Dave Reardon: Journalists can hoard with the best of them

There should be a spinoff of “Hoarders” called “Newsrooms.”

Some journalists keep their work areas nice and neat. Many desks, though, overflow with all manner of books, photos, steno pads, coffee cups (some repurposed as pen and pencil containers) and, of course, newspapers. There are also staplers, staple removers, Post-it notes, envelopes, postcards, manila folders, index cards, Rolodexes, etc., etc. … Just by the names of some of those items you know they’ve been there for decades — because they’ve been obsolete for decades.

In sports departments, we’ve also got tons of media guides, posters and cool promotional trinkets.

But these days, who needs a desk?

For the past 10 years, I’ve worked mostly from home, Starbucks, stadiums or arenas.

The end to cubicle culture, and the era that brought us “Dilbert” and “Office Space” came early for me. And when I was temporarily assigned to a different department, my desk in sports became even more of an accidental time capsule. This week is time to open it.

Much of the stuff I’ve rediscovered so far is just junk. There are quirky, fun stories behind others. Some of these things made me smile or chuckle, the last one made me sad and mad.

>> A baseball from Haiti. They used to make them there. I’m not sure if this one was or not. But that’s where my friend Bill Harby got it, during “Operation Uphold Democracy” in 1994. I asked him to write something on it, so it says, “Dave, Have a BALL! Bill”

>> A poster signed by Brian Viloria. Part of our professional code is that we don’t ask people we write about for autographs (Bill in the previous paragraph was my editor at Island Scene magazine, so that’s OK). Sometimes you end up with them anyway, and it would be rude or awkward to return it. That’s why I had a poster autographed by the two-time world champion boxer from Waipahu tucked in between some notebooks and stat sheets.

>> A penny. At some point, someone must have asked me for my thoughts.

>> A copy of Greg McMackin’s 19-page contract as University of Hawaii football coach. The main reason I held on to this was the first line under “COMPENSATION.” … “A. University agrees to pay Coach as compensation for services rendered in the amount of “$1,100,004.00 (ONE-MILLION, ONE-HUNDRED THOUSAND FOUR and NO/100 dollars) as an annual base salary.” Remember when he “retired” before the fifth and final year of that contract and “donated” half of that $1,100,004 back to the university? That’s what the press release said, anyway.

>> A White House Press Pool pass. I think I was supposed to return it to somebody, since it clearly says, “PROPERTY OF U.S. GOVERNMENT” on it. It was for Dec. 22, 2013, the day President Obama went to the Stan Sheriff Center to watch his brother-in-law coach Oregon State in the Diamond Head Classic. There’s a story about that one too long for today involving the Secret Service, social media, garlic fries and the Aloha Stadium elevator.

>> Compact discs promoting UH quarterbacks Timmy Chang and Colt Brennan for the Heisman Trophy. These brought back memories of the recently departed Robert Kekaula, who helped produce them.

>> The Centurions special section. To celebrate the first 100 years of UH football, in 2009 we counted down the program’s 100 greatest players. On the last day, we profiled the top five: No. 5 Gary Allen (by Chance Gusukuma), No. 4 Tommy Kaulukukui (by Jim Becker), No. 3 Al Noga (by Neil Everett), No. 2 Jason Elam (by Paul Arnett), and No. 1 Colt Brennan (by Jason Kaneshiro).

>> A picture of Les Keiter, from the 1950s. He wasn’t known as The General yet, but he was already a sportscasting legend.

>> Fan mail. There’s a letter from someone who liked my column, saying a UH football coach should not have kicked me out of practice. But the letter writer got Norm Chow mixed up with his brother Mike.

>> Hate mail. Sorry to end this mostly light-hearted piece on a downer, but not everything found in the bottom of drawers and cardboard boxes many years later brings back fun memories. This is from an anonymous letter I received in the ’90s: “You being a (n-word) or part (n-word) yourself, you need to learn your place. Go back to where you came from, (n-word), or maybe I will use my 2nd ammendment (sic) right on you.”

I guess this person didn’t like people of color, period, and didn’t know or care that I was born here.

It was in response to a column I’d written after a UH team manager yelled the n-word at an African-American fan during a game and then tried (unsuccessfully) to use free speech as a defense in court.

A friend I showed the letter to back then suggested I toss it. I kept it so I wouldn’t forget there are some evil, racist idiots out there, even in our sanctuary of sports, and in our islands where aloha is supposed to prevail.

Now, 25 years later, I have finally thrown it away. There are enough reminders every day that, sadly, some things haven’t changed a whole lot.

Reach Dave Reardon at dreardon@staradvertiser.com.