Other jobs I'd like...

Yesterday's post was so well received, I thought I'd share another one along the same vein. Forgive me if this is shorter than usual. I feel terrible and it is Natalie Wood Day on Turner Classic Movies.

Here are a few other jobs I wish I had -- ones I think about during those Walter Mitty moments...

Being Charles Kuralt -- Longtime Pull Up A Chair readers know this one. I have often dreamed of taking what I do for the Shopper-News and doing it from sea to shining sea.

Oh, I couldn't do it with Kuralt's eloquence and mastery of language, but maybe I could do it in print, about a quarter as well as Kuralt. His "On the Road" segments were my favorite part of the old "CBS Evening News." I own a lot of them on DVD.

After all, Kuralt said two things I very much believe:

"It does no harm, just once in awhile, to acknowledge that the whole world isn't in flames, that there are people in this country besides politicians, entertainers and criminals."

And:

"The everyday kindness of the backroads more than makes up for the greed in the headlines."

Being Ed Murrow -- I'm not and never will be anywhere near Murrow's universe, but, gosh, I admire that guy. In addition to all the important work he did with Fred Friendly, he also hosted "Person to Person," interviewing everybody from Bing Crosby to Liberace, all while the wisp of smoke floated up from his fingers.

Being on "What's My Line?" Yet another fact that won't shock all five of my longtime readers. I love this show. It is by far the classiest, coolest, most stylish "game show" in network history.

Half the time I want to be John Charles Daly, news reporter during the week for ABC, erudite host  of "WML?" on Sunday nights for CBS. The other half of the time, I wish I were Bennett Cerf, the hokey wit of the panel, but as his day job, co-founder of Random House at the high-water mark of 20th century American literature. Heck, Arlene Francis and Martin Gabel were his next door neighbors!

"That's three down and seven to go...Mr. Cerf?"

(Look up some of the mystery guest segments from "WML?" on YouTube. It's a "Who's Who" of 20th century stars from all galaxies.) Here is my favorite.

Working for The New Yorker in the William Shawn era -- Every writer's dream. A few years ago, Garrison Keillor played out my fantasy in a fun novel called "Love, Me" I would have missed had it not been for my friend and fellow bibliophile, Mercer University professor Dr. Bridget Trogden. Read it, if you're of a certain persuasion.

Being "The Announcer" -- Johnny Olson, Ed McMahon, Gary Owens ... I know, for example, I lack the talent to be Carson, so let me be Ed. For years, introducing the guests and saying, "Heeeeeeeere's Johnny!" was on my bucket list. I also had this incredible urge to exclaim, "Get ready to match THE STARS!" every time I watched "Match Game." And, yeah, I sometimes say "From beautiful downtown Burbank!" when nobody's listening. Sock it to me!

Have a good week, y'all. See you in the Shopper. Don't miss my column this week on Archie "Hee Haw" Campbell. Some things may surprise you. (This particular link will work for one week.)

An Independence Day memory, 'On the Road'

Discovering a clip on YouTube this morning sent me surfing over the tides of time, back to Independence Day, 1997.

I was in Jackson Hole, Wyo., on vacation with my family. Fireworks and fun. Patriotic rhythm and rhyme and even a rodeo. Hot dogs and happy day.

But my heart was broken. That night I learned Charles Kuralt was dead.

We throw around the word "hero" like yesterday's garbage, but if I have one in this word herding business, it is Kuralt. (And Ernie Pyle.)

Kuralt said two things I've used as my personal credo these last 12 years while working at the community weekly.

"It does no harm," he said, "just once in awhile, to acknowledge that the whole world isn't in flames, that there are people in this country besides politicians, entertainers and criminals."

Here's the second one, even more super:

"The everyday kindness of the back roads more than makes up for the greed in the headlines."

I watched him as a boy, "On the Road" and on "CBS Sunday Morning," the latter just before going off to church. I can still see him sitting on a stool just before the colors faded to black.

The day after he died, I walked up to a bookstore that has since shut its doors in Jackson. I skimmed the shelves. There it was. "A Life on the Road" by Charles Kuralt.

While my family met friends, I stayed behind, propped my feet up on a picnic table, the great Grand Tetons as my backdrop, and read Kuralt's memories from a life on the road.

Don't bring up that business about his personal life. Take it elsewhere. He did what he did. I am not his judge.

Charles Kuralt taught me how to love my country and its people, how to really love it, in the right way. He also taught me that there is most definitely a place in the paper for people other than politicians, entertainers and criminals.

Oh, how he is missed.

Here is the YouTube video that sparked the memory, his last appearance as the host of my favorite TV series.

The speech

I joked that I'd shown up because I'd seen a light on and was looking for food, but guess who was asked to speak to the senior citizens at Beaver Dam church last night?

Yeah, I know. They must not have been able to get anybody else.

I love speaking to seniors. They're nice. They cook well. They get my references to radio shows and Lawrence Welk. They applaud even when I try to sing.

So, I told them about the time I got all tongue-tied when I met Tom Selleck in New York. And I said that I used to want to be an Oak Ridge Boy when I grew up. (I still do, come to think about it.)

And I told them about Catfish Dave and Bruce Blakely and Ed Byer and several other super stories it's been my privilege to share over these past 11 years.

I told them that the thing I loved most when Sandra Clark sold the Shopper to Scripps five years ago was being able to say that I work for the same company that once employed my hero, war correspondent Ernie Pyle.

