'What is a story?', My journalism teacher asked. I was one of about 35 students in a Journalism 101 Class at Duquesne University, Pittsburgh, PA. 'If a dog bites a man, that isn't much of a story. But if a man bites a dog...' He smiled and said, 'You get the picture.'
I have been a story teller since grade school when I started telling tales to my two younger brothers and our schoolmates. In high school, I was hired by a weekly newspaper to write stories about my school and the sports events between schools.
At age 19, I got a full-time job on a daily newspaper in New Mexico, where I met Jack Schaeffer, author of 'Shane,' and Maria, the Pottery Maker who lived near Taos, N.M.
I discovered that artists were different from most people and that they usually had interesting stories to tell. The tabloid magazines were going strong, so I picked up copies of the STAR, WEEKLY WORLD NEWS, ENQUIRER and GLOBE and began sending articles to them. I would simply find an interesting story in my hometown newspaper, rewrite it and send it off -- and the checks began pouring in.
THE STAR bought a lot of my stories. Colin Dangaard was the magazine's West Coast editor. Steve Dunleavy, one of Rudolph Murdock's top editors, liked my writing style and told Dangaard to buy some of my stories. He not only complied -- he sent me a copy of Dunlavey's note.
I began interviewing country western and rock and roll celebrities. Their stories sold to the tabloids as well as some of the country magazines. I clicked on a story and sold it for $500 to the ENQUIRER I felt I was in high cotton.
After I had left a job on a daily newspaper in Phoenix, I began exchanging letters with the editor of a tabloid in Boca Raton, FL. That was where all the tabloids were congregating and where the NATIONAL ENQUIRER had headquartered. The editor of THE SUN, a new tabloid, hired me as a full-time writer.
The magazine even paid for a room at a beach hotel. Each morning a limo stopped at the motel to transport me and two other writers to the series of desks that made up the editorial offices of the SUN, STAR, GLOBE and the other tabloids that operated out of those buildings on Broken Sound Boulevard.
One day I was standing near the water cooler when one of the female reporters brushed by me. 'Did you see him?", she said, whispering. 'Mr. Pope, the publisher of the Enquirer. He's snooping around. Some heads are probably gonna roll.' She laughed. I didn't think it was funny.
Every Friday after work, Pope would host a cocktail party for all the editorial staff members. I would hang around for a few drinks, and then climb into my car and drove to an inlet where a gambling cruise ship would be waiting to transport us to the six-mile marker, after which we could play poker, shoot dice and gamble to our heart's content.
Many of the tabloid writers were gamblers -- it went with the territory. Brian Hogan, Michael Hoy, Byron Lutz -- all of them played poker or dice, and they were all good drinking companions.
We would hang out at Rosie's, a popular bar in Lake Worth, FL. Or sometimes we would hit one of the seafood restaurants between Boca Raton and Boynton Beach.
After about a year with the tabloids, I accepted a writing position in the Caribbean with The Observer, a weekly newspaper that covered the islands of St. Kitts and Nevis. My tabloid friends threw me a good going away party.