A new part of my journalism education was learning to write broadcast copy, a style meant for radio or TV people to rip off the AP wire and read over the air. It was a different style than what I was used to, but it didn't take long to adapt.
Another part of the job was to work the news desk, answering phones, culling stories from the local papers and handouts, editing other people's copy and coming up with feature stories. Since there are few major sports events in Indy in the summer, I was thrown onto the news side very quickly.
I always preferred to write about sports. While working the news desk provided a great learning opportunity, I would have much preferred to stick to what some pundit termed "the sandbox of journalism."
I have to admit I was a little lost on the days when I was on "sports assignment" in those first few weeks. I came home after the first assignment day and told Judy I just sat around the office all day waiting for somebody to tell me what the assignment was.
It finally occurred to me, after about three days, that I was meant to make up my own assignments on those sports days.
Indianapolis had only one professional team at the time - the Indiana Pacers of the American Basketball Association. The Pacers had just won their first ABA title and I decided a good way to start my sports beat in Indiana would be to write about the team.
I contacted the Pacers' PR person and asked if she had any ideas for a good off-season feature. She suggested writing a story about how Bobby "Slick" Leonard, an Indiana basketball legend and now the coach of the Pacers, had built a championship team.
Sounded good to me. I got Slick's phone number and he could not have been more welcoming.
"Hey, let's get together and talk," he said. "Meet me at the Country Club of Indianapolis at 9 tomorrow morning."
Sounded good to me. A breakfast interview with a great news source.
When I arrived at the country club, Slick was nowhere to be found in the clubhouse. Finally, I wandered down toward the golf course and there he was, sitting in a golf cart. Next to him in another cart were two very big men, who I quickly found out were Mel Daniels and Bob Netolicky, two of the Pacers' stars, both topping out at 6-foot-9.
"Are you ready to play?" Slick asked with a big grin.
I started to make excuses, but he said, "You wanted to talk to me and I'm on the golf course every day. If you want to talk, you have to play."
He even brought clubs for me, although they were a very old set with worn-out grips.
Then he said, "It's you and me against those guys. We'll play $10 a hole."
I was making $160 a week and had maybe $20 in my pocket. But, what could I say?
They made me go first and I was able to at least hit the ball, sending it maybe 150 yard down the middle. Slick then crushed a drive about 250 yards, which made me feel better about the money. That is, until Mel and Neto hit their drives about 300 yards each.
I struggled around the course, playing my usual impossibly inconsistent game, and we lost almost every hole. But they were all fun guys and, after a while, I stopped worrying and just enjoyed being on the course and talking with them. I also managed to take notes as we went along.
Finally, we reached the 18th hole and Slick said to the players, "Well, guys, looks like you whupped us pretty good. We owe you about $200. That's $100 apiece."
I gulped and, wondering what I was going to say to Judy, I was about to tell them that I'd have to bring them the money later when they all burst out in laughter.
"You should see your face,'' Mel said. "It's priceless. Welcome to Indy, Harris."
Turns out it was a setup. They were just putting me on about the money. Thankfully!
Over the next four-plus years, I had a great time covering one of the best all-around basketball teams in history as they won two more ABA titles and then were absorbed into the National Basketball Association. And I loved spending time with Slick, who told great stories and gave even better advice.
My first out-of-town assignment in Indiana came on the Fourth of July weekend, a bit of a problem since our wedding anniversary is July 3. Judy, who in later years accompanied me on this assignment was disappointed but very understanding about my absence.
I was sent to Madison, IN, a city of about 40,000 on the banks of the Ohio River for another first in my budding career - an Unlimited Hydroplane race.
Before I covered my first Indy 500, I had at least seen race cars on television and read about races and race car drivers in the newspaper. Unlimited Hydroplanes, boats that traveled at speeds up to 200 mph, were totally new to me.
Indiana bureau chief Tom Dygard told me the Madison Courier was a key newspaper member and that I should make sure to help them out as much as possible. In fact, I was to use the Courier newsroom as my office while in town.
I arrived at the newspaper and was introduced to everyone as "AP's sports guy." The managing editor and sports editor offered to take me down to the pit area and introduce me to some of the key players. I was thrilled to accept their offer.
First, they introduced me to Jim McCormick, the driver of the community-owned Miss Madison. You could immediately tell how much pride was involved in having that boat representing the city and how much it meant to bring the regatta to town each year.
