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Boonville —
Almost two years ago, in my last semester as a student, I received an email from a professor about an opening at a newspaper called the Boonville Daily News.
I applied, the same way I did to others jobs, knowing they would tell me to try the party down the street — except in this case, they opened the door. I’m not sure what I said in the interview, but I had never been to Boonville, and the only thing I knew was that it had a place where college kids liked to gamble.
My world was St. Louis. I enjoyed the time I spent in Columbia, but my goal had been moving from the mid-size to the sedan — not a trip on the Vespa. The notion that my surroundings would get progressively smaller felt wrong to me. I wondered why The New York Times hadn’t called.
There were some who would have leaped at the opportunity, romanticizing the prospect of running into city officials and farmers who know your name — becoming a local hero of sorts — but for me, accepting the position took contemplation — there was acknowledgment of the lean job market — and convincing sales pitches from other students, like “You have a job offer. My mom snores like something prehistoric, and I’m moving across the hall.”
I attribute my hesitation to the distorted lens through which urban America peers at small towns. I can’t recall what I thought about Boonville or its residents, but I know I was ignorant of its culture. I think subconsciously I believed no one chooses to live in a small town, they only do so because the big city is booked.
But I learned that plenty of Boonville residents taste the bustle of more populous areas and decide they prefer a quieter existence. Others don’t need that sample. They grew up here, know what the grass on each side looks like, and decide to stay home. I presume they may see a sense of community in mid-Missouri that doesn’t exist in metropolitan areas, where isolation can hang like silence in an elevator. I don’t disagree.
As I write to tell readers my plans to exit the Boonville Daily News, I do so with misgivings creeping through my head and more sadness than I fathomed when I somewhat reluctantly took the job. It will be an odd morning the first day I wake up, put on a tie and then remember I don’t have a 40-minute drive down the highway ahead of me.
Almost two years ago, in my last semester as a student, I received an email from a professor about an opening at a newspaper called the Boonville Daily News.
I applied, the same way I did to others jobs, knowing they would tell me to try the party down the street — except in this case, they opened the door. I’m not sure what I said in the interview, but I had never been to Boonville, and the only thing I knew was that it had a place where college kids liked to gamble.
My world was St. Louis. I enjoyed the time I spent in Columbia, but my goal had been moving from the mid-size to the sedan — not a trip on the Vespa. The notion that my surroundings would get progressively smaller felt wrong to me. I wondered why The New York Times hadn’t called.
There were some who would have leaped at the opportunity, romanticizing the prospect of running into city officials and farmers who know your name — becoming a local hero of sorts — but for me, accepting the position took contemplation — there was acknowledgment of the lean job market — and convincing sales pitches from other students, like “You have a job offer. My mom snores like something prehistoric, and I’m moving across the hall.”
I attribute my hesitation to the distorted lens through which urban America peers at small towns. I can’t recall what I thought about Boonville or its residents, but I know I was ignorant of its culture. I think subconsciously I believed no one chooses to live in a small town, they only do so because the big city is booked.
But I learned that plenty of Boonville residents taste the bustle of more populous areas and decide they prefer a quieter existence. Others don’t need that sample. They grew up here, know what the grass on each side looks like, and decide to stay home. I presume they may see a sense of community in mid-Missouri that doesn’t exist in metropolitan areas, where isolation can hang like silence in an elevator. I don’t disagree.
As I write to tell readers my plans to exit the Boonville Daily News, I do so with misgivings creeping through my head and more sadness than I fathomed when I somewhat reluctantly took the job. It will be an odd morning the first day I wake up, put on a tie and then remember I don’t have a 40-minute drive down the highway ahead of me.
I plan on heading to Israel in February to learn Hebrew and work at a newspaper. There is an emphasis within the religion on bringing Jews to the Middle Eastern country, and organizations help fund such experiences. I visited in fourth grade, and the only things I remember are responding to everything my cousins said with a head-nod and getting mud on my new shoes before I entered the Dead Sea. Aside from that, it left a positive impression.
Part of me feels foolish for leaving a secure position to enter an unknown, where applying for jobs literally looms like a Monster. But the best writers seems to break from the traditional path, instead bouncing between publications and freelancing until they find success. At least that’s what I’ve convinced myself.
When you’re 50, two years is the moment you put your socks on in the morning, but as my first job out of college, this time has felt like a trip across a vast expanse, traveling from enjoying my dent in the couch to feeling most satisfied when my motor hums.
If you are reading this, I trust you tolerated my typos and gaffes. There were instances where I know people disagreed with an opinion I had in this space or a story we ran on page 1. I always wished more people would send letters to the editor. The cook doesn’t know there’s hair in your food unless you tell him.
When I reflect on my time here, I see readers' warmth — asking me to read scripture at the prayer breakfast — and their anger — taking out an advertisement to say, “Shame on you, Mr. Berger” — and I can smile.
I didn’t become a journalist because all the kindergarten teacher jobs were taken. I met so many friendly people, but not everyone is going to like you.
To those who did and those who didn’t, thank you for reading.
Contact news and online editor Eric Berger by calling 882-5335 or e-mailing eric@Boonvilledailynews.com
