When I left my job as General Motors beat writer at the Detroit News in 2005 to start, then, DaimlerChrysler’s first blog, I figured it was maybe a year’s break from news. But the company made it too good for me to leave by creating a digital media team and put me in charge of it. It was a great run and as many of you know, I retired from the company at the end of July. But I wasn’t quite ready to completely withdraw from the working world. My goal had always been to finish out my career back in news and I’m thrilled to announce I start today as a part-time video reporter for the Automotive News. This way I’ll be able to resume covering the most fascinating, unpredictable and vital industry with a premier news organization while remaining semi-retired.

The Automotive News has a special place in my heart. When I was laid off from CNN in 2001 after almost 20 years I found that local TV stations in Detroit were not interested in an ex-network guy and I did not want to move my family since my kids were still in school. I decided to contact Ed Lapham, the editor of the Automotive News, whom I’d interviewed many times on CNN as an industry analyst. Print people are generally skeptical of the writing abilities of broadcast journalists but Ed made me a deal. I could write some stories as a freelancer as a sort of audition. If I passed the test, perhaps there would be full time job for me. I passed the test after 6  or 7 stories but alas, there were no open positions. The experience, however, gave me confidence I could function well in the print world. One day I got a call from the Detroit bureau chief at the Associated Press who was looking for a new national auto writer. He too, wasn’t sure a TV guy could hack it in the print world but the Automotive News clips I provided sealed the deal. A little over a year later, the Detroit News recruited me for the GM beat writer job. I can say with great candor that without the chance given to me at the Automotive News my post-CNN/broadcast life might have been very different, and certainly not as lucrative.

It’s now such a pleasure and honor to come full circle in the late stages of my career and be able to be part of the Automotive News team. This time it will be an opportunity to combine my print and broadcast skills. How much more perfect can that be?

Do you still visit the mall? We do because it’s a place to walk when the weather is bad. But we don’t actually buy anything at the mall because the prices are higher since the stores have to pay rent equivalent to Venezuela’s annual budget.

Today is a rainy day so my son and I used the mall to kill some time and get some exercise. As we walked along the concourses we passed one store after another all missing the same thing: customers. The hangdog looks of the bored clerks, ahem, associates, ahem kids earning money to feed their Starbucks habits, is pretty pitiful. As you walk by they stare at you with the same longing a Millennial might have for a 3-hour work day. Indeed, no one’s holding anything besides a latte’, a baby stroller or pretzel. Actual merchandise purchases? None, unless you count a box of Cinnabons.

Stores for overpriced purses, Native American blankets and trinkets, tea, popcorn, tuxedos, $200 jeans, ladies evening wear, faux diamond jewelry, candles, make up, fudge, cases for smartphones, eyebrow knitting and shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes. All sorts of things, but no one to buy them. Even the anchor stores appear adrift. As we buzzed through one to get to the exit a hopeful sales person begs to help me.  When you politely respond, “sorry, just making a beeline for my car,” their face sags as if you just insulted their kicky little name badge.

I’m not ashamed to admit I’m old enough to remember a time before enclosed shopping malls and they were fun, festival-like market places. But when erstwhile open air centers, like Green Acres and Roosevelt Field on Long Island  were “malled” they instantly became popular destinations jammed with actual shoppers. Yeah, we bought things. Malls were also places we could drive to and hang out just after we received our drivers licenses. Now, they’re as cool as MySpace, populated mainly by speed walkers who would just as soon mow you down rather than avoid a collision that threatens to slow their pace.

Yes, malls are still jammed with Christmas shoppers but it’s not the same. In the 70’s when we lived in Central New York State we’d make a 30-mile trip to Syracuse and power shop at Fairmount Fair or Shoppingtown Dewitt. We’d buy so much we’d have to make several trips to the car to dump our bags and dive back in for more. Both malls are now dead and we do most of our shopping online or at strip centers where prices are better and you can zip in and out without having to endure walking by the screaming at the kid’s play place.

It’s still a kick to walk around the mall once in awhile, but I really don’t buy anything except maybe a snack or a drink from a vending machine. Although it is a little bit of fun when one of those obnoxious kids working at a pushcart attempts to stick a sample of “essence of tripe” under your nose, you advise them “get that away from me! It triggers my recurring flesh-eating bacteria.” It’s all in good fun.

Why do they call it the “wild card” spot in the playoffs? Doesn’t “wild card” really mean a card that can be anything? You know…deuces are wild! That means even a lowly 2 of clubs can be an ace of spades. When it comes to the playoffs for Major League Baseball and the NFL the term “wild card” refers to teams with mostly marginal records scamming a shot at actually winning the league championship by recording just enough victories to gain a spot in the tournament to fill in the bottom half of one of the brackets.  Now by definition, if such teams were truly “wild cards” they could act like the wild deuce in poker and play as the first place team if they wished, gaining home field advantage and playing the worst-qualifying team in the first round. But they are not wild. They are what they are. Deuces who remain worthless twos, where every other card is better.  Indeed, “wild card” is a misguided euphemism for “crappiest team to scam a seat at the adult table.”

