Advantage Disadvantage (10 page)

Ronnie found that he was in a different league at
Northwestern. Every student seemed to be brighter than he was. He
struggled through required statistics and math classes, while
excelling at rhetoric and literature assignments. Every year he
tried to join the school newspaper’s staff. The closest he got to
working for the esteemed “Wildcat Gazette” was laboring on the
production crew. At first, he enjoyed designing newspaper layouts
and putting together the look of each daily run, but he yearned to
write. He took non-major classes to try to increase his skill level
and bolster his resume: economics, business law, criminal
forensics, psychology and film review. When Ronnie graduated, he
found the job market for an average journalism student, albeit from
Northwestern, a tough nut to crack. He sent out untold letters,
resumes, and attention getting boxes and tubes, which he mailed out
without the courtesy of return rejection letters. Once again, Dr.
Edelman swung into action. He had been on the Board of Directors at
a prominent Chicago charity.

Editor Nancy Kapist had participated on this board
since she moved to the city. Her husband had a high-powered
executive job, which entailed a globetrotting schedule. The Kapists
were not interested in starting a family. She joined the charity
because she had so much free time while he was gone and she wanted
to meet the “right crowd” in Chicago.

Nancy worked her way from the ground up in the
publishing business starting as a copy checker at a New York-based
magazine. She crossed over into the newspaper racquet when she
began writing a very successful countrywide syndicated advice
column. She also demonstrated her business aptitude and began a
rotation of jobs through each department in the Big Apple. Despite
her contributions, the good old boy’s network in New York cast a
glass ceiling on top of her advancement.

The Windy City Daily hired Nancy as the general
manager and chief editor to revitalize the once-dominant paper. Her
husband supported her desire to excel in her career – he was gone
most of the time and he could travel out of any major city. She had
the unbridled support of the publisher and the other board of
directors’ support to make any changes necessary to increase
circulation. Besides being a talented newswoman, she was shrewd and
physically, attractive. Nancy was slender and had a medium length
well-coifed hairstyle that befitted her pretty face.

Dr. Edelman called in his markers with Nancy after
one of the charity meetings.

“Nancy, can you help me with something?”

“What can I do for you, Dr. Edelman?”

“I think my son needs help in landing a newspaper
job. As you know, it is a tough market with shrinking publications
because of the internet. Everyone asks him for experience, but no
one will give him his first opportunity.”

“Where did he go to school?”

“He just graduated from Northwestern, but he’s not
even getting an interview.”

“Well, Doc. He certainly has great credentials but I
do not know what openings we have. Have him fill out an online
application and I will look at it. Without talking to the
department heads, I can’t promise anything.”

“It means a lot to me for you to even consider him.
If you interview him, please don’t tell him we talked about
this.”

Nancy was an astute politician. Dr. Edelman was an
influential socialite in Chicago’s elite crowd. People liked him
because he travelled in the right circles and was helpful to know
for career, charity and social purposes. She wanted to please the
doctor by helping Ronnie. After polling all of the departments, she
found a place for Ronnie and brought him in for an interview.

“Your course work is very impressive,” she said to
the young man. “We have many successful writers who began this
craft at Northwestern. Here at the Windy City Daily, they all
started at the bottom. What kind of reporting are you interested
in?”

First on his list was crime desk reporting, followed
by business, and then politics. After attracting no job prospects
since graduating, he avoided disclosing his preferences, and simply
said, “I just want to learn the newspaper business and begin
authoring columns”.

“As the general manager, I try to match people’s
goals and newspaper needs. We have one spot for you. Let me warn
you – despite your Blue Chip education - you start like everyone
else, near the bottom. We look for immediate contribution and
constant improvement. If you accept this assignment, plan to work
long hours, unglamorous locations, and little recognition. You are
not going to make much money in this business – at least not right
away. You need to let me know by tomorrow.”

Ronnie hid his disappointment from Nancy and took
the commuter train home to his parents’ house. When they came home,
he told them he had news.

