From a very young age I somehow knew the written word would carry me through my adult years. Whether I was to be the next John Grisham or famed Field & Stream contributor was the only question.
A local news writer, though? That most definitely wasn’t in the cards. As fate and aspirations would have it, however, community news would put bread on the table.
After my skillset was honed at Henderson State University, I immediately went to work at The Gurdon Times, then soon joined the staff at the Daily Siftings Herald. Work never felt like work. Spoiled with a word processor and software programs like PhotoShop and InDesign, producing content and building a newspaper was too easy.
By the time I hit the scene, darkrooms and physical page layouts had become a thing of the past. I never experienced hearing the clickety-clack of several typewriters working at once in a smoky newsroom.
Newspapering had lost its allure long before I called myself a reporter. Further technological improvements would soon all but kill the trade. Yet here I am, publishing local news online, doing (mostly) what I’ve always done.
Two decades into this profession (minus a four-year break) and approaching the Over The Hill mark in a few days, a certain Jimmy Buffett song comes to mind when I reflect on my career choice. From the perspective of a newspaperman clinging to a dying trade, I rewrote most of the lyrics to “A Pirate Looks at 40.”
The following stanzas are a product of countless ideas — internally hashed out over the course of a year — on how to re-convey the meaning of a timeless classic in a way that reflects my own hapless outlook and regrets. I think Jimmy would approve, and I hope his estate doesn’t come after me. Here goes:
A Writer Looks at 40
Yes, I am a writer, many decades too late
Now Google don’t blunder, leaving nothing to wonder
I’m a nearing-40 victim of fate
I got here too late, I got here too late
In all the news I’ve covered
I’ve put some issues on blast
Had offers in Little Rock, Nashville and Chicago but I turned ‘em all down so fast
And all that I’ve amassed, was never meant to last
I spent 10 years at the Siftings, left the profession a while
Toiled four years away, but I came back one day
Just to start my own enterprise
Not sure it was wise, we’ll see if we rise
And I have been back at it now for 200 weeks
But now it’s all Facebook and likes and re-Tweets
TikTok and fake news, AI and divided views
Death of the American Dream
Beats all I’ve seen. What does it mean?
Now here in the Twenty-Twenties, after all the years I’ve found
My occupational hazard being my occupation’s just not around
Forever down, a voice no longer sound
Forever down, a voice no longer sound
South Arkansas native Joel Phelps is publisher and editor of arkadelphian.com. Contact him by emailing editor@arkadelphian.com.