No wonder they call jobs 'work'

I suppose every job and profession, no matter how glamorous, exciting or financially rewarding, has its downside - even writing a newspaper column.

If you hit, throw or kick a ball well enough, you might receive a salary higher than the gross national income of most of the countries in the world. However, it is probably a pain to make sure your chauffeurs keep the Spirit of Ecstasy hood ornaments on all your Rolls Royces properly polished.

Even a chocolate lover working in a chocolate candy factory does not have a carefree career. My friend Murgatroyd ate so much chocolate on the job that the letters "HERSHEY'S" appeared on his forehead like a high-caloric birthmark.

My career in the fast-paced, fun-filled world of journalism was no exception to this phenomenon. There were assignments that every reporter in the newsroom would volunteer for. Then there were other stories that would send news staff members diving under their desks as if the Luftwaffe was making one final bombing mission just for old time's sake.

At least my newspaper carrier career during my teen years prepared me for the ups and downs of the newspaper business. It was great collecting from my customers the week before Christmas when the holiday spirit really spiffed up my tips.

However, there was a real danger of my knuckles sticking to aluminum storm doors in sub-zero temperatures as I tried to carry out my Saturday morning collections throughout the rest of the winter.

These drawbacks did not go away in more pleasant weather. Even at my peak speed, I was about a foot or two faster than a charging German shepherd. When I was slowed down by carrying a bagful of newspapers laden with advertising inserts, that margin was reduced to an alarming degree.

Writing articles and stories for the newspaper and having the carriers cope with frosted storm doors and naughty doggies was a heck of a lot easier, yet journalism is not quite like working "the day away in the merry, old Land of Oz."

There are generally three options when it comes to reporting. You can make a big story out of small amount of information, a small story out of a large amount of information, or write so the article and information come out about the same size.

Back in the days before computers, when typewriters still roamed the earth, the only way you could deal with press releases was to have the editor mark what he or she wanted and then have the reporter follow those orders. This was not a problem when the editor wanted me to condense a nine-page news release into one paragraph. The difficulty arose when the editor wanted all of the information made into an article.

This typewriting task was usually compounded because, in most cases, the longest press releases contained the most names. Names are looked upon as precious commodities and woe to the reporter who misspells one.

There are two problems inherent in this. The first is that the people who submit releases often misspell the names themselves. I would correct the names I was familiar with and pray.

The second complication is that in this area, many people don't mess around when it comes to surnames. The general rule about last names is - the longer, the better. It is as though when families were getting their last names they forgot to say "when."

I did have an easier time than my colleagues who were not from the area. Even though I grew up here and have one of those three-syllable-or-more names, I had my troubles because of the many variations. For instance, a name could end with a "ski," "sky," "skie" or even "skey."

However, that kind of "skiing" was more like a game and less like a chore. The person-on-the-street interviews were nothing like a game and everything like a chore for me.

The question I had to ask passersby arose from a hot local topic or a cold local news day. Equipped with question, camera and grave misgivings, I ventured out to try to snag six people who would give me their opinions and let me take their picture.

The preceding assignment doesn't sound like it would be difficult to do, but, believe me, it was. I would never have made it as a salesperson because I am hesitant to approach people to ask them to do something.

This meant that I would spend hours on a street corner or in front of a supermarket trying to fill my quota of opinions/pictures. I should have put an empty cigar box in front of me so at least I would have gotten some extra cash for my efforts.

Potential question answerers usually fell into one of two categories. There were shy who either lowered their eyes as they passed or scurried across the street like a cat with a guilty conscience.

These people didn't upset me like the other group did. I would stop a guy, tell him what I was doing, give him the topic and then take notes while he talked for 20 minutes. When he got done, I would go to take his picture to accompany his comment, he would say, "I don't want to be in the paper."

This type of frustration went on until the day when I finally found a solution. I flagged down a newspaper carrier and made a deal. He would do my person-in-the-street interviews and I would go around Saturday mornings and collect from his customers.

(Kozlowski, a freelance writer from Mount Carmel, composes "Walt's Way" for each Sunday edition.)

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