Taking A Stand: All I want is one simple billboard
What’s a man got to do to get his face put on a billboard nowadays?
As of this week, I’ve been with the Southern Standard for 13 years, writing thousands of stories over that period, stretching from my original story on March 4, 1990 about two dogs that got trapped inside a cave to this Sunday’s, March 2, 2003 edition about a woman who was convicted of starving a man to death. In between has been an array of human dramas too numerous to count as I’m merely a spectator, reporting what I see (kind of Charles Kuralt sounding I know).
During these 13 years I’ve seen about everything imaginable, from horrible car crashes that burned horrible images into my head to heroic feats of bravery that made me believe in humanity again. I’ve also met all types, from model citizens who would rival Mother Teresa to psychotic serial killers who would kill you and your whole family without batting an eye.
At this point I have no plans of leaving anytime soon. I’ve already turned down offers elsewhere for the privilege of staying in my hometown and covering the news. So long as I continue looking forward to coming into work, I think I’ll be here. As I just said in a column last week, enjoying what I do is more important to me than big money. If there comes a day this becomes like a regular job, then that’s the day I turn in my notice.
I guess one of the things I like the most about this job is being a minor celebrity of sorts. It’s nice to be recognized when I’m out, even if some of the people don’t like me. It appeals to my egotistical side, even though I know this is a small town and it’s not nationwide fame. But, that’s OK because it’s plenty enough for me. No need to be famous enough to have paparazzi trying to snap pictures of me in my Speedos, lying on a beach with an Italian supermodel to run in a tabloid entitled “Sherrill Has Fling with Supermodel.” Although, that does have a snazzy ring to it and I probably wouldn’t sue for libel.
It can sometimes be annoying when folks commonly say when I’m around “watch what you say, he’s with the paper” or “this isn’t going to be in the paper is it.” However, I’m sure I’d miss it if it didn’t happen.
I recently received an anonymous letter from someone calling me “small time” for a column I wrote. Of course, this person didn’t have the guts to include his or her name, as most people don’t. Sure, most people like to say they’ll look you in the eye and tell you what they think, but I’ve met very few people who actually have the guts. That is, unless they’re three sheets to the wind on Jack Daniels or they stand like 6-foot-5 and weight 300 pounds. It’s easier just to talk behind a person’s back and remain anonymous. But hey, even the “fearless” letter writer showed me that even he or she reads my columns so I should thank them for helping pay my salary.
But back to what began this diatribe. Years ago, in discussions with management here, I was told I would be put on a billboard as a promotional type thing. Given my immense ego, I’d find an alternate way to work in the morning just to drive by such a sight. And, I’m sure the billboard would play well with in the 18-45 age demographic, possibly driving circulation through the roof. If nothing else, it’d make a great target for vandals.
So, where’s my billboard? I’ve been here since before the first Gulf War and have seen two Bushes become president. I’ve even gotten rid of the 1980s hair. All I ask is that management throw me a little bone here. I’m not asking for a monument, just a billboard.
(Duane Sherrill is a reporter for the Standard. He can be reached at 473-2191 or by e-mail at [email protected].)