“I was offered a reporter’s job today with the Windy
City Daily.”

“That’s a dream come true, Ronnie. I am so proud of
you. Tell us about it,” said his mother.

“The paper is prestigious. It is a great place to
develop skills and credentials. I need to accept the job tomorrow
or the offer is rescinded, but I’m not sure I will.”

Dr. Edelman was puzzled. “You dreamed of working for
a major publication. They offered a job to you better than the
college newspaper assignments that you tried to obtain. You do not
have any other jobs. What are you thinking?”

“The pay is low. I’m starting out at the bottom, and
she made it clear that it would take some time before I made decent
money.”

“Isn’t that true of nearly all entry-level newspaper
jobs?” asked Dr. Edelman.

“Yeah, but it’s in the sports department. That is
the negative. I never played any sports, and I’m not very
interested in athletics.”

Dr. Edelman was becoming agitated. “It seems like
it’s so hard to get in at these big papers, why aren’t you viewing
this job as a potential stepping stone?”

“Dad, you’re right. However, I was hoping to work on
the crime desk. I’ll just have to prove to them that I’m
worthy.”

“Ok, so what will you cover? The White Sox or
Cubs?”

“Nope”

“The Chicago Bulls or Blackhawks”

“No, Dad.”

“Local college teams?”

“Dad, I’ll be spending my time outside on frozen
football fields, in sweaty little gyms, and on pock-marked baseball
fields. I’m on the high school sports beat.”

‘Son, I just offer this advice. Dive in. Embrace
your vocation. At first, pretend you like it. Later, fall in love
with your assignment. If you love your job, the quality of work
will improve. Fair-minded bosses notice and they reward you for
your efforts. In business, it’s the only recipe for happiness and
advancement.”

Chapter Twelve. A Cub Reporter Is Born

Ronnie Edelman did not want to sign his byline with
his birth name. As a professional writer, he wanted to make it
harder for people to discover his lack of sports participation at
any level. He scoured sports publications and wanted to pick a
macho name from an obscure sport. While leafing through books in
the Daily’s library, he came across a list of English Cricket Hall
of Famers. He researched the long list of players, and adopted the
name of a great, but dead player for his new byline moniker – Frank
Worrell.

***

Several years had passed with thousands of articles
written and credited to Frank Worrell. He took his father’s advice
and leaned into his profession. He became a good football and
baseball scribe, but Frank surpassed everybody’s expectations at
the paper by developing a regular following of people interested in
high school basketball games. They bought more newspapers which
made the advertisers and owners happy alike. He knew this was not
rocket science, and he asked Nancy Kapist for a promotion to the
challenge of crime reporting at every annual review. The paper’s
circulation experienced dramatic increases during the high school
basketball season. More importantly, they measured the hits on the
Windy City’s Daily Web Site and found an incredible draw to his
coverage of prep hoops. Could they ever afford to take Frank off
high school sports?

Frank’s formula was not difficult, but it required a
steady discipline. The secret to his success was his investment in
every aspect of the high school hoop schedule: a combination of
hard work, knowing informed people, and getting them to talk. Frank
became a regular in the summer leagues around the city. Over the
years, he had developed a working relationship with nearly all of
the coaches in Chicagoland who ran serious programs. He knew most
of the NAU elite coaches. Frank knew some of the street agents who
also hung out in the summertime and during basketball season. Many
of the college coaches called him to exchange information. Frank
was very protective of his contacts and sources. His reporting was
insightful from his pre-season, weekly ranking, and playoff
analyses.

The blogs under Frank’s bylines drew spirited
discussion and The Daily was making large amounts of money on web
advertisement revenues and paper circulation. Year in and year out
Frank discussed his career goals with Nancy and others, only to be
rebuffed. He was too valuable where he was. Frank felt pigeonholed
into his assignment as a prep sportswriter. He tried to leverage
his success by talking to the Chicago Tribune, but they offered him
more of the same. He was very frustrated and he felt trapped –
never enough salary, writing about sports, and professionally
unappreciated.

