After a Good Run, Back to Walking the Beat

We all know there are two kinds of lunches with your boss. There’s good, and then there’s . . . well, bad. And you’re better off not ordering until you figure out which way it’s going to go.

In late 1995, two of my editors asked me to lunch, quite unexpectedly. They chatted easily on the way; me, my heart was jumping to my throat, wondering what we’d be discussing. They ordered hearty meals; I said I’d just check out the salad bar.

Moments later, they asked me if I’d like to write a first-person column.

I think I ate everything in sight.

That job, which began five years ago this very week, has been a joy. Now it’s time to move on.

I return to beat reporting, in north Orange County, which is where my wife and I have chosen to raise our children. I’m looking forward to it.

In this final column, I just wanted to say thank you to all the readers who have called or written or e-mailed their comments over the years. And thanks to those who gave their time in long interviews.

Change is the nature of any business, and it’s usually good for us.

The other day I attended swearing-in ceremonies for Rick King, who has left the D.A.’s office for appointment to the Superior Court bench. I wondered, why give up a fabulous job to wear one of those sweaty black robes and listen to misdemeanor sob stories all day? King just knew it was his time for change.

Most of the movers and shakers of the criminal justice system were there to honor him. Prosecutor Carolyn Kirkwood told this delectable tale about King:

At a murder trial, the defense attorney repeatedly objected to King using the phrase “criminal enterprise” in questioning a witness. But Judge Kathleen O’Leary (now an appellate court justice) told the attorneys outside the jury’s presence: “I’ve got a problem. You see, Mr. King only knows about 500 words. If I take two of them away from him, where does that leave him?”

No one laughed harder than King. In a moving speech later, King paid tribute to five of his fellow Seabees killed when he served in Vietnam. We all left the courtroom event with renewed vigor in tackling our own roles, and maybe some reflection on our pasts.

The End of a Column Isn’t Pretty

The same columns that brought the kindest words often drew the most criticism. If you’re pro-gun control, like me, you have to be prepared for an avalanche of critics. Complaints ranged from thoughtful concern about home protection to “How did an idiot like you ever get a column?”

Another fiery topic was the state’s ban on bar smoking. Personally, I don’t care who smokes in bars because I don’t drink. But it bothers me endlessly when we decide on our own that we’ll obey only the laws we like--and defy the ones we disagree with.

No column, however, brought more response than the one I wrote about my father paying my way to the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.’s funeral in Atlanta in 1968, during my college days. My father, now passed on, never understood why I felt compelled to go. He offered to help me out of sheer, unconditional love. Readers by the hundreds flooded our newsroom phone lines, or wrote, to say it reminded them of their own fathers.

Some readers can keep you humble. Most memorable was Frank Bierman of San Juan Capistrano, who called to tell me about some obscure disease I didn’t care a whit about because I was on deadline. I cut him off with a stock response: Send me some literature and I’ll try to get back to you.

Bierman said by way of goodbye: “I just thought I could be of help to others. My wife died of this disease. We buried her yesterday.”

Suddenly a deadline didn’t seem so important. I owe much to Frank Bierman for reminding me why I’m in this business. A column on his wife’s disease, scleroderma, brought scores of responses from people either suffering from scleroderma or eager to learn more.

A column is not always such serious business, however.

Writing a weekly safety column, I learned how easy it is to have household accidents. Some topics came from home experiences.

Last year I missed serious injury by only inches when I fell from a ladder trying to crawl onto a roof. As I lay wincing in pain, my two frightened children looking on, my wife, Vicky, said immediately, “There’s your next safety column.”

Columns are a team effort. Special thanks should go to Sheila Kern, Lois Hooker and Lois Stuart in our library. Plus my editor, Shelby Grad, the hardest worker I ever met. And then there’s the copy desk. God bless ‘em. What a terrific, talented, conscientious bunch.

It was Marty Baron, now executive editor at the Miami Herald, and Bill Nottingham, now an editor in our Los Angeles office, who first offered me this column. Thanks so much, and apologies for the huge lunch bill.

Remember Bogie telling Bergman, “We’ll always have Paris”? This may not measure up to that for drama, but I’ll always have the possum story.

It’s not that I hate possums. The column I wrote about them was positive, that even in an urban setting like Orange County they have their place. But I did say they were ugly, and I was tired of them living in my backyard.

The next day a reader sent me a one-page response: It was a large picture of a possum on its hind legs. And the possum was holding up my picture from the column. And the caption read:

“Look who’s calling who ugly.”

Adieu. And many thanks.

Readers may reach Hicks by calling (714) 966-7789 or e-mail to jerry.hicks@latimes.com.