I met all the big names of Hydroplane racing, the major leagues of power boating, that day. The top drivers were Bill Muncy and Dean Chenoweth, who piloted the Miss Budweiser, owned by Hydroplane power broker Bernie Little.
I hit it off immediately with Mr. Little, a close friend of August Busch, owner of Anheuser-Busch and a P.T. Barnum-type character. He started telling me the history of the sport, but in a very personal way. I was captivated.
Everything was new to me. When I went back to the newspaper to write my first story - a preview of the upcoming race - my head was spinning. Too much information to cull through and organize into a sensible story.
I decided the safest thing was to keep it simple. The story I dictated to the Indianapolis bureau for the AP wire was about as basic as possible, insuring there would be no big mistakes. But it was nothing that a fan with even a rudimentary knowledge of power boat racing wouldn't know.
That evening, as I thought more about the story, I became a bit embarrassed thinking it was way too simplistic.
The next day was the day before the race and I was determined to make my race lead-in a better, more satisfying effort for the readers and for me. As I walked into the newspaper office, I caught sight of a stack of that day's papers on the counter. I was horrified.
Across the top of the front page in large bold print was the headline: "Thunderboats set for big race in Madison." And under that headline, in print almost as big, was "By Mike Harris, AP Sports Writer."
I asked the managing editor why he would use my story on a local event and, with a surprised look, he said, "You're the AP guy."
That was the first time that I realized just how big writing for the AP really was. From then on I did not take that status for granted.
Even the Indy 500 didn't quite prepare me for the speeds and sounds of my first Madison Regatta. The Unlimited Hydroplanes are nicknamed "Thunderboats," and that's exactly what they sound like. And watching the rooster tails of water flying out behind the boats is spectacular, as well.
I talked quite a bit that week with Bill Muncy, who won the Gold Cup, the pinnacle of power boat racing, eight times. He was totally optimistic about life and Hydroplane Racing.
"When you're out there on the water, it's a wonderful feeling," Muncy told me. "It's just you and the boat and, win or lose, it's an incredible feeling, one I wouldn't trade for anything."
That's pretty much the way I felt when I was caught up in covering an event like the Madison Regatta, the Indy 500 or even a political rally. It was where I needed to be at that moment. And I was just starting to understand that feeling as my career began to take off.
Another part of the job was to work the news desk, answering phones, culling stories from the local papers and handouts, editing other people's copy and coming up with feature stories. Since there are few major sports events in Indy in the summer, I was thrown onto the news side very quickly.
I always preferred to write about sports. While working the news desk provided a great learning opportunity, I would have much preferred to stick to what some pundit termed "the sandbox of journalism."
I have to admit I was a little lost on the days when I was on "sports assignment" in those first few weeks. I came home after the first assignment day and told Judy I just sat around the office all day waiting for somebody to tell me what the assignment was.
It finally occurred to me, after about three days, that I was meant to make up my own assignments on those sports days.
Indianapolis had only one professional team at the time - the Indiana Pacers of the American Basketball Association. The Pacers had just won their first ABA title and I decided a good way to start my sports beat in Indiana would be to write about the team.
I contacted the Pacers' PR person and asked if she had any ideas for a good off-season feature. She suggested writing a story about how Bobby "Slick" Leonard, an Indiana basketball legend and now the coach of the Pacers, had built a championship team.
Sounded good to me. I got Slick's phone number and he could not have been more welcoming.
"Hey, let's get together and talk," he said. "Meet me at the Country Club of Indianapolis at 9 tomorrow morning."
Sounded good to me. A breakfast interview with a great news source.
When I arrived at the country club, Slick was nowhere to be found in the clubhouse. Finally, I wandered down toward the golf course and there he was, sitting in a golf cart. Next to him in another cart were two very big men, who I quickly found out were Mel Daniels and Bob Netolicky, two of the Pacers' stars, both topping out at 6-foot-9.
"Are you ready to play?" Slick asked with a big grin.
I started to make excuses, but he said, "You wanted to talk to me and I'm on the golf course every day. If you want to talk, you have to play."
He even brought clubs for me, although they were a very old set with worn-out grips.
Then he said, "It's you and me against those guys. We'll play $10 a hole."
I was making $160 a week and had maybe $20 in my pocket. But, what could I say?