Somewhere along the way, Frank ran into Bobby G. who
became his bookie, probably at a summer high school basketball
league game. Frank worked hard and received raises consummate with
his contributions, but he developed a penchant for gambling on
professional football games. Fall and winter were costly annual
seasons for Frank. He loved to bet but like most gamblers, he
rarely had a winning season. Bobby G. had a way of encouraging
Frank to continue his expensive habit despite losing thousands of
dollars on a regular basis. The bookie would get him to bet
increasing amounts of money, and then ridicule him for his losing
ways. Frank enjoyed the rush he felt on football Sundays of having
gambling interests in several pro games but after most of them, he
had lost money and felt lousy for losing – until the next week,
when he would put up with some more of Bobby G.’s teasing while
making the next round of terrible wagers. No raises received could
keep up with the gambling losses Frank incurred on football
betting.

Chapter Thirteen. St. Marlin’s Locker Room

In the parking lot, the St. Marlin coach climbed
into Bobby G.’s BMW. He was there to conduct a little commerce. He
had given Bobby G. two thousand dollars to ensure that a couple
seventh grade basketball prodigies would attend St Marlin’s camp
next week. It was unseemly for the coach, but Bobby G. suffered no
guilt.

High schools and colleges regularly exploited
athletes. Coaches, trainers, and AD’s had made money off athletic
events and teams. Why shouldn’t the bookie jump on the pay train
too? By selling street agent favors to recruiting coaches, he
developed quite a complimentary business to his high school
bookmaking business. He also began to shake down players and
families who wanted introductions to college programs. He took
bets, and sold flesh.

After paying Bobby G., the coach ran into the school
from the BMW as fast as he could. Bobby G. noticed that two police
officers in an unmarked car were watching him. They probably
observed the coach coming into his car and passing over the dough.
Bobby G. started to panic. He was on court imposed probation and
although his mouthpiece was well connected inside the courthouse,
being busted was always a hassle and usually expensive.

He called his cousin, Davis Fryer, his friend and
cousin from childhood and mate in the disbanded gang.

“Hey Davis, I’m in a fix here and I think I’m
fucked. I need your help.”

“ ’Sup Bobby? Where you at?”

“I’m near your crib, just outside of St Marlin High
School. I think the
PoPo
watched me do a transaction with a
guy in the parking lot. He’s watching me with binoc’s. You’re still
my Ace, right?”

“I got your back bro. Are you
loaded
?” Davis
asked.

“I’ve got a dime bag, eight grand and my old
Cobalt
.
”

Bobby G. had shaken down a few coaches that day and
did not want to have to explain the money to the police. The dime
bag of pot was just part of his trouble. The unregistered pistol
had sentimental value to Bobby G. It reminded him of the gang he
willingly joined many years ago with Davis, and although saddened
by its infiltrated demise, he cherished this illegal gun with the
deep blue handle.

“Don’t get caught with any of that, Bro. You can’t
leave that shit in your car – they’re going to search your BMW. You
know that, right? OK, here’s the deal. Take that with you into the
school. Flush the hooch down the toilet. Put the
piece
and
the dough in a locker when no one is looking. Tell me the locker
number. The pigs are gonna rummage through your car, so play it
cool. While they are hassling you, I’ll get your stuff and meet up
with you at your crib.”

“I’m putting the Cobalt and cash in my pouch. Hold
on…I’ll tell you which locker once I get inside.”

Bobby G. dashed into the empty boy’s locker room
next to the gym. He was panting from running, but had work to do.
The place reeked of rusted metal, decaying walls and over taxed
plumbing. He looked at the row of wall-mounted urinals. He quickly
made a pass in front of the stalls and looked under the doors but
saw no feet. Bobby G. opened the plastic bag, dumped the pot into
the urinal, and pulled the flush handle. He hurried down an aisle,
placed his fanny pack inside a locker and slammed it shut.