It was my dad’s 63rd birthday this past week, Oct. 14.
My dad, James Dwight Lutgens, was born on Dwight Eisenhower’s birthday, which is how he got his middle name.
My dad has been a newspaper person for a long time. Since the day he was born, in fact. The local Waseca Journal published his picture on the front page due to his name and date, etc.
In his early professional years, my dad worked for the Albert Lea Tribune.
Because he was a single dad, and because sports writers work odd hours, I spent a lot of time at the Tribune as a child. I have fond memories of the building, the printing press area, and so many pizzas from Jake's Pizzeria. There was the office lady who said I could play with the toys in her basket, which her own kid played with, whenever I wanted. I wish I knew her name today.
Then there was “Jackie Chan” or at least, that’s what I called the guy who sat opposite my dad at his own desk. No, his name was not Jackie Chan.
I remember when the Tribune stopped paying for cable TV. For some reason they had channels we didn’t get at home.
My brother Nate and I would make games out of everything in that office. Hide and seek was popular. Another common choice was playing with the vending machines. We enjoyed the way that, when we put in pennies, they would come right back out in the change return.
And then there was the printing press room, from which we were strictly barred. I only remember sneaking in there one time. It was smaller than I expected. Or rather, the machines didn’t take up as much space as I thought was warranted by such a large room.
I think we only sneaked into the publisher's office once, because I remember being scolded for it.
Dad would always promise us Jake's Pizza if he had to bring us to work with him: It remains, to this day, my favorite pizza.
I was seven years old when Dad bought the New Richland Star. I remember him saying everyone told him he was crazy to do it. His accountant told him it would be the worst mistake of his life. His lawyer, the same thing.
I’m really grateful he didn’t listen to them.
It was probably the safest, riskiest thing he could do.
So, we traded one daycare for another. My brother and I had a video game station and small mechanic shop in the back of the Star office for awhile. We and our friends would skateboard on the concrete floor in the delivery area before we remodeled.
Other times, we played video games.
Still other times we asked Dad when we were going home.
As I was writing this column, intended to be a reflection about my father, Enita, from Colony Court called and I must share this conversation. (I may have spelled her name wrong.)
Me: “Good afternoon.”
Enita: “Is this the newspaper.”
Me: “Yes. What can I do for you?” (This must be read in a cheery voice as that’s how I usually talk on the phone.)
Enita: “I think we’re related, but that doesn’t matter.”
Me: “It does to me.”
Enita proceeded to tell me about an update needed to a church listing on the church page.
“You’re not gonna get me in trouble?” Enita asked, with all sincerity, after telling me who the new pastor was, and after I raised the possibility of writing a story. She was unsure whether he would like to be written about. Her purpose had simply been to update the church worship time and remove the word “vacant.”
When we got through the business of the church listing, I asked Enita how we were related.
Enita: “Was your grandma, Millie?”
Me: “Yes.”
It turns out Millie was Enita’s aunt, which means Enita and I are cousins.
Enita and I spoke for about 10 minutes. She remembered my grandmother’s “jokes” and how she would say my name, “Eli.”
Enita’s mom was Laura (probably spelled wrong again) and Enita’s daughter is Debra, “Debbie” Roemhidlt (spelled correctly, I believe), who lives on a farm near Janesville.
When the phone had rung, shortly after our office hours and while I was concentrating on writing my reminiscences, I had been sorely tempted not to answer the phone.
This is not the first time a spontaneous conversation like this has happened with a reader. They make my day. Thank you for calling, Enita.
So it was my dad’s birthday, 63 years young.
I have much to say about my dad, far too much for one sitting.
I’m eternally grateful for the lessons he taught and continues to teach me. I would not be the man I am today if not for him. And there probably wouldn’t be a new newspaper in Waseca if he had not planted the idea in my mind.
I started working for my dad as an editorial assistant when I was 15. I was really more of an assistant to my mom at the time because she was the one who hired and trained me in. Now, more than a decade later, I understand why my dad wasn’t excited about training a 15-year-old kid to work in the paper.
But despite any impression I may have created, and perhaps despite my own inclinations at the time, I was here to stay.
I remember writing my first story. I wrote about the father of my best friend Bryant, who had recently been diagnosed with cancer. The Legion in town was holding a benefit for him, so I told Darin I would publicize it in the paper. I did the interview and wrote the story without telling my dad.
When it was done I told my dad, “I wrote this story. You need to print it in the paper.”
His response? “We’ll see about that.”
He stopped partway through an explanation about how bad writing can’t go in the paper. I don’t know if he stopped because he started reading the story or because I’m his son.
Either way, when he was done reading, he told me it was good, “It just needs a little bit of tweaking….”
Those dots represent him saying, “You can’t do this or that, or write this type of word before that one, but… it’s good writing.”
‘That’s what an editor is for,” Dad told me. He also told me good writers don’t need very much editing.
And thus started my actual career in journalism.
Thanks, Dad. And happy birthday!
“I have rarely ever met a person more fearless and courageous than my father.” ― Martin Luther King Jr. “My father was my teacher. But most importantly he was a great dad.” ― Beau Bridges. “A father's love is like your shadow, though he is dead or alive, he will live with your shadow”― P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar.
P.S. There’s nothing more comforting in life than to know there’s someone whose love is unconditional. Someone who, time and time again, will do whatever they think is best for their children.