They made me go first and I was able to at least hit the ball, sending it maybe 150 yard down the middle. Slick then crushed a drive about 250 yards, which made me feel better about the money. That is, until Mel and Neto hit their drives about 300 yards each.
I struggled around the course, playing my usual impossibly inconsistent game, and we lost almost every hole. But they were all fun guys and, after a while, I stopped worrying and just enjoyed being on the course and talking with them. I also managed to take notes as we went along.
Finally, we reached the 18th hole and Slick said to the players, "Well, guys, looks like you whupped us pretty good. We owe you about $200. That's $100 apiece."
I gulped and, wondering what I was going to say to Judy, I was about to tell them that I'd have to bring them the money later when they all burst out in laughter.
"You should see your face,'' Mel said. "It's priceless. Welcome to Indy, Harris."
Turns out it was a setup. They were just putting me on about the money. Thankfully!
Over the next four-plus years, I had a great time covering one of the best all-around basketball teams in history as they won two more ABA titles and then were absorbed into the National Basketball Association. And I loved spending time with Slick, who told great stories and gave even better advice.
My first out-of-town assignment in Indiana came on the Fourth of July weekend, a bit of a problem since our wedding anniversary is July 3. Judy, who in later years accompanied me on this assignment was disappointed but very understanding about my absence.
I was sent to Madison, IN, a city of about 40,000 on the banks of the Ohio River for another first in my budding career - an Unlimited Hydroplane race.
Before I covered my first Indy 500, I had at least seen race cars on television and read about races and race car drivers in the newspaper. Unlimited Hydroplanes, boats that traveled at speeds up to 200 mph, were totally new to me.
Indiana bureau chief Tom Dygard told me the Madison Courier was a key newspaper member and that I should make sure to help them out as much as possible. In fact, I was to use the Courier newsroom as my office while in town.
I arrived at the newspaper and was introduced to everyone as "AP's sports guy." The managing editor and sports editor offered to take me down to the pit area and introduce me to some of the key players. I was thrilled to accept their offer.
First, they introduced me to Jim McCormick, the driver of the community-owned Miss Madison. You could immediately tell how much pride was involved in having that boat representing the city and how much it meant to bring the regatta to town each year.
I met all the big names of Hydroplane racing, the major leagues of power boating, that day. The top drivers were Bill Muncy and Dean Chenoweth, who piloted the Miss Budweiser, owned by Hydroplane power broker Bernie Little.
I hit it off immediately with Mr. Little, a close friend of August Busch, owner of Anheuser-Busch and a P.T. Barnum-type character. He started telling me the history of the sport, but in a very personal way. I was captivated.
Everything was new to me. When I went back to the newspaper to write my first story - a preview of the upcoming race - my head was spinning. Too much information to cull through and organize into a sensible story.
I decided the safest thing was to keep it simple. The story I dictated to the Indianapolis bureau for the AP wire was about as basic as possible, insuring there would be no big mistakes. But it was nothing that a fan with even a rudimentary knowledge of power boat racing wouldn't know.
That evening, as I thought more about the story, I became a bit embarrassed thinking it was way too simplistic.
The next day was the day before the race and I was determined to make my race lead-in a better, more satisfying effort for the readers and for me. As I walked into the newspaper office, I caught sight of a stack of that day's papers on the counter. I was horrified.
Across the top of the front page in large bold print was the headline: "Thunderboats set for big race in Madison." And under that headline, in print almost as big, was "By Mike Harris, AP Sports Writer."
I asked the managing editor why he would use my story on a local event and, with a surprised look, he said, "You're the AP guy."
That was the first time that I realized just how big writing for the AP really was. From then on I did not take that status for granted.
Even the Indy 500 didn't quite prepare me for the speeds and sounds of my first Madison Regatta. The Unlimited Hydroplanes are nicknamed "Thunderboats," and that's exactly what they sound like. And watching the rooster tails of water flying out behind the boats is spectacular, as well.
I talked quite a bit that week with Bill Muncy, who won the Gold Cup, the pinnacle of power boat racing, eight times. He was totally optimistic about life and Hydroplane Racing.
"When you're out there on the water, it's a wonderful feeling," Muncy told me. "It's just you and the boat and, win or lose, it's an incredible feeling, one I wouldn't trade for anything."
That's pretty much the way I felt when I was caught up in covering an event like the Madison Regatta, the Indy 500 or even a political rally. It was where I needed to be at that moment. And I was just starting to understand that feeling as my career began to take off.
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