Take a trip to California, virtually

Editor’s note: This column is being reprinted from July 30, 2008. Jack was a regular as a judge for the California Newspaper Publishers Association journalism contest. Those type of events are great, not so much for winning awards, but for getting together with other journalists to share ideas. Enjoy the trip along with him.

Settle in. Take off your shoes. I’m just back from a whirlwind gig in San Francisco and have some images to share.

Think of it as a slide show. Or if you’re under 40, think of it as a virtual Powerpoint presentation.

Here goes.

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That’s me, stumbling off the plane. It was about 11:30 p.m. California time when I arrived. If I look a little bleary-eyed, that’s because it translates into 2:30 a.m. Indiana time. It was too late to take the BART train into the city, so I was looking for a cab.

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That’s a flaming car. In fact, it’s a BMW. From the looks of it, the car spun and slid into a guard rail beneath an overpass. Both my cabdriver, Vladimir from St. Petersburg, and I gasped as we drove by. It looked like something from a movie. Welcome to California.

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Okay, it’s 8 a.m. Sunday morning and time for work. For something like the sixth or seventh time, I was in San Francisco to help judge the top entries in the California Newspaper Publishers Association journalism contest. It’s a pretty good gig; they pay for the flight and the hotel room and a couple of dinners. The trade off, of course, is that it’s 8 a.m. on Sunday and I’m getting ready to go to work for eight or more hours.

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That’s the whole bunch of us, nine judges in all. Folks from Memphis, Seattle, Louisville, Omaha. Reid, the guy on the left who bleeds Republican, is retired from a newspaper in Connecticut. Maura, the woman on the right with the gray hair, is an editorial writer for The New York Times. At this point, we’re just one big happy family.

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Lunch time, and we’re at Lefty’s. A couple doors down from our hotel is a joint called Lefty O’Doul’s, named for a much-beloved baseball player from the old Pacific Coach League. On one side, Lefty’s is pretty much a neighborhood bar; on the other side, it’s a cafeteria/deli, offering the best and least expensive meal in the area around Union Square.

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That’s me again, sharpening my pencil. I’m not a pencil sort of guy, most of the time. I prefer pens. But every entry must be scored and every entry must have comments from the judges, so pencils make sense. The entries have been pre-screened and pre-judged before we see them. Usually we’re seeing the top four in a given category and circulation division; from that, we’re to select first place and second place. Sound easy? It’s not.

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Okay, I admit the view is terrific. Here we are at the top of the Hyatt on Union Square. That’s Alcatraz over there and Coit Tower over here. Best news of all? I’m not picking up the tab for this amazing meal.

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It’s 7:45 a.m. Monday. I’m already on my second cup of coffee. Most of the judges got an early start. There’s a chance that if we get things wrapped up Tuesday morning we can have some time to enjoy the city.

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Yeah, that’s us again, piling into three cabs. The contest used to be judged in April, but the calendar has been readjusted. There are two results from the change: It’s next to impossible to get a ride on the cable cars in July without a long wait because of all the tourists. And it’s chilly, actually chillier in July than in April.

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Okay, finally some down time. We wrapped up early on Tuesday, so I’m just gallery hopping, looking at art that I can’t afford. Much of it doesn’t strike a chord anyway. As my brother-in-law would say, I saw no bargains.

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How’s that for a view? That’s right. We’re at ATT Stadium for a Giants game. I ordered tickets online in advance so I could take my nephew and his fiancée to a game. Yeah, I know, the Giants aren’t very good this year; and the team they are playing, the Nationals, are even worse. But check out that view.

McCovey Cove on the right, the giant Coke bottle and baseball mitt directly across from us, and the Bay Bridge on the horizon. These aren’t the cheap seats. In fact, I don’t think there are any cheap seats in San Francisco. The beer you see in my hand cost $8.50. Yikes.

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It’s early Wednesday morning and time to head for home. Again, the time isn’t right to use BART, so I’m taking a cab. The cost: About $45 including tip.

Goodbye San Francisco.