I don’t get out much…to cover stories, that is. Being semi-retired, freelancing for Forbes.com, I knock out most of my stories from the comfort of my home office, conducting interviews over Zoom or Teams or whatever electronic method allows me to wear sweatpants below a more suitable shirt.

But when you’re a news guy, no matter how old, there’s something you never lose—the urge to actually be out where the action is.

I’ve been covering the UAW strike against GM, Ford and Stellantis pretty much the way I described above, but the other day I decided I had to put on actual pants, and shoes, and ran down to Ford’s giant assembly plant in Wayne, Mich. In suburban Detroit, about a 30 minute drive from my house.

I told my editor I was out for “pictures and perspective.” What I really wanted was, yes, pictures, but to speak face-to-face with striking workers, learn their stories, find out why walking off the job was worth any financial sacrifice and yes, to smell the fires in those barrels along the picket lines where picketers could find a little warmth. They all smell the same and I like it.

I spoke with a guy wearing a reflective vest and a huge smile. His name is Roger. Said he’s just three months from retirement and could have easily just ridden out his time, but he told me it was worth spending time on the line to try to win financial security for, as he called them “the young ones.”

Roger told me the aggressive tactics taken by UAW president Shawn Fain were unlike anything his predecessors had attempted and at first “he scared the hell out of me.” But now Roger can’t wait to see if it all pays off.

I spoke with a woman who didn’t want to give me her name. No problem. I told her whatever insight and information she could offer was more important than her name. “OK, cool,” she said, now more relaxed. “I don’t care if we don’t get everything Shawn’s demanding, but just something better than we have now. We gotta get something.”

You don’t get this stuff sitting in your basement in front of a computer and I’d be out there every day except I’m not a full-time reporter anymore, after a certain number of stories I don’t get paid and working for free’s not the kind of charity the IRS will let me deduct.

I do think how things have changed, mainly due to technology, social media and the economy.

In 1998, when I was CNN’s Detroit Bureau Chief and correspondent I covered the entire 54-day strike at two GM parts plants in Flint, Mich. Resulting the automakers shutting down completely, costing it $3 billion after taxes.

We were out there every single day. On the picket lines, at the union halls, on the phone. Facebook and social media weren’t yet invented. The UAW president couldn’t go live, neither side posted details of their demands, offers and counter-offers. You got what you got from digging, from sources, from gumshoe reporting.

Working at CNN meant also doing about a billion live shots. I stood at a corner in front of Flint Metal Stamping for hours and hours knocking out one live shot after another, for CNN, for Headline News, for CNN International, for CNN affiliates.

Makes it hard to get any reporting done. I’d have to tell the sound tech to kill my mic so I couldn’t be heard over the satellite feed. Then I’d quickly make a call or two in between live shots to try to dig up some new nugget of news I could report.

Frequently, other reporters on the scene would stop and listen to what I was saying to see if they were either missing anything or if I was fulla shit.

I remember two of my friendly competitors—one at the AP, the other at USA Today paying especially close attention as I was on the air. You must know print reporters are contemptuous of broadcast journalists, figuring we’re all about hair and make up and not about honest reporting.

When I got off the air, they walked up to me and actually said, “we were listening to you and everything you said was right.” Well, why wouldn’t it be? Since we were friends they took no umbrage when I shot back, “bet you wish you could say that about your stories.” All’s fair on a breaking story.

That strike went on so long it actually jeopardized a promise I had made to my the, 10-year old daughter. Remember, this was 1998. The Spice Girls were huge. I had scored free tickets to their show at the late, great Palace of Auburn Hills, about a 30-minute drive down I-75 from Flint.

CNN, bless ’em, understood the gravity of the situation and actually sent in a reporter to relive me while I dashed down the freeway, took my daughter to see Baby, Sporty, Posh, and Scary—Ginger had just left the group, sad. It was, to that moment, the best day of her short life. Then I ran back up to reclaim my spot staking out the endless contract talks.

When the merciful end of the two-month ordeal was about to come to an end, there were no social media posts, no Tweets, or whatever they’re called now, no Facebook Live webcasts.

The most plugged-in reporters got tips on their phones from their best sources, then, to make it more official, a guy came running out of the Holiday Inn where the talks were going on and yelled, “hey! Press conference in 30 minutes! Get inside and set up!” That’s all we needed. So analog! So fun.

There’s something about being outside, on the scene, building relationships, swapping tips on where to get the best sub sandwiches for lunch. The folks at the plants ALWAYS know the best lunch spots. It’s never a chain place.

The guy at the local deli named for the guy who owned it was freakin’ Picasso of subs. Best bread, best meat, best cheese, best bullshit to share when picking it up. Wasn’t always bullshit. The great sandwich guy was also a great listener and often picked up tips he’d exchange for tips.

You don’t get that stuff sitting at a laptop or scrolling emails and texts on your phone. Sure, it’s convenient and fast, but it’s not as fun, and I bet the chainstore sandwich you ordered from Doordash sucked compared to the Stradivarius of Subs wrapped in wax paper with a fat pickle tucked in by the guy at the deli by the plant.

Well, it was fun getting out for a morning, chatting with folks just hoping to get their share of the bounty and a better life. Made my life better too…before I descended back to the basement.