JIM HENDRICKS: A long journey ends and a new adventure begins

You just know when it’s time.

I’ve spent pretty much my entire adult life fighting deadlines. In the newspaper business, you’re struggling to get that last call made, that last paragraph written, that last double-checking of a fact.

On one particularly bad night when I was a night editor, pages were late and the press people were breathing fire down my neck, I threw a reporter’s notebook as far down the composing room as I could.

“What was that for?” someone asked.

“I was throwing it out of bounds to stop the clock,” I said.

It didn’t work. Time stops for no man — or notebook.

You have to respect deadlines, even ones for careers. This is my last column as editor of The Albany Herald, my last column as an employee of The Herald. It’s the one you want to be a good one. I’m afraid I’m failing. After 34 years, eight months and six days — someone asked me; I counted it up — I’m wrapping up a career with a company where I initially planned to work 18 months, maybe two years tops.

It was a long couple of years.

The Albany Herald provided me the means to support my family, build a house, buy some cars, help our kids get through college, and keep the lights on and food on the table. During hard times when other news media companies were furloughing employees, The Herald never did. I’m grateful for all of that, and more.

I’m extremely grateful for the opportunities I had here. A lot of folks were surprised that a boy from, as people have referred to it, the State of Baker could become editor of Albany’s daily newspaper. Nobody was more surprised than me. I owe publishers Gary Boley and Mike Gebhart, both of whom I count as friends, a great deal of gratitude for taking chances on me, and the late Jimmy Gray Jr. for giving me a chance at all.

The first story I ever turned in here was, frankly, a mess. Jimmy was a bit more eloquent describing it when he told me to print it out, take it to a “real reporter” to fix, and to never turn garbage like that in again.

I got better. In a hurry. I became a newspaperman.

The worst fear I have now is I’ll leave someone important out. I know I will. There have been many more Herald people and alumni who I am indebted to than I’ll be able to mention, but some who stand out are Earl Braswell, who spent a lot of Saturday nights teaching me editing and layout skills; David Pierce, who taught me how to report; Danny Carter, the consummate newsman who led by example; Todd Stone, the best cameraman we ever had who taught me early on, and Dee Maret, the guy who taught me how to run a newsroom. The five years I got to work with Dee were the best of my career.

And there’s Carlton Fletcher, the James Brown of newspapers, who I could always depend on to go the extra 10 miles or so; Bill Strickland, who played so many roles; Mary Braswell and Vicki Harris, two of the most wonderful people you could ask to work with, and Cheryl Frakes, who kept me out of hot water on the business side of the paper.

Not a complete list by any means, but a good one, and all good friends.

Away from the paper, I owe so much to my late parents, Bill and Dorothy, who made sure I got an education and then encouraged me every step of the way. Mama clipped out every word I wrote. And I owe my late uncle, Earl Jones, who I could always call on for advice.

Most of all, I owe my wife, Cheryl, and my kids, Steven and Justin. I spent a lot of time at the office or out chasing stories instead of being with them at ballgames, school events, special days and plain old days.

I spent our 30th wedding anniversary working on a laptop, and we still have a 31st anniversary coming up this May.

If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.

In my defense, she knew what she was getting into. When we were dating, I took her with me to cover, of all things, a Plains City Council meeting.

Who says a newspaperman can’t show a gal a good time?

I’ve been asked, why change and why now? A few reasons. I felt it was time. My roots in art go at least as deep as my roots in writing. I’m excited about a new adventure at the Albany Museum of Art, and I think Paula Williams will be a wonderful person to work for. And while I know I’ll never get back the family time I missed, the time I missed with Cheryl, I can find a better balance in living and working.

I followed two of the rules I’ve developed over the years. One is to always go to something, not away from something else. I’m going to a job I want. My No. 1 rule: Reason with your mind, feel with your heart and go with your gut. My gut told me it was time. I was driving to work with “the letter” that is changing my life. “When you hand this resignation in,” I thought, “the clock starts ticking. What is it you want to get done in 28 days that you didn’t get done in 34 years?”

I couldn’t think of a thing. I left nothing on the table. I’m at peace.

I’ve already exceeded the number of words it took to tell the creation story in Genesis, and since nothing I have to say is more important than all of creation, I’ll wrap it up with a thank you to everyone who has subscribed to or picked up a copy of The Albany Herald, and to those who advertise in it. Your support keeps real journalism alive, just as Carlton and his team will.

I’ll be reading them, too.

God has blessed me. It’s the finish line of a long journey and now I get to start another brand-new adventure. So, I’ll say thank you to each of you one last time, and end this chapter of my life with an old newspaper tradition.

Oh, and I’ll be home as soon as I can, sweetheart.

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