The NHL and NBA are much more honest about a team’s position in the playoffs. Teams are ranked by their records. Number 1 plays number 8 in the first round. In baseball, number 8 could hide its lousy record behind the “wild card” label. Actually, in baseball there are two wild card teams, giving  fans in two cities hope their under-achieving teams have a shot at the big prize.

Now, if I’m on a team that actually played well most of the season and earned a division or conference title I would be royally pissed that some lowly wild card team could get lucky and eliminate my team from contention   and win the championship, as has happened several times.

When I was a kid, it was simple in baseball. The first place teams in the American and National Leagues at the end of the regular season played each other in the World Series to determine that year’s champion. If your team ended up a half-game out after game 162, tough beans. Better luck next year. That made for some amazing pennant races and gave the regular season real meaning.

Remember the original meaning of the term. If you’re a “wild card,” it just means you have the right to pretend you’re something you’re not.

Books HD

When someone retires thoughts generally run towards travel, relocation, spending more time with the grandkids, or tackling those long-deferred “projects.”

We don’t have any grandchildren so cross off that one from the list. We like where we live and I’ve seen enough airports for a long time so travel, except for short one or two-day car trips are on the back burner. I have begun to work on some projects I’ve put off, but the thing I’ve discovered to be the most satisfying after two months on the shelf, is grabbing a comfortable seat near a window with the sun shining through, and reading a book.

Oh, I’ve always been a reader but most of my reading would be at bedtime and within ten pages I’d conk out and the book would clunk me on the noggin’. What a treat to read during waking hours! Doesn’t matter what the book is. I’ve buzzed through everything from John Sandford and David Baldacci cop capers and international intrigue, to memoirs from John Fogarty and Toni Tennille to the guilty pleasure of a James Patterson page turner, a guide to paddling in Michigan and a battered copy of a Hemingway novel.

Doesn’t matter what form the book is in as long as it’s in English. I’ll read ’em on my Kindle or an actual book. The library is a five minute drive from our house and we’re there several times a week, so there’s no excuse to ever be without a book.

When I find myself with even a five minute window of opportunity, I rush to grab whatever I’m reading at the time and slam down a page or three, rather than waste the time online or watching TV. At any one time I might have two or three books stacked up on my night stand ready for consumption. The pile is never depleted. When I’m down to one, I’m off to the library.

I honestly didn’t see this coming when I thought about retiring, so this has been a pleasant surprise. So much so, if I can put down the book I’m currently reading…I might write one myself. But meanwhile, I don’t need to relocate or travel much. I can visit all sorts of places, and with a myriad of fascinating characters, right from my Lazy Boy.

In a small way I relate to being on the wrong end of “birther” accusations. I was born in Woodbury, New Jersey, but my family moved back to its native New York City just 6 months later, meaning I had no recollection of my brief time as an infant in the Garden State. I’ve always considered myself a New Yorker, because that’s where I was brought up. Many years later when my wife and I moved to Arizona we registered to vote. When I was asked where I was born, I instinctively said “New York City.” At which my wife, helpfully cut in to correct me by blurting out, “No you weren’t! He was born in New Jersey!” Duly busted I could only grimace and nod to the clerk who gave me the most sympathetic look as she shook her head…and made the correction.

I’ve been living in my neighborhood for 24 years and never once stopped in a little deli that sported a modest sign hawking pizza and wine. Been by the place thousands of times without stopping in but I decided today was the day to end the string. Looked up their number. Wasn’t easy. The place has no website but does have a Facebook page which is also where the menu is found. When I called to order a pizza and bread sticks the phone rang a few times and was answered by a woman with a light accent that I couldn’t quite identify. When I gave my order, she “ok, I’ll get it ready. Give me 25 minutes.” It sounded like a mom taking a request for a special dish from her kid. When I arrived an older gentleman greeted me warmly, smiled, and directed me to the pick up counter. The place was immaculate and modern with rows and rows of fine wines and a cigar humidor. The kind woman who took my order smiled when she saw me. Didn’t have to say my name. She just knew..and brought me my order. I paid the gentleman up front and told him, sheepishly, how long I’d passed his place without stopping in. He just replied, “it’s ok..you passed by for 24 years, I’ve been here for 28, so it’s not so bad.” Well…the food was awesome. Not some corporate franchise cardboard, but a tasty pie with perfect crust. The moral of the story, slow down, get to know your neighbors..and support them. They’ll appreciate it.