Beat half a century, thank you very much

One day in 2002, when I arrived at the office, the minstrel in Los Angeles was waiting for the elevator. Columnist Al Martinez and I greeted each other and were filled with a mixture of pride and incredible, and he shared a milestone.

“That's it,” he said. “Fifty years of business.”

Martinez was in the early 1970s and said he had no intention of slowing down. You need a sedative gun to prevent him from chasing the next story, and the next story, he is still telling the story until his death in 2015.

I'm a complete generation behind him, and it's hard to imagine myself still beating at his age.

But what did time do.

It disappeared.

Now that I'm in the early 70's, I'm stealing Martinez's lines.

That's it. Fifty years of business.

Nathaniel Ayers and Yo Yo MA were held in 2006 at Walt Disney Consell.

(Francine Orr/Francine Orr)

Nathaniel Ayers played Trumpet on Fourth Street in downtown Los Angeles in April 2008.

(Rick Loomis/Los Angeles Times)

At that time, newspapers soared and spit, half a century ago as a bent president until the heroic status, but the current White House residents were called enemies of the people.

During Al Martinez's heyday, Sunday's mistreatment in the Los Angeles Times could have undermined the Standard Poodle. But, starting with the rise of the internet in the 1990s, it was a tsunami of disruption that drove thousands of newspapers and magazines below or placed them under life support, seriously under one of the pillars of democracy.

It's a great moment in history, becoming a scammer, a liar, a gas bag or a political hacker for two deals, as there are fewer and fewer journalists like the airport dogs robbing drugs.

But don't worry, I won't mark this anniversary by constantly hanging out on the Death Spiral, other than reminding you to renew your subscription right away.

I'm here to tell you, it's been half a century since I've been, why somebody has loaded me into a time machine, why I won't change one thing, and why, even if I succumbed to the seats in Hindenburg, I still want to order some more cocktails before our collapsed land.

Honestly, I do have doubts about the moment of career choices leaving San Jose State on Tuesday night, May 1975, and the next morning the Democrats in Woodland Daily began working. Woodward and Bernstein just changed the world with their madness, what have I done in journalism? I introduced Little League Baseball at Davis, an exercise in recycling adjectives that describes home runs that were torn, ripped, slipped, rockets, smoked and fired.

Boyle met with Jose Trujano in October 2022.

(Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)

But, as they said, I was on the door, shamelessly following the editor in other newspapers, begging for work. I found a basic fact that you should go fishing, knocking on the door, knocking on the door, rattle the cage, convene people, meet with the winners and losers of life, then sit on the keyboard, take a deep breath, do your best to turn the blank page into a postcard, sue the next day: On the next thing:

Never really felt like a job.

For 50 years I have taken continuing education courses to learn more weekly, and the topic or role, crack bug, dreamer and dropout diversity or cavalry are not over.

My Los Angeles professors include Barbers (Lawrence Tolliver), the patron saint of Second Chance (Father Gregory Boyle), the social worker (Mollie Lowery and Anthony Ruffin), and a homeless musician who taught me humility, hope, and shame for La's Unsolved obleved obstrophe, not others (thank you for your thousand years), and you will always thank you for a thousand times.

I admit when I arrived in LA in 2001, I was a little worried that as a transplant, would I fool my prints or find enough good stories in places where I only know a few people and very few political landscapes.

But, a news certificate is like a passport, which allows you to go into the front porch and into the living room where people have stories to tell, some cheer up, while others are sad. The daily breaking news flow helped me, and it didn't have a trick stream – it emanated. It seems to be from the fire hose.

I haven't been here in a local franchise in the Catholic Church and became one of the most despicable criminals in the massive sexual abuse scandal. Then an action hero decided to run for governor, and I went to Beverly Hills to see if Arnold Schwarzenegger's barber could give me the same hairstyle and woodpecker dye (I had hair at the time, but it looked ridiculous for weeks).

When I started to find my way, Los Angeles became my home, which was different from the place I thought.

This city of millions is a city of millions of different things, organically free from being fully understood or neatly described. You have to keep exploring as if every story is a mysterious first page. The real love with Los Angeles begins when you recognize the existence of a unique place in the world, which goes beyond all lazy cliches and fluffy declarations.

Anthony Ruffin kneels on his knees and talks to a homeless man in Hollywood in January 2017.

(Los Angeles Times)

While covering Los Angeles, I was told by something Ashley Halsey, editor of the Philadelphia Inquirer, told me by phone at the end of the First Gulf War, when I was reporting from a Kurdish refugee camp on the hill between Iraq and Turkey. I watched my family bury their loved ones in a muddy cemetery and conveyed the huge facts of the moment in a daze, contrary to the geopolitical panorama.

Halsey told me he didn't want panoramic views. He wants a snapshot. Calculate the grave, describe the terrain, and talk to the survivors. Place readers in the cemetery.

Good advice.

By the way, when you write about the broken sidewalk in Los Angeles, it works well. It reminds me that I want to thank every mayor and council member for dating back years, who are embarrassed by the current spectacular disrepair, in which case the waiting time for the city and the waiting time for restoring the sidewalk is 10 years (Dramaster Alert, another chapter in the story I read).

I owe my wife the Rose Garden, reading newspapers on years of support, guidance and religion, despite having to endure the distractions of my story and constantly paying attention to the trajectory of the news business.

For my daily Democrats from Woodland, Pittsburgh Post, Auxiliary Books, Oakland Tribune, San Jose Mercury News, Philadelphia Inquirer, Time Magazine and The Los Angeles Times, my columns are inspired by and inspired by hundreds of journalists, photographers and editors.

Sadly, we have a smaller number, but the mission has never been more important.

Thank you last one:

The best part of the past 50 years is my relationship with my readers.

Honestly, not each of you. There was a lot of anger out there, from people who disagree, think I was an idiot, or wondering why I didn’t follow up on their ideas.

TV writer David Radcliff fell for a few seconds while walking through a broken sidewalk in a wheelchair in September 2019.

(Brian van der Brug/Los Angeles Times)

But I'm trying to make the column run the conversation, and I appreciate your feedback – positive and negative – and all the thoughts of the story. Thousands of communications over the past 24 years have been conducted by phone and in person via email, helping me better understand all the frustrations and fun of living in Los Angeles and here. I got the backup, not as sensitive as I should have done, but I wouldn't take the relationship for granted. Actually, I think it's a privilege.

Yes, there are 50 years and in the spirit of Al Martinez, next and next.

Give me a story tip or two, right?

steve.lopez@latimes.com