Back in March, I posted about celebrating my 20th year at the Wayne County Press, having moved to Fairfield in 2005. After that, a few people asked me about my career and how I got started. It hit me that I’d never actually sat down and written that story out—on paper or its modern equivalent. Now that school sports are winding down for another year, here goes.
It was a cool, dreary November morning in 1978…
Wait, I’ll jump ahead.
I knew since junior high I wanted to work in sports. That, or make movies. Growing up in Clay City and later Flora, I didn’t know any filmmakers. But I did know Smitty, our local sportswriter. So sports became my lighthouse. If only Spielberg had been from Clay County, right?
The Locust Log
My sophomore year, FHS offered a journalism class first semester. If you took it, you could then write for the school newspaper, The Locust Log, second semester. It was a monthly newsletter produced by students as an after-school activity. The journalism class was taught by Mr. Steve Lee—ironically, from Fairfield. I would go on to cover his youngest son later in life. Mr. Lee also supervised the paper. So my first taste of journalism came in 1993.
My first sports writing started there. It was unpaid. The pay would only slightly improve as my career unfolded.
By junior year, FHS switched to an eight-block schedule, which opened new class offerings. I took Senior Math as a junior, Mythology, and—The Locust Log was now a class. For 2½ years, I mostly did sports. It was monthly, so the content wasn’t much—basic features and abbreviated game recaps. But I remember getting one story back from Mr. Lee, soaked in red ink. At the bottom was a note: “You should consider becoming a sportswriter after high school.”
Consider it I had.
Advocate-Press I
Knowing my plan, my mom—a police dispatcher—mentioned it to Duane Crays, the cop beat reporter for the Advocate-Press. He got me a summer job in the darkroom. I was 15. It was 1994. Every morning, I’d ride my bike across town at 5:30 a.m., unlock the back door, and prep chemicals for developing negatives and photos. I would wait on Smitty and Duane to bring me their film rolls from the day before. Afterward, I’d head to the downstairs darkroom to shoot page negatives for the press. This was cut-and-paste era layout.
Still just 15 when my junior year started, I wasn’t eligible for the school work program, I had to leave when classes resumed. I turned 16 that November and worked at McDonald’s until the fall after graduation.
The seed was planted. I planned to major in journalism. I dreamed of working for ESPN—not anchoring SportsCenter, but doing Elias Sports Bureau-type stats. I wanted to be the guy who could tell you what Sid Bream hit on Tuesdays when the temp was over 73 in May.
But first—a detour. There would be many.
The Radio & TV Years
I grew up poor. My only shot at college meant joining the military. I swore I’d never live in a small town again, especially not southern Illinois. The Army was my ticket out. With my Basic and AIT dates overlapping both semesters, I took a year off from school.
I got back in February 1997 and needed work until college started in August. A friend got me a job at the radio station in Olney. I moved into my dad’s spare bedroom in a single-wide trailer in Clay City. At WSEI in Olney, I worked overnights and weekends, sometimes board-opping games. Soon after, I also got hired at WNOI in Flora for afternoon shifts. This would not be the last time I was working two jobs. WNOI knew about Olney; Olney didn’t know about WNOI. Once they found out, I had to choose. I chose WNOI.
I worked there until I left for EIU in Charleston. I got a janitor job cleaning banks in Mattoon. It paid better than radio. But my girlfriend was still in Flora, so I quit and went back to WNOI, driving 70 miles each way for minimum wage. I worked both WNOI radio and TV, handling high school sports coverage across the region. I eventually talked them into letting me handle northern games closer to Charleston. I did this until my senior year, when I took a job at K-Mart. The girlfriend wasn’t in Flora anymore—and wasn’t my girlfriend.
Backing up: that journalism major? It lasted one semester. I took just one class, Ethics of Journalism. It would later prove both ironic and foundational considering I wound up at the Wayne County Press.
I switched to History/Political Science with a PE minor, thinking I’d teach and coach. Then I got into tech—built PCs, ran a (borderline illegal) tape-trading biz online, changed majors again. I finally graduated with a business degree in Administrative Information Systems. The plan was to become a programmer or database engineer.
