Editor bids fond farewell to 'The Chronicle’

He drove north on Interstate 15 until the stark Mojave Desert of Nevada gave way to the picturesque red rock vistas of southern Utah.

For a reason known only to him, he exited on State Highway 9 and pulled off onto a dirt road not far from the entrance to Zion National Park. He drove the Cadillac until the road ended at a meadow along the banks of the Virgin River.

Nobody knew how long this man, a middle-age Las Vegas resident with a recent run of financial trouble, sat gazing at the high-desert landscape through his windshield, but at some point during that summer day in 1994, he put a .380-caliber pistol to his head and pulled the trigger.

His body was discovered a month later.

The gruesome find was reported to the county sheriff. Editors at the local newspaper heard the traffic on the police radio and sent a veteran photographer and me, a 22-year-old recent graduate of journalism school, to find out whether this was murder – a big story in rural Utah.

The sun was low in the sky when we rolled up on the scene, and the smell of death also hung low in the air. The authorities made no attempt to keep us back. This was before the O.J. Simpson verdict – cops were friendlier before O.J. Besides, they were confident they were dealing with a suicide. Through the Coupe de Ville’s dirty window they could see what was left of the corpse’s fingers clutching the pistol.

I chatted with a deputy county attorney, whom I had met only months earlier, until a supervisor arrived and gave deputies the green light to retrieve the body. A jar of mentholated jelly was passed around, and we all took turns rubbing it under our noses, which we then covered with paper dust masks. After the car door was opened, however, nothing could thwart the stench.

A deputy wrenched the pistol from the dead man’s hand, but not before accidentally discharging a shot into the car’s plush interior. With the gun secured, the body was bagged and, as the photographer continued to snap pictures that no newspaper would ever publish, I came to the realization that no amount of time would erase the grotesque images from my brain.

The authorities were doing an inventory of the car’s contents when a funeral home van arrived to take the body. They spoke briefly and helped the driver load the bag onto a stretcher. Then they went back to rummaging through the car while the photographer took pictures.

The driver and I stood there for a short time before he turned to me and asked whether I could help him load the stretcher into the van. After a slight hesitation, I obliged.

Once the photographer decided he had a picture suitable for publication, we went back to the office, and I did something that I would find myself doing nearly every day for the next decade and a half: I sat down at a computer, pulled a small notebook from my pocket and wrote a story for the newspaper.

It’s now time to let someone else have a turn.

In case the headline didn’t tip you off, you are reading my final piece of work as a newspaper journalist. I am leaving The Augusta Chronicle.

As of Tuesday , I will be employed as a public information specialist at the Medical College of Georgia’s Division of University Advancement, Office of Strategic Communications.

I will be working on publications that help advance the mission of an institution that is not only crucial to the economy of the Augusta metro area but also crucial to future of health care throughout the region. I consider that to be important work.

Still, my decision to leave did not come without much soul-searching.

I have wanted to work for a newspaper since I was a child. In high school, I excelled in only two things: the student newspaper and metal shop. My parents wanted me to be a welder; I wanted to be a journalist.

I followed my heart, and I’ve had no regrets.

I’ve learned more about people and society in 14 years than some people will learn in a lifetime. I’ve had access to places most people will never see. I’ve interviewed just about every type of person you can think of, including a member of the French resistance, a gang of neo-Nazis, CEOs, Indian chiefs, felons, politicians who would become felons, celebrities, an Amway salesman who thought he was a celebrity, and even the president of the United States. (though he was governor of Texas at the time).

My favorite assignment, without a doubt, has been covering business news for The Augusta Chronicle during the past decade. Ten years is not long compared to many journalism careers – there are people who sit less than 50 feet from me who have been in the business nearly a half-century – but it is the longest tenure of any business reporter/editor in modern history at The Chronicle, a publication known as “The South’s Oldest Newspaper.”

The next crop of business journalists is ready to bring you the local financial news of the day. I leave the business section of this newspaper in the capable hands of senior business reporter Tim Rausch, who will be taking over in the interim while my full-time replacement is sought. Tim’s interim duties also include taking over this column, so, after I am gone, Scuttlebiz will live on.

During my time in Augusta, I’ve seen a handful of PR shills try to make a buck by masquerading as business journalists. I can assure you that Tim and business reporter LaTina Emerson will continue to be your No. 1 source for local business news. No one else does it better, and you know it. That’s why you keep coming back for real news day in, day out.

I’d like to take the remaining three column inches of space and give thanks to some people.

First, I want to thank the professionals with whom I’ve had the pleasure of working throughout the years. They deserve the most thanks because, in addition to bringing you news and information, they bear the thankless task of defending the First Amendment, the freedom that gives us all others.

I also want to thank the officials, sources, public information officers, spokespeople, tipsters, gadflies and others who have provided me with information over the years. I wouldn’t have been able to do my job without these folks.

Finally , I want to thank you, the reader, the one who has made all of this possible. Without you, there would have been no me.

Thanks for letting me be me.