My last boss in the newspaper game, David Mitchell, has gone west. He was 90.
Dave found me roaming the streets back in the summer of 1988, about six months after I got laid off by a chain of weeklies in the north-Denver metro. I was one raggedy-ass mutt back then, but he must have seen some potential I didn’t realize I had, because he hired me to work the copy desk at The New Mexican and afterward gave me the run of the newsroom until he himself got the shove in 1991 for pissing off the big boss, owner Robert McKinney.
I was running out of options and unemployment compensation when Dave summoned me to Santa Fe for an interview. A job I thought was mine at the Ventura County Star-Free Press in California had gone to somebody else, and while New Mexico was short on ocean views, I was in no position to be picky about locale, or much of anything else.
So I was decked out in my best looking-for-work kit when I walked into Dave’s newsroom, coat, necktie, the works, hoping to make a good impression. He was clad in Santa Fe casual, gives me the up-and-down, and says, “You didn’t have to get all dressed up for us.”
Well. Shit. Lost dog comes home.
Dave wasn’t just a newsman, he was a “news” man. As in “Fuck a bunch of features, bring me the news.” Old school. Tough but fair, and hard to impress, especially when he had one foot on your chair and was leaning over you like a ton of bricks getting ready to fall, daring you to feed him some weak line of bullshit.
I think I managed to impress him exactly once, when I was still on the copy desk. A story about a potential school-superintendent hire seemed oddly familiar to me, and then I remembered where I’d seen it before.
“This is from a Marx Brothers movie,” I told the city desk. The city desk didn’t believe me. The library was just down the street. I was right. A school-board member was having our reporter on. Dave gave me a $50 bonus and another long look, the kind that you’d give to a little green man who just stepped out of a flying saucer parked on your lawn.
When the Ventura paper got back in touch to offer me that job I’d been so sure was mine, until it wasn’t, I said thanks all the same, but Dave Mitchell pulled me off the breadline when I had nothing in my pockets but a pair of hands, and I’ma dance with the one what brung me.
I eventually escaped the copy desk and just sort of wandered around the newsroom, working for Pancho Morris on the sports desk, and Denise Kusel at the weekend arts magazine Pasatiempo, dusting off my reporting chops to write some cycling copy, taking some snaps with a camera Pancho laid on me, even helping with a redesign of the newspaper that introduced me to the wonderful world of Apple products.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was slowly working my way towards a whole new career, as a freelancer. And shortly after McKinney sacked Dave over a series of stories looking into environmental hazards at Los Alamos National Lab, with my mom slipping into dementia up in Bibleburg, well … I got right after it. Herself and I had been married less than a year, the publisher had been asking pointed questions like, “Are you still here?” and I figured it would be best for all of us if I were not.
I was already freelancing cartoons and copy to VeloNews in Boulder. Bicycle Retailer and Industry News came next, co-founder Marc Sani being a Santa Fe riding buddy. These steady gigs lasted for a lot longer than they should have, and they led to other work too, like my stint with Adventure Cyclist, whose editor Mike Deme brought me aboard not for my touring expertise — I didn’t have any — but because he liked the way I wrote.
So, thanks, Dave. I don’t know where I would’ve wound up if you hadn’t taken a chance on me way back when. But it sure as shit wouldn’t have been here, happily married, safely retired, and with a couple bucks in the bank too, typing up some memories on a Mac in New Mexico.
Mad Blog Media 
My one goal in management was to have one person tell family members or friends, ” I had this really good boss that helped me do better than he did.” Don’t know if I met it, but Dave just did.
Man, was I ever one lucky sumbitch. I had an army of ink-stained lifeguards tossing me lifelines (plus cash, couches, and tips about job openings) during my newspaper years, which ran from 1974 to ’91, including a three-year sabbatical to finish J-school: William Woestendiek, George Gladney, Bill McBean, Carl Miller, Bill Buzenberg, Mike Geniella, Chris Coursey, Merrill Oliver, Elena Jarvis, Shah Ahmad, Hal Walter, and David Mitchell.
I lasted longer — twice as long — as a freelance cycling scribe, possibly because (a) I worked cheap, and (2) management mostly didn’t have to actually see me acting out.
Still, a tip of the Campy cap to John Wilcockson, Felix Macgowan and David Walls at VeloNews and Marc Sani at Bicycle Retailer and Industry News for setting me up with a regular revenue stream that spared me from having to endure the life of a real freelancer, which means pitch pitch pitch like a goddam batting machine and hope a check or two rolls in between finishing one job and beginning the next so you can keep one step ahead of the collection agencies.
Cheers to the late, great Mike Deme and Alex Strickland at Adventure Cyclist, too. It was great to get a fresh look at cycling after all those years, and to get paid for it. Gravy, that was.
