A sweet vintage ride winds its way through the downtown, just like so many did on Sept. 15, 2000 — my first day at the San Bernardino Sun.
By John Murphy
Monday, Sept. 15 is the 25th anniversary of my first day at the San Bernardino Sun.
I know this, because my son Kyle was born the day before. Looking back, I should have asked my new boss Paul Oberjuerge for three months of paternity leave. I’m sure he would have agreed.
That first day at the Sun was a Friday. A football Friday. As things turned out, I probably should have started on a Monday.
To wit:
Arrive at the Cajon High football stadium to cover the Cowboys vs. Apple Valley … Amazed there are no game programs nor printed rosters anywhere, I say to the Cajon principal, “How is that a program of your stature doesn’t have a roster for either team anywhere in the stadium?” … 15 minutes later, the principal emerges from the school and hands me two crisp rosters. So far, so good.
Cajon dominates and wins by a lot. I interview the coaches and Cajon star Exnor Cox and then head for downtown San Bernardino to file my story.
Cajon is a fair distance from the old Sun, but I arrive downtown in short order only to learn – NO! — the Route 66 Rendezvous is in full swing. There is old-time rock ‘n’ roll blaring and 1000s of shiny vintage cars circling the downtown and cutting off my access to the paper. I’m screwed.
I wind up parking somewhere beyond Seccombe Lake, a mile or so east of DTSB. Next thing I know, I’m sprinting toward the downtown like I’m Jesse Owens – that is, if Jesse Owens is an overweight, poorly conditioned white guy.
Finally, I arrive at the venerable newspaper but remember that I don’t yet have a key. Crap. So I track down a worker at the Sun’s Route 66 booth and she walks me over to the building and lets me in. Whew.
Finally, I start writing and bang out the story, though I’m sure it’s not Pulitzer-worthy. Soon, our boss is handing out Twinkies for another Friday night football challenge met. Smiles all around.
That would have been it – except now I have to get my car. So I head back toward Seccombe Lake and look around for a while and … CAN’T FIND MY CAR!
How does one lose a 1989 Oldsmobile Delta 88 that is roughly the size of a small airplane? Not sure, but I did it.
So now I’m walking again, and this time in the opposite direction. I wind up way the hell out on Waterman at a Circle K. It’s near midnight and I need a ride home and San Berdoo creatures of the evening are lurking. So I do the logical thing and call a cab. To get home. On my first day. You can’t make this stuff up.
Well, my father-in-law is amused to hear this tale and agrees to drive me back the next day to hunt for my rig. Thankfully, we find it.
Then my Cajon vs. Apple Valley story is published and all is good … until Cajon football coach Rich Imbriani calls and says I shorted poor Exnor Cox by 100 yards. Double crap. But Imbriani is exceedingly nice about it and doesn’t call me a dumbshit and I’ve liked him ever since.
Well, that’s it. My first day. It was a nightmare, but I’m glad I muddled through it because my Sun days were important to me. In fact, a quarter-century removed I wouldn’t change a thing – though I’d likely tweak that trainwreck of a first day.
Main Street Dog 