University of North TexasIt’s been a little chilly here in sunny San Diego, and I’ve been wearing my favorite (and only) sweatshirt from the University of North Texas. I recently updated my alumni magazine about my new career as a freelance writer, and all of a sudden I’m back in touch with the old crew from the college newspaper where I got my start as a writer: The North Texas Daily.

I think I even recall the day that I realized people might pay me to write. I was enrolled in the beginning journalism class at UNT. It was my junior year, and I was lost in the general sea of general psych majors who had simply picked a topic to study to get a degree. Mom had suggested journalism (though Pop now says it was his idea).

The course was set up with lecture and lab, and I was surprised at the amount of lab hours required — four hours a day. To get an A in the class, you had to write four stories a week.

My beat was the campus blood drive, and the very first story I ever wrote was picked up by the campus newspaper for publication. My story was the only one in my class to make it into print.

I remember looking down at my first byline with amazement. I didn’t even know they were going to print it. “Someone would pay me to do this?” I really couldn’t believe it. Writing was easy and fun and invigorating and amazing. And I could make a living this way?

Within a couple of weeks, my stories were regularly appearing in the paper. Within a month, I was on the staff, writing entertainment stories. And by the end of the semester (I think… fuzzy memory), I was writing front-page stories.

A few highlights:

  • Getting the nickname “Poison Pen Beth” from the local merchants after I wrote a feature story about a the North Texas hangouts.
  • Being out on the town when a fight broke out, and racing to the local Jack in the Box to get tray liners and a golf pencil so I could run down the story.
  • Endorsing Hector the Eagle Dog and Agnes the Squirrel for homecoming king and queen. They received honorable mention.
  • Interviewing Chinese students about the Tiananmen Square Massacre.
  • Writing a headline that referred to “Astrologists” instead of “Astronomists.”

I met some of my best friends ever on this paper. We spent 4, 8, 10 hours together each day, sitting around The Daily office, waiting for scoops, phone calls, updates, press releases, criticism, pizza, photos…. Anything and Everything. Our paper ran four days a week, 22,000 copies each day. It was entirely student run with advice and guidance by a very tough and knowledgeable team of advisers. On Fridays we would all meet for what the advisers affectionately called “Slash,” where they’d analyze every page, every story, every caption to tell us every single blasted thing we did wrong that week.

But I learned more about journalism and writing during Slash than I did in two years of journalism grad school. And I still hear the strong but helpful criticism of tough prof Roy Moses, with his rubber stamp that said UGH and his habit of picking up the paper during my class to say, “Let’s see what Beth did wrong in The Daily today,” He’d have us chant a little college cheer:

Mr. Moses, with a cheerleader chant: When do you hyphenate ‘LY’?

The class, with enthusiasm and synchronized arm movements: NEV-ER!

Well, guess you had to be there.

Before I get off this nostalgic track, let me say hello to the people who were there. I loved Julie, who worked harder than most of us because she also worked at the radio station. And I was always in awe of Jean, who taught me what true journalistic passion was like when she described the newsroom activity the night the Berlin Wall came down. Charlene made me laugh all the time. She was co-managing editor with me my senior year. I remember her sliding across the newsroom floor in her rolling chair. (I believe she is also the one who gave me the nickname “Sleazyknees,” which I think had to do both with how one might remember how to pronounce my last name and my penchant for falling and thus always having skinned knees that *could* resemble rug burns. Enough said.)

Michele (One L)was the public relations expert among us. And Tami was the talented tough girl. Heidi went on to DC and the Al Gore campaign. Rogers writes computer books. Henry was my kindhearted editor, and Stan was the hilarious one who baked cookies to gain entrance into our all-girl Valentine’s Day Pity Party. I dated sportswriter Thom once or twice, and Brian and I used to sneak away for peach cobbler. He’s over 7 feet tall, and I’m 5′4″. That was funny.

Lordy, Lordy… are we all really 40?