My condolences for the loss of your friend. Gotta appreciate those who take a chance on us
Best,
Michael P
Make It a Great Day,
Michael
+1-971-570-1960
Dave was an old-school newshound, a rarity then and even more so now as consolidation continues turning my old profession into a bad joke. Hardcore. Reminded me of some of the staffers I met as a copy boy at the old Colorado Springs Sun back in 1974.
The Sun is no longer with us. Neither is the weekly chain in north Denver, the one that laid me off. And most of the others are wraiths, zombies, shadows of their former selves.
Ah, well. Everyone gets their “news” from Facebook and NextDoor now, amirite? Information wants to be free.
Facebutt and nextdoor can go pound sand. Blood sucking parasites is what.
Awful shite. Truly wretched. We wouldn’t let some rando from round the corner clean our teeth or tune the HVAC, but we’ll rely upon him/her for the daily news.
Greg Mello posted a link to the stories about LANL that got Dave and some reporters fired. Over here: https://lasg.org/press/1991/SFNM_Fouling_the_Nest_17Feb1991.pdf
The best thing one can say about the ownership of The New Mexican is that it is not Gannett. If the G still had it, it would have three staffers — one news, one sports, one photographer — and be printed in Texas.
It is always tough to lose a mentor and friend to the ravages of time and age., However, to lose a mentor who saw something in you that nobody else saw is the sad fact that those of us born in the mid-50s is happening way to fast. My condolences and good thoughts to the people that have gone to the grey havens
Dave was the real deal, for sure. After a half-dozen or so newspapers you got to where you could tell a pro from a poser at a glance.
In the cycling-news racket some of us called the latter “fan with laptop.” It was a common problem in sportswriting.
The boss that helped me out for 15 years was Dick Dion. Transformed our little organization, 200 folks more or less, during that time with self managed, multi- disciplined teams, continuous process improvement, and overhauled annual performance reviews and awards. Saw him in the grocery two weeks ago. He is doing OK at 87 trips around the sun.
Gotta keep moving so St. Pete can’t get a clear shot at you. Bob and weave. He’ll give up eventually and snatch some sluggard right out of his La-Z-Boy.
Good to know you’re still alive and kicking Patrick.
Dan Taylor
Still ticking along spastically out here in the darkest corners of the Innertubes. The paying gigs went away a few years back, but while I occasionally miss the thrill of the deadline (and, sure, OK, the money), I don’t miss the hassles.
Real nice appreciation, PO’G. You done him proud.
Thankee, matey. There’s been a flurry of unexpected departures lately and I’m trying really hard not to turn the blog into an obit page, but I had to say adios to Dave.
Connecting the dots seems obvious looking back but there’s no way to where they’re going in real life human Einsteinian space-time. One chance encounter and it charts the next half century.
Is anyone still going to journalism school? Seems to be about as promising as learning how to make buggy whips or divining rods.
Oddly enough, people are still going to J-school, from what I hear. Boggles the mind it does.
Back in 1974 the city editor of the Sun asked me what I’d been majoring in before I dropped out of Adams State. “Journalism,” I replied. “Shit!” sez he. “Is it too late to change it? We’ll teach you more about journalism in a year than you’ll learn in four at college.”
Boy, was he ever right. That one year at the Sun made my last three years of J-school at Greeley a breeze. Having a prof who was a refugee from the Dayton Daily News didn’t hurt, either. Dude was brutal and ruthless, weeding out all non-hackers who did not pack the gear to serve in his beloved corps.
I think we all can use a Sgt. Hartman now and then. I had a couple hard assed advisors, but it paid off in the long run, like your guy at the Sun paid off. But I have to say, when I was at LANL, there were quite a few non-hackers that should have been shown the door but the institution protected the lazy.
Patrick! Someone left this link on the New Mex obit. Great to see you’re still writing. But disappointed you didn’t mention Mitchell’s favorite term of affection: “Dogfucker”
Yeah, I confess, Stephen. Was me. How you doing these days?
Hey Khal, still loving retirement. Doing a little freelancing for NM Magazine, and doing my music Substack (Flaming Spud Rhapsodies) and walking 5-6 miles every weekday. Hope you’re doing well. Thanks for posting O’Grady’s link
Hi Stephen. The other Pat here. Took a quick look around your Substack, and it’s very interesting. Of course, the post about that old Martin D-18 caught my eye. Love me the tone of spruce or red cedar over mahogany. Di you still play the guitar?
Hey, Steve … delighted to hear that you’re still cranking out the word count too. Rock ’n’ roll!
I’d forgotten about “dogfucker.” That one should be in every managing editor’s toolkit.
I do remember that when the newsroom went smoke-free, Dave took it like a man, and when a nicotine fit hit would go stand outside — come rain, shine, or sideways snow — to burn one.