The Broadcast Shift
Before graduating, I got hired to host a morning gospel show at a local station. That led to play-by-play and color commentary—my first on-air experience. I covered Charleston girls basketball (in tough years) and Mattoon/Charleston baseball (in good ones). From 2000 to 2004, I juggled broadcasting, computer repair, and lots of driving.
Post-graduation, programming jobs had dried up. Y2K hires and post-9/11 freezes made that market tight. I almost pursued an MBA at SIU-E. Instead, I launched Crow Computing Solutions, fixing PCs under warranty for companies across a wide region—Decatur to Terre Haute.
Then the station shut down. My warranty contracts dried up. My girlfriend (at the time) got a job in Marshall. I moved home to Flora. Work slowed. My pay-per-call model wasn’t sustainable in rural areas. That relationship also ended.
Advocate-Press II
Then someone sent me a photo of a job ad: Reporter Wanted at the Advocate-Press.
I walked into Smitty’s gym and asked about it. “You’re hired,” he said before I finished asking. He sent me across the street to the publisher. I started in 2004—obits, cops, courts, features, village boards, school boards. Smitty also sent me on sports assignments he couldn’t cover. My first digital camera was slow, so I got good at anticipating action. And don’t get me started on poor gym lighting and low ISO. I still have nightmares.
I was back where I started—writing, photographing, editing. The darkroom was gone, but we were designing in Quark and PageMaker. I like to think I’m old enough to remember when the job was harder.
Smitty sat next to me. He kept a newspaper rod handy and wasn’t shy about using it when I repeated bad habits. I still avoid overusing the word “that.”
When he left in late 2004 (on bad terms), I became editor at 26. I didn’t love being in charge, but someone had to do it. So I handled both editing and sports. Replacing a legend wasn’t easy.
But I was back on track—doing what I set out to do.
Wayne County Press I
Then one night at a basketball game in Louisville, a bearded guy handed me a card and asked if I did all the Advocate’s sports. “We need a sportswriter,” he said.
“I’m also the editor,” I replied. “I’m not taking a pay cut.”
“We can work something out,” he said.
It was the Wayne County Press. All I knew was they printed on pink paper once a year.
I called Smitty the next morning.
“Tom Mathews from the Press?”
“Yeah. Not interested.”
“Weez, you want that job.”
“Really? Fairfield?”
“Weez, you’re out of high school. Let go of the rivalry and call him.”
So I did. And that’s how I wound up in Fairfield 20 years ago.
During my job interview, Tom gave me notes from a Fairfield vs. Flora game—Senior Night 2005. I was there. I wrote the story from memory. I still remember: Josh Braddock dropped 30, Tim Ukena had just returned from injury, Fairfield won by 10. It was Flora’s last loss that year before the State Tournament. I took his five column inches of notes and turned it into a 20-inch gamer in a matter of minutes.
I was hired.
The Present
From 2005 to 2018, I was the sportswriter for the Wayne County Press. Three high schools. Six junior highs. One junior college. Then I became editor—again. The plan was to hire a new sportswriter and let me go back to news. That never quite worked out. I did both jobs until 2019 when I finally stepped away.
I now work full-time in IT federal sales for Paragon Micro. I offered to still help with sports when I left the paper, but Tom wasn’t interested at the time.
That fall, I started iamweez.com. I covered the Mules on my own dime.
Eight weeks into the 2019 season, the new sports guy quit. Postseason loomed. I offered to help again—on one condition: I’d only cover FCHS. My wife is the athletic trainer there. Built-in date night! But I only had so many spare hours, so one school only.
I told them I would help until they found a news sports writer. They are still looking six years later.
That’s been the routine for six years now—Paragon by day, WCP by night. I’ve lost count of the games, the anthems, the stories. I’m now covering the children of kids I covered. To many of the 200 athletes we see each year, we’re now Uncle Weez and Aunt Sarah.
P.S. When I started, I thought this post would be about a third as long as it wound up. So much for journalists prioritizing brevity.
It’s not a bad life.
I Am Weez 