Latrobe Bulletin readers select favorite Local Author: It's me!

 

Thank you, Latrobe Bulletin readers for selecting me as your Favorite Local Author! Here's the letter-to-the-editor I wrote acknowledging the honor ...

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I must confess when my wife-to-be and I moved to Latrobe in ’92, it wasn’t because of the schools, the recreational opportunities, the history, or the character of the people, which I’ve come to regard as the most stellar on the planet.

No, I moved here because of the looming threat of Y2K pandemonium. Remember that panic? A numeric computer glitch was going to confuse all our critical machines into believing it was really the year 1900. That was three years before the Wright brothers first flight. Top experts warned the scenario would so befuddle modern aircraft that the machines would forget how to fly and begin to drop out of the sky.

Banks would fail, electricity would cease, our vehicles would  roll to a stop.

I read all this and my first thought was, “Hmmm, where in the world could I find a small town home that’s near a quality brewery that’ll ensure local residents have ready access to thirst quenching American lager?”

Hello, Latrobe!

I look back in hindsight and am amazed that a man so shallow-minded in every other way held such a deep capacity for cold beer. 

I jest, but Latrobe did have a unique set of intangibles appealing to a young writer eager to differentiate himself from the hordes of talented but indistinguishable freelancers working in NYC.

It had Arnold Palmer, Fred Rogers, Steeler training camp, Rolling Rock beer, banana splits and a host of other notables that made great ice breakers for Manhattan editors who were happy to take a look at stories included in the gift bags from “That Latrobe guy.”

In Manhattan I was that Latrobe guy. In Latrobe, I was just another guy.

But I grew to cherish the designation. Because I became pals with other Latrobe guys and some if them were giants. I had regular lunches with men like Vince Quatrini Sr., Ned Nakles Sr. Dennis Rafferty, and Mike and Terry Ferguson. We’d line up at the bar  at Baldonieri’s, the conversation often directed by Holly Baldonieri (now Holly Rutter Bush, incidentally one of my favorite “local” authors).

Now, many small towns can boast an austere line-up of bright leading citizens. I contend what makes Latrobe unique is the quality of our goofballs and misfits. They’re profane, witty, profound and capable of brilliant outbursts of confounding intellect that add volatile color to every conversation. They can be rude, crass, belligerent and leave you wondering how the same town that raised Fred Rogers could have produced these jackasses.

It’s why some visitor or new resident eager to make a flattering impression will mistakenly gush that “everyone here in Latrobe is just so nice.”

“If you think that about everyone in Latrobe,” I say ominously, “then you haven’t met everyone in Latrobe.”

It’s why I’m bracing myself for the ribbing I’m bound to endure when word gets around that Latrobe Bulletin readers voted me “Latrobe’s Favorite Local Author.”

Friends will wonder if there’s even a runner-up, if I voted for myself and the tally was me, 1, and “other,” nothing, etc.

That’s not fair to the many, many talented writers who struggle with priorities and yearn, like I still do, for a commercial or critical breakthrough that will justify all their dreams.

Joke all you want. I couldn’t be more pleased by the declaration. You know, at one time Arnold Palmer was likely The Bulletin readers’ “Favorite Local Golfer.” 

The vote count isn’t what makes it special. The title is all it needs. So I say this with all due humility.

I’m, ahem, special.

But only because you’re special.

Two of my most popular books are offbeat bios of local legends — take a wild guess — Arnold Palmer and Fred Rogers.

You have no idea how lucky purely as a writer that makes me. I got to spend more than two years inside the heads of Fred and Arnold, two of the most monumental men in history. Men who coincidently happen to be perfect gentlemen, both lively, creative, fun and wise.

Many of you helped put me there. My stories are your stories. I only knew them (mostly) through you.

A writer — any writer — producing a portrait must immerse themselves in the lives of his or her subject or the paint will smear.

Try and imagine how different I would be if I lived in, say, a small Long Island town where the local writers seeking to capitalize on notoriety had to choose between Bernie Madoff and Joey Buttafuccuo. Or Jeffrey Dahmer.

I’d be coarser, darker, more cynical. A Beautiful Day in The Neighborhood?

More like a sinister one.

Check out the places that sell my books — and God bless ‘em! —Youngstown Grille, Eclectique, Pat’s Hair & Nail Place,  Latrobe Art Center, Greater Latrobe-Laurel Valley Chamber of Commerce, 512 Coffee & Ice Cream, Tin Lizzy (honorable mentions to neighbors in Ligonier and Greensburg, Second Chapter Books, DV8 Coffee and Barnes & Noble).

What do these places have in common?

They’re happy places where convivial folks go to do and enjoy things that nourish the soul.

And they welcome my books at these places.

So thank you, Latrobe Bulletin readers, for making me your Favorite Local Author.

And thank you, Latrobe, for making me the kind of writer worthy of the honor.