Goodbye Charlotte, Part 1 of 3

When The Charlotte News retracted a story I wrote in May 1971 I resigned and went to work for The News & Observer where I remained until I retired in 2008, 37 years later.   It didn’t seem so at the time but I realized later that this was the hand of God at work in my life. I know, I know. Many of you, maybe most of you, doubt that God does such things. But I urge you: Keep an open mind until you’ve finished reading this story.

* * *

I interned at The News in the summers of 1960, 1963, and 1965 and when I graduated from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill I went to work there full time in the summer of 1966.  They started me at $120 a week [$49,622 a year in 2018 dollars] and told me I had better turn to —i.e., hit the ball– because that was the most money they had ever paid anyone straight out of college.

It was a fun place to work and for the most of the next five years I was treated like the fair-haired boy.   The N&O approached me twice during those years about coming to work in Raleigh, but I wasn’t interested. Why would I be?

**My wife, Donna, and I had three children and had bought a house not far from where we had gone to high school together.

**Both of us had family in Charlotte, parents, siblings.

**Donna was a Charlotte native; my family had moved to Charlotte when I was 11 years old.  It was home.

**I was getting good assignments.  My salary had increased 77 percent in four years and I was due another raise.

**Perry Morgan, the editor, had taken me under his wing and was teaching me the craft.

**When I needed more money I could work nights and weekends assembling partitions at my brother’s box shop, a part-time job I could not duplicate anywhere else.

No,  forget Raleigh.  I wasn’t going.

***

Tuesday, May 11, 1971

Our county government/courts reporter was out that day and I was assigned to fill in for him. It was beat I had covered and I knew the ropes.

The Charlotte Observer had burned us that morning and I was going to have to do the rewrite. The police had arrested a doctor over the weekend, during the wee hours of the morning, for failing to appear in court on a charge of operating a motorboat without identification numbers, The Observer story said.

But the doctor had paid his ticket and waived his court appearance, the story said. His arrest was a huge mistake.

The first three paragraphs of the rewrite.
The first three paragraphs of the rewrite.

I tracked down the Mecklenburg County Clerk of Superior Court to get an explanation, but he wouldn’t answer my questions.  All I had was The Observer story and the clerk’s “No comment.”  I knew how the system worked. I knew the clerk’s office was responsible, but I didn’t know how the mistake had happened.

So I wrote:

“Clerk of Superior Court R. Max Blackburn refused to explain today why a warrant was issued for a Charlotte doctor after the doctor waived his right to trial on a minor wildlife violation and paid a $15 fine.” 

Late that afternoon, after my story was published, I received an alarming note from Morgan, the top editor at The News and my mentor.  He said he was “amazed” at my story.

this is a 1986 file photo of perry morgan, former publisher of the virginian-pilot and the ledger-star. photo was taken in march, l986.
Perry Morgan. Photo courtesy of the Virginian-Pilot and the Ledger-Star.

“A lede that implied without a shred of substantiation that Blackburn was at fault and was deliberately trying to take a public-be-damned attitude leaves the reader with the impression that we were taking a cheap shot,” he said.

“Were we?”

Continued tomorrow.

Texarkana Pit Stop

When I was released from active duty in the Navy, in September 1962, I road a bus home, from San Diego to Charlotte, a trip that took the best part of three days.

[Why San Diego and not Long Beach, California, my ship’s home port?  The USS Los Angeles had gone to San Diego for some reason or another and that’s where I was released.]

The bus stopped every few hours so passengers could go to the bathroom and, if they wanted to, buy a coke and nabs, or a sandwich. One stop was in Texarkana, right smack on the Texas-Arkansas border.

I got off to go the bathroom.

The Men’s Room was the crappiest public restroom I had ever seen but, still, serviceable. When I was done, I bought a coke and while I was standing around I noticed a second “Men’s Room.”

Sierra Exif JPEG

Two Men’s Rooms?

The light was dawning and I checked it out.  The signs had been taken down but the other men’s room had been for “White Men” only.  The one I had used had been for “Colored Men.” The two Men’s Rooms were separate but they sure weren’t equal.

Coming Monday: Goodbye Charlotte, Part 1 of 3