I was in journalism school the first time I watched “All The President’s Men.” Already enamored with the idea of writing for a living, the sight of a gloriously golden Robert Redford and a very intense Dustin Hoffman working to bring down a government using only the power of the press was enough to seal the deal.

I had fantasies of sitting at a desk piled with papers and notebooks, working the phones to uncover corruption and decay.

Unfortunately, I was born in the wrong era. The 1960s and ’70s are the decades in which journalism really came of age. Watergate, the Pentagon Papers, Vietnam … all you have to do is read Dispatches by Paul Herr and you’ll see what I mean.

There were secrets to be told, secrets that needed to be told. There is plenty of rot in our government today, but with the corporatization of the media it is harder and harder to get to the truth.

And the fact of the matter is that I wasn’t a great reporter. I was drawn to the softer side of news, features and essays. That predilection was certainly helpful, working at a weekly community newspaper.

I covered everything from murders and horrible, fatal accidents to high school graduations. I went to elementary schools on picture day, and I wrote about a guy who liked to hunt turtles. When you have 20 pages of newsprint to fill up all on your own (one paper to a town, one reporter to a paper), you have to hustle.

In a slow news week, we’d put a large stand-alone photo on the front page. One memorable edition featured a group of boys from some local, winning sports team. I’ll never forget the day our photographer, Kate, answered the phone and then went flying across the newsroom to grab her loop.

Pale as milk, she grabbed a paper from my desk and slammed the loop down on the photo of the boys.

“Oh, God!” she wailed! “I’ll get fired!”

Turns out one of the boys had his fly down, and, with the most wicked grin on his face, was displaying his - uh - manhood for all to see.

Some reader noticed and called to let her know. Kate did get fired, but not for that. Instead, she was one of a swath of employees let go in a mad spree when our elderly - and crazy - publisher fired the editor and then half the newsroom, sending his son to lead us instead.

We hated John, and he replaced a particularly beloved editor who was fired as part of a feud between John and his father. Our publisher knew we hated John, and knew that sending him to the editing desk was akin to throwing him to the lions.

John was probably a good guy, stunted by his insane father. But he earned our animosity by telling us repeatedly that he would “give us the benefit of his education” at Northwestern’s famous journalism school, and then pontificating about a bunch of bullshit we already knew how to do.

As I’ve said, I left the newsroom about six years into my tenure there, going from a fresh and excited 22-year-old to a jaded and pissed off 28-year-old.

I turned down a job at a bigger weekly chain in Boston and instead went for the security and cash of a local marketing job. It was the right decision at the time, but man, there are days when I wonder with all my heart what things would be like now.

Would I be storming the halls of the Senate or the White House? Probably not. More likely I’d be wandering the halls of the local high school, waiting to write a feature story about the senior class president.

Watergate was on my mind yesterday, because it was Mr. C’s birthday and he requested Watergate Cake as his special dessert. Served at the hotel where those infamous break-ins occurred, the recipe experienced a surge of popularity when the scandal was in the news.

I may have missed my chance at being a great investigative reporter, but I’ll always have my Watergate Cake.

*****

Watergate Cake

1 box white cake mix

1 box instant pistachio pudding

1 c. vegetable oil

1 c. club soda

3 eggs

1/2 c. crushed nuts

Combine ingredients and beat on medium-high for 2 minutes. Bake in a bundt pan  in a 350-degree oven for 40-45 minutes, or until cake tester comes out clean.

To frost, combine one package of Dream Whip (in baking aisle, usually near the frosting and on top shelf), 1 box pistachio instant pudding and 1 cup of milk. Beat until mix forms soft peaks.

Cake should be kept in the fridge, covered. I put toothpicks in the cake and cover it with plastic wrap. The toothpicks keep the wrap from getting stuck in the frosting.

I told you I’d bring you a cake.

This entry was posted on Monday, January 21st, 2008 at 2:55 pm and is filed under daily, days gone by, housewifery, writing life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.