering. The Annex is one of those places where every few steps there's another handmade candle, artisan coffee, or vintage object someone rescued from a garage sale and convinced the rest of us was always destined to become art. Then I saw something that genuinely stopped me. A young woman standing quietly behind a manual typewriter. Not a laptop designed to look like a typewriter. Not a quirky Bluetooth keyboard. An honest-to-goodness mechanical typewriter—the sort of machine that once announced every sentence to the entire office with a satisfying clack and enough force to wake nearby pigeons. With an iPhone 16 sitting in my pocket in an age when people write novels...

A B+ Kind of Life

Welcome back to this week's On the Fly . Retirement has taught me something unexpected: life gets a lot more enjoyable when you stop chasing perfection. Lately, I've been having an absolute blast playing executive par-3 courses like Rancho Carlsbad . A short iron, a sunny morning, and nowhere to be except the next tee—that's my kind of day. This Thursday, though, I'm raising the stakes. I'm heading to The Links at Lakehouse in San Marcos, a full-size par-71 course with enough water hazards to keep the local fish well-stocked with my golf balls. After shooting a 64 on a par-3 course, I've set myself a new goal: shoot an 89 before my birthday next August. Why 89? Because on a par-71 course, that's bogey golf—one extra stroke per hole. For non-golfers, think of it this way: par is like earning 100% on a final exam. Bogey golf is a solid B+. You got the job done, learned something, and probably had a lot more fun getting there. The older I get, the more I appre...