The Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco. Taken in November 2010 during a Patch.com conference.

Many of you know that I just had a birthday, and I loved all the wishes I got on Facebook and elsewhere. Since my previous birthday, my life has changed quite a bit, due largely to professional reasons. So I could not help but air out some thoughts that have piled up since then.

(One disclaimer: I work for a digital media company.)

• Attending high school sports events is fun. The atmosphere is friendly, filled with the excitement of youth and the friendliness of neighborhood camaraderie.
• Covering high school sports is a lot of work. Games are at night, which creates a deadline crunch. NFL writers have the best jobs — one game a week, almost always a daytime start.
• Digital media is more powerful than many people think, including some who work in digital media. Newspapers and TV can make gratuitous mentions and do superficial stories to appear in touch. But the interactivity and information potential always amaze me.
• Municipal festivals are fun. My first 10K run came in Cochran, GA, a small town in mid-Georgia. Memories from that are as special as those from my participation in the 1991 LA Marathon.
• I’m glad bands from the pre-MTV era keep touring; warm fuzzies are hard to beat. However, hope they all know that the time comes for everyone to hang it up. (Memo to the alleged Beach Boys …)
• People have a right to be skeptical of government at all levels. They set policies and have to take responsibility for the results. However, their work is just as hard as what you do for a living.
• Special interests are a big factor in political parties at all levels. Money talks.
• It takes a special person to bear up under Southern summer heat.
• I like SEC football, but that league’s dominance is not good for college football. It comes from getting more TV money than the other conferences do, and that goes into facilities, recruiting, etc.
• I need to take a few pounds off  the middle, and I’m looking forward to it.

Harry Graham, back in the day. (Photo courtesy of www.ocregister.com)

Everybody can write this about somebody. So I guess I’ll write this about Harry Graham.

He sat across from me in the publisher’s conference room at The Orange County Register in 2000, just as the Internet was gathering steam and before much of the world had learned of Osama bin Laden.

“Harry,” said Register Publisher N. Christian “Chris” Anderson, “how long have I been looking at you?”

Anderson had taken over recently as publisher of the Register, a few years after having been the paper’s editor. Not many people understand how hard it is to do both of those jobs. Anderson was holding sessions to hear the troops, many of whom he worked directly with as editor.

And Harry Graham was one of those.

Harry was one of those to many people.

Harry passed away recently in Florida at age 93. He had the fire as an editor for years in Orange County, California. When I joined the paper in 1992, he was retired but still working part time. And even then, he’d do better work than many of the younger ones, including me.

He made it into the publisher’s conference room in 2000, unlike many other people. Harry worked at the Register, in a sizable and affluent Southern California area, before Anderson arrived in 1980, and after Anderson returned as publisher in 1999.

In my time there, Harry would bring doughnuts in for the desk crew. Print was still king then, though smart people knew as time went on how it would fade. He’d tell us stories of his dog, his wife and Register days of yore.

Yet he also told Chris Anderson that day in the conference room that he remembered how Anderson used the Register to unite a county filled with largely faceless LA suburbs into an urban metropolis that to this day stands with its own identity.

“Chris, you were the first one to do that,” Harry told the publisher.

After Harry moved to Dunedin, Fla., in real retirement, and I moved back to the Atlanta area, he and I would stay in touch. He chuckled at my “retreat from Taxifornia” and kept me updated on himself, all over the Internet.

He wrote books. He had children. He retired. Some people have trouble doing any one of those things. Harry did ‘em all.

Most of all, he was a great guy, and he was always himself. Lots of people are agreeing with me on Facebook and everywhere else right about now.

That time comes for everyone. And everyone should hope it comes in a manner that it did for Harry Graham.

Last time I checked, they haven’t taken down Lindbergh’s plane at the Smithsonian, and the Mona Lisa is still on display at the Louvre in Paris. So maybe there’s hope for memorabilia and history that goes with the Allman Brothers Band and other musicians who contributed to Georgia’s rich history.

The news that the Georgia Music Hall of Fame in Macon has decided to pull the plug on itself was not totally surprising. It had been losing money and seeking a new home and sponsors, in Athens and Atlanta mainly. Still, it’s like seeing a train coming at you in a tunnel. You can be prepared, but it still hurts when it hits.

As one who began his media career in Macon, this really hits home. It’s in the air there, particularly in bygone years when it was easy to find someone who “knew” an Allman Brothers Band member. The Capricorn Records building was prominent on Cotton Street, and news of the band’s reunion and other such matters would get everyone in town talking.

