Returning to the arena – sort of

Friends and family have encouraged me to find a way to continue writing since I retired in January 2018 after nearly 39 years with The Quincy Herald-Whig. Writing, after all, was the major reason why I got into the newspaper business.

I did, to some extent, during the first year of “retirement” when The Herald-Whig asked me to stay on part-time as a special correspondent, working primarily from home. When that commitment was nearing an end, my wife bought a new laptop and encouraged me do some freelance work or write a book.

I resisted, pointing out many newspapers and magazines have severely curtailed their freelance budgets in today’s financial climate, if those budgets exist at all. And while I love reading books – there are more than 700 in my personal library – writing one is no easy task.

As my friends and former colleagues Matt Schuckman and Reg Ankrom can attest, writing a book takes a lot of time, research and patience. And few people have accused me of having an abundance of patience.

One of the reasons I chose the newspaper business was because we started from scratch each day and published a new edition. There was no long wait to see your work in print and for readers to offer their critiques. A theme a day, as legendary sports columnist Red Smith explained the job.

Family members listened to my reasons for not writing, privately rolled their eyes and kept pressing.

Then our oldest daughter, Jessica Dedert, and her family hit upon a different approach. Paying to set up a blog was their Christmas present. All I had to do was write about anything I wanted, anytime I wanted. No more excuses, Dad.

So here we are. We’ll see where it goes.

I will write about sports, a passion for most of my life and how I first broke into the newspaper business. Current events and issues will be topics. I will write about people I come into contact with because everybody has a story. Moreover, I will offer links to stories I find compelling and thought-provoking.

Most important, I will be writing.

Now to explain the name of the blog.

Peggy and I married in August 1977, three days before Elvis died. On a scale of Ward Cleaver to Al Bundy on the husband-o-meter, I have, on many occasions, rated considerably closer to the shoe salesman who once scored four touchdowns for Polk High.

Fail to read instructions? Show up an hour late for dinner? Spend a little too much money on something that wasn’t a necessity? (Although I do consider Bob Gibson memorabilia a necessity.) Abruptly change the subject in the middle of a conversation? Forget what Peggy told me five minutes earlier? Or ask her to repeat something because I admittedly wasn’t paying attention?

Guilty on all counts.

On those occasions when I fail to meet an admittedly low bar for being a thoughtful spouse, Peggy invariably begins a sentence that ultimately lays out her displeasure(s) with the phrase, “Dammit, Donnie …!”

Friends and acquaintances have heard her utter it so often over the years that many of them greet me that way. Or if I miss a putt or play the wrong card at the club, I’m bound to hear a chorus of “Dammit, Donnie!”

So here’s to hoping you come along for the ride and think to yourself from time to time, “Dammit, Donnie, that was good.”