I like Ernie because he hung out in the trenches with the troops. And he wrote well. A favorite observation: "When you go long enough without a bath, even the fleas leave you alone."

My other hero, the late, great Charles Kuralt, who worked for CBS News, has a great quote. "The everyday kindness of the backroads," he said, "more than makes up for the greed in the headlines.

I told the seniors at Beaver Dam that, too. And I believe it.

Thanks for having me, y'all.

Life's real heroes, somewhere 'On the Road'

My dream is to one day travel from sea to shining sea, notepad and camera in tow, finding and telling the stories that really matter, those about so-called ordinary people doing extraordinary things.

Charles Kuralt, the reporter who told such tales better than anyone else, once said that "it does no harm, just once in awhile, to acknowledge that the whole country isn't in flames, that there are people in this country besides politicians, entertainers and criminals." He made a career -- a rather good one -- doing just that for CBS News, both "On the Road" and as host of TV's best news program, "CBS Sunday Morning."

Kuralt, and Ernie Pyle -- who in his wonderful way also wrote about such folks during World War II -- are two of the few journalists who deserve to be called heroes. They are mine.

I have tried, in my feeble fashion in my little corner of the country, to share such stories about such people. I do not have one-tenth of Kuralt's talent, but I keep trying. His is a fine example.

I found a clip containing several of Kuralt's best "On the Road" dispatches on YouTube. It can be found here. The entire program, aired on "CBS Sunday Morning" a few days after Kuralt's 1997 death -- on Independence Day, no less -- is worth a look.

Have to share this personal aside: The day Charles Kuralt died I was vacationing with family in Jackson Hole, Wyo. They planned to hang out with friends that afternoon. I didn't feel too terrific. By then I already had rumblings I wanted to be a writer and had spent many Sunday mornings before church in awe of Kuralt's poetry.

So I stayed behind and decided to walk to a little bookstore -- it's no longer there -- to hunt something to read. Lo and behold, on the shelf sat a paperback copy of Kuralt's memoir, "A Life on the Road." I spent the afternoon alone, reading and remembering.

I don't know if I will ever get the opportunity to file dispatches from Walla Walla, Wash., or Beaufort, S.C., or a million ports in between. Meantime I will keep plugging away here in Halls, telling tales and swapping stories, knowing deep in my heart that the true heroes aren't in Washington, New York or Hollywood. They are out there, in the big expanse known as the heartland, somewhere "On the Road."

Out there somewhere

As I've tossed and turned tonight, losing my ubiquitous battle with insomnia, I heard the whistling of a train.

Oh, not really. I think it came to me during a brief moment when I crossed over into slumber. But it reminded me of the wanderlust that often lies beneath the surface of my life.

I have long been attracted to the open road. I've told you before that the only other dream job I would want besides my own is the ability to travel the back roads of America in search of adventure and a good story. It's one reason I love Charles Kuralt's "On the Road," Kerouac's "On the Road" and the old TV series "Route 66."

Responsibilities and being poor add up to the reality that I often have to get there vicariously. Last summer in Asheville I bought a copy of Kerouac. I think I will read it when I finish Conroy.

Maybe before the weather turns cold I can scrape up a few pennies and gas up the guzzler. Maybe head down 411 or 27.

As it is, I think I will put on a DVD of Tod and Buzz's adventures, dream about seeking what's out there, and drift off to sleep while the black-and-white flicker from the TV casts an ethereal glow across the room.

Somewhere down the road...

If I have a hero in this journalism bid'ness, it's Charles Kuralt.

Brief synopsis for those who don't know: Kuralt was a lovable CBS reporter whose "On the Road" segments, highlighting some quirky or inspiring tidbit from the American heartland, were a staple of the "CBS Evening News" for years. He also hosted my favorite weekly news show, "CBS News Sunday Morning," which is now in the capable hands of the velvet-voiced Charles Osgood.

The day Kuralt died (July 4, 1997), I found myself in the shadow of the Grand Tetons, in Jackson Hole, Wyo. My parents and siblings were going to spend the day with friends who lived in the area. But, I wanted to be by myself. I had bought Kuralt's autobiography and spent the day reading it.

I have tried to pattern my writing style and subject matter after Kuralt's. Others at my newspaper are experts at politics, government and gossip. Other than school board, I don't touch it.

My heart lies with the guy down the street who fiddles one day and fishes the next. Or with the woman who makes jams and jellies for the county fair. Or with two twin sisters who graduated valedictorian and salutatorian from their college class.

Such stories aren't hard news, but they say something more universal. They remind us that we are human beings, that life exists outside the Washington beltway and Manhattan cocktail parties. Such people built this country. We owe them much.

It's one reason why I hate losing Bill Landry and his "Heartland Series." Landry has been to Appalachia what Kuralt was to Backroads America -- its poet.

My dream is to get paid to travel around the great United States and tell these stories. Alas, modern realities and budget constraints most likely won't allow that.

So, my plan is to get out at least once a month beginning in September, pick destinations that are less than a day's drive, write about what I see, and stay in a cheap hotel if I can't make it back home before the sun sets. I don't think it will break the bank. Plus, I feel like it's some important work that will mesh well with my talent and mind-set. I've already got a couple of stories in mind.

Charles Kuralt is way out of my league. Always will be. But they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I don't know.

Regardless, here's hoping you'll read this signoff before too many more moons slip away --

This is Jake Mabe, Shopper-News, somewhere down the road...