And there was more. “Little Richard” Pennyman was prominent, as was Otis Redding (“Left my home in Georgia/headed for the ‘Frisco Bay”). Artists such as The Marshall Tucker Band, Wet Willie and Elvin Bishop followed in the so-called Southern Rock genre that the Allmans pioneered.

Now it’s dormant. The University of Georgia will take on the memorabilia, thankfully, but mothballing such history seems avoidable.

Why did this happen? Yes, it’s a tough economy, and museums and music often are discretionary items in a time when school systems and municipalities are having a tough time making ends meet. And Macon is not exactly on the beaten path any more, sad to say.

These days, Georgia music is about more than Macon. R.E.M. has Athens roots, and Atlanta has become a hotbed. Usher and Ludacris call it home, Elton John has a residence here, and the Indigo Girls have Emory origins.

History is important, so what to do? First, I hope no one depends excessively on government; even in these times, it’s not necessary.

In Suwanee, an Atlanta suburb, some musical history recently was revived without using a dime of public money. The Everett Brothers Music Barn, site of weekly bluegrass performances since the 1960s, recently came under new ownership after a family heir had no interest in carrying things on. The new owners have teamed with younger Everett family members to revive the weekly bluegrass gigs, and they seek donations from fans in attendance for ongoing site maintenance.

(Disclosure: As a Patch.com editor, I’ve reported often on the Everett Music Barn situation.)

So it’s largely going to be up to private interests to bring back a Georgia Music Hall of Fame of some kind. Hey, why not take a cue from the Everett family in Suwanee, and have a facility that also offers live performances? The Everett barn walls are covered with excellent photos and memorabilia dating to the 1960s.

History is made every day, and preserving it will be up to the fans who enjoy it the most.

Crossing the Los Angeles Marathon finish line, 1991

Quoting Sgt. Pepper: “It was 20 years ago today …”

It has been called the ultimate athletic achievement, and it certainly was mine.

I’ve never forgotten running the Los Angeles Marathon, but it was another wake up call this week when the runners traversed Los Angeles streets. Yes, it was 20 years ago when I started and finished my only effort at the 26.2-mile distance.

In 1991, it happened to be the same day as the infamous Rodney King videotaped beating. But something good happened on the streets of Los Angeles that day, too.

It was months in the making, but it was also years in the making. I had been a runner for more than a decade, starting with a pair of cheap Nikes and getting more sophisticated as my experience and income grew. Moving to San Diego certainly stoked the habit, as that city’s wonderful climate and beach boardwalks made the activity almost a compulsion.

My years of 10-kilometer runs and a couple of half-marathons had left me with the desire to eventually try a marathon. But there also was a marital motivation. My then-wife was understandably obsessed with her nursing school (she was obtaining RN credentials, which she has been using since then), and I had a lot of empty time. So, the inspiration hit.

There was a weekly mileage goal, usually 50 or 60, and that grueling one-day routine of 19 or so to whip myself into shape. Plus, there also was the equally challenging matter of few or no 12-ounce curls. But when you are that into fitness and with such a goal, the urge really does fade.

This is a challenge. There is no one cheering you on during training runs. Of course, you can have partners, but I didn’t then, other than seagulls and occasional familiar faces.

Landmarks such as the Big Olaf ice cream stand and the Mission Beach lighthouse became distance markers. The course from the lighthouse to the plaza and back was about 6.5 miles, and three trips constituted the weekly gasser. Marathoners know you gotta do those to prepare your body for the senseless but nirvanic pounding you are about to give it.

I deemed myself ready in about four months. Remember, I already was in decent 10-k shape. I made the journey for the weekend in LA by myself. In what was something of a marital sore spot, my then-wife did not see fit to come along and be at the finish line for support. She preferred to stay in San Diego and study. (You are welcome to weigh in, but when she graduated from nursing school in ’92, I was at her ceremony.)

The pre-race dinner was memorable because of one guest: Muhammad Ali. Yes, the aging champ, still able to get around then, toured the tables, giving us all the famous punching routine. (That remains a memorable missed photo op. Another is Donald Trump donning a construction hard hat for a groundbreaking at his LA golf course development in 2005. These days, with smartphones and all, no excuse for such.)

The race? Fairly uneventful, showing that I had trained properly. It was warm by SoCal standards, but not oppressive. My one vow: don’t prove anything. Walk if necessary, and don’t whine if you have to drop out. But only after mile 20 did I feel it wise to walk for some stretches. How far, not sure, but it was only for two short stretches, and there still was plenty of running.

