I'm a life-long optimist and have spent most of that life in anticipation, waiting for the next exciting thing to come along. But the next big moment of my life in Rockford was totally unanticipated and more than a little scary for a neophyte journalist and new husband.

It was the first week of January in 1969 and I was in a nice groove, handling a variety of assignments inside and outside the office. I had just come back from interviewing future Olympic skater Janet Lynn, a local girl.

When I was given the assignment to interview the teenage phenom there was also some talk about me going to Denver and then to Tokyo to cover the nationals and world championships the next year. That talk started me dreaming about covering other major events like the Olympics, Super Bowls and the World Series.

As I walked into the sports department, sports editor Rick Talley beckoned me into his office.

When he got up and closed the door behind me, my mind began to race. What had I screwed up? I couldn't think of anything, but I still had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Rick sat down at his desk and looked at me without saying anything for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, he began.

"I'm leaving to become the sports editor of a Chicago paper, the Chicago American," he said quietly, making sure his voice didn't carry past the glass door. "It's an afternoon paper and it's going to be renamed Chicago Today."

I thought for a moment he was going to offer to take me with him, Instead, he said, "I'm telling you first because I want you to get a head start on finding a new job."

Talk about stunning news. I was so shocked I almost didn't take in his next few sentences.

"I think you're the most talented writer on this staff and my plan was to bring you along and make you into a national writer,'' Rick explained. "But, now that I'm leaving, I'm afraid you'll just get stuck here. So, I think you should leave, too."

"Where would I go?" I blurted.

Rick smiled and said, "I worked at UPI for a short time, and that was a great learning experience. I got to cover Kruschev's visit to the U.S. and a lot of other important stories and it was a great resume builder.

"A little time at a wire service could really help move you along," he added.

I walked out of his office with a million thoughts swirling in my brain. What do I do now? Where would I go next? Despite what Rick said, maybe I should just stay put and see what happens.

It was all very confusing.

The Rockford papers were subscribers to both United Press International and The Associated Press. I read both of the wires every day that I was in the office. I couldn't see much difference between them at that point. I really knew very little about the two companies and which one might be a better fit for me - that is, if either one would even consider hiring a writer who had been in the business for just over 16 months.

Barry Sweet, one of my best friends growing up in Madison, was a staff photographer for AP in Seattle. I decided to call him and see if he had any advice.

"Don't even think about going to UPI," he said. "They're in financial trouble. Besides, AP is by far the better place to be."

Okay. Now what?

Judy, staying cool and thinking things through, as usual, suggested I call the AP's headquarters in New York City and talk to someone in the personnel department (now human resources). I talked with a very nice man named Bruce Richardson, who later became a friend.

He told me the way to apply for a job as a newsman was to contact a bureau chief and set up an appointment for an interview and to take a written test.

"Since you're in Rockford, If you want to stay in that area, you can talk with Dion Henderson in Milwaukee or Al Orton in Chicago,'' Bruce said. "You're kind of halfway between them."

Judy's parents lived in Skokie, a northern suburb of Chicago, so it made sense to call there first. I got Mr. Orton on the line, told him who I was and why I was calling and he said, "When can you come into the office? You'll need about three hours to go through everything."

We set up an appointment for my next day off, Wednesday, Jan. 8. That was only five days after my sit-down with Rick Talley. Things were moving awfully fast and it was more than a little mind-boggling.

Judy and I drove to her parents' home that Tuesday and, the next morning, she dropped me off at the Skokie Swift, the train that connects Skokie to the Howard Street El, a mainline train to Chicago's Loop, where the AP bureau was located.

I bought a Sun-Times newspaper before boarding the train and couldn't believe my eyes when I glanced at the front page.

Near the bottom, surrounded by a thick black border, was the headline: "AP Hit By First Strike In Its History."

It was only two paragraphs, noting that the union representing AP employees began the strike at midnight and was seeking a multiyear contract with considerable improvement in pay and other benefits.

I didn't know what to do. I thought about trying to call Mr. Orton and rescheduling my visit. But I was already on the train. It made more sense to me to go in and see what the situation actually was.
The AP  bureau was located in a high-rise office building at the corner of Randolph and LaSalle, right in the heart of Chicago's famed downtown Loop.

As I neared the building, I saw a group of people walking a picket line outside the front door, holding signs with slogans like "You can't spell Cheap without AP." I was already a member of the Newspaper Guild and hated the idea of crossing a picket line.

But people were walking in and out of the building and I realized there were a lot of other tenants besides AP, which I found out was located on the fourth floor. I decided I needed to go in and find Mr. Orton.

I  walked in the door of the AP bureau and it was like entering a madhouse. It seemed like most people were talking, either to each other or on phones, and others were dashing here and there, clutching papers and notebooks in their hands or typing frantically.

I stood by the door until someone finally asked me what I was doing there. "I'd like to talk to Mr. Orton,'' I said.

Moments later, he walked up, looking embarrassed. He introduced himself and shook my hand, saying, "I'm so sorry, I forgot you were coming in today. We're a little busy. Maybe we should reschedule."

But, before I could reply, he said, "No, you came all the way from Rockford. If you want, I'll just give you the material and you can grab an empty desk and take the test. When you're done, you can leave it on my desk and I'll call you when this strike is over."

I ignored what was going on around me and spent most of the day doing the various sections of the writing test _ writing a short story on a car crash and another on fire, taking a vocabulary test and putting down a short autobiography. I totally ignored the time limits and did a number of rewrites to polish my efforts.

Finally, I put the paperwork on Mr. Orton's desk, caught his eye, waved and left.

Back in Rockford, things went back to routine, although I thought about my options a lot. I told Judy that it was unlikely, even without the strike interfering, that AP would hire a novice like me.

The only strike in AP's history, dating to 1846,  ended after eight days with the union getting a precedent-setting three-year contract.

The day after the strike ended, as I was getting ready to leave for the start of my 5 p.m. shift, the phone rang. I said, "Hello." Without identifying himself, the voice on the other end of the line replied, "How soon can you come to work?"

It. was Mr. Orton, of course, and I breathlessly told him I had to give Rockford two weeks notice. He said, "Welcome aboard! We're looking forward to having you here."

It was the start of my next great adventure.