And in what seemed like no time I was done. Time? Four hours, 27 minutes. Very respectable, especially for a first-timer. The real adventure came on the trip back to the hotel. My race number tag, visible in the above photo, disappeared. That was supposedly the shuttle bus ticket, but the driver obviously knew a frazzled racer when he saw one. Get my point about a finish-line companion?

Back in San Diego, the first congratulatory call came from co-worker Buster Olney, now ESPN’s baseball reporter.

And the regrets: I’ve never done another marathon. It was a great achievement, with no negative physical fallout, and one should always build on such. Also, I’ve allowed the running habit to lapse. The mix with newspaper hours got to be a grind in the mid-90s, but if one wants to do something bad enough, you will find a way.

But there’s still the future. And that memorable moment from the past.

A couple of colorful Packers and Broncos fans patrol downtown San Diego during Super Bowl weekend, 1998.

John Elway was seeking his first Super Bowl win, near the end of his career at age 37. Brett Favre had yet to retire, or un-retire. Terrell Davis was the league’s top running back.

Such was the scene for Super Bowl 32 in San Diego in early 1998. This weekend brings back those memories, and again shows how fast life moves.

That was the last time the Packers were in the Super Bowl, and they were defending champs at the time. Denver was something of a punch line, having made it three times previously under Elway, getting trounced each time. One of those, against Washington in 1988, also was in San Diego. That was the first time the city had hosted the big game, and I was a part of the editing staff at The San Diego Union at the time.

In ’98, things were different. I was a resident of Orange County, just up the road, and had to do much finagling with co-workers to obtain the days off necessary to spend time among the fans in San Diego. Once a San Diegan …

But also, there were fond memories. Though divorced for several years, I could not help but relate to my ex-wife’s family for this game. She was a Wisconsin native whose parents still lived near Madison and were constantly talking about “da Packers.” An honorary Cheesehead, her mother was fond of mailing us Merkts cheese from Wisconsin. However, they also had a daughter in sports-crazy Denver, and were always following “that John Elwood.” (Gotta love that one!)

I quartered myself at a discount motel for the weekend (Mr. Big Spender here) and spent most of the time on Mission and Pacific beaches (gorgeous) or in the Gaslamp District downtown. For a city that has a reputation as a laid-back Navy town, San Diego has quite an impressive downtown character. There’s also Little Italy, for instance, and Seaport Village nearby. Croce’s Restaurant, for instance, is downtown, run by the widow of late singer Jim Croce (“Operator,” “You Don’t Mess Around With Jim”).

But nothing beats watching a game at the Lahaina Beach House in San Diego. When Favre passed to Antonio Freeman for the first touchdown, two guys near me settled a bet as to who would score first.

Truly, anyone would have to love the back and forth nature of that game. Who can forget Elway’s helicopter/spin dive late in the game? Who can forget Packers coach Mike Holmgren ordering his defense to allow Denver to score what turned out to be the winning TD? That allowed Favre and the Packers offense one last chance to save the game.

I also visited San Diego in 2003 for the Super Bowl between Tampa Bay and Oakland, but it was not the same. Can’t say why. Perhaps I was much more the Orange County resident then. But for a guy who never has actually been inside a stadium for a Super Bowl, I’ve got some great memories from San Diego.

Former 49ers coach George Seifert, left, and former All-Pro running back Marcus Allen at Super Bowl fan event, San Diego, 1998.

"Lou" Christenbury of the Boston Braves in the 1920s.

The digital world is taking over everything these days, it seems. Kindles are at office-supply stores, and you can buy an iPad at Walmart, along with your toilet paper and hunting gear.

It’s evolution. A recent New York Times story showed how the tradition-infatuated world of Major League Baseball is adapting. That sport is particularly fond of statistics and nostalgia, so it was fascinating to see how the record-keepers are digitizing the game’s history. (Does this mean we’ll be able to recall Roseanne Barr’s forgettable rendition of the national anthem in San Diego in 1990, during which she rubbed her crotch and spat afterwards in a backfiring attempt at baseball humor?)

But this also means some nostalgic flavor is lost. Reading yellowed clippings and graying old pics and newsreels somehow denotes the bygone days, when baseball players’ uniform numbers denoted their spot in the batting order (Ruth was 3, Gehrig was 4 …).

I’ve even got some of my own, with personal meaning. Time to share.

My mother is fond of saying, “I was a Brave before I was born.” That’s because her father, Loyd Reid “Lou” Christenbury, was a player for the then-Boston, now-Atlanta Braves. They were the “other” team in Boston then, with Babe Ruth pitching (yes, pitching) for the crosstown Red Sox before he was sold to the Yankees.

But my grandfather made his mark on the game. His career average of .273 was more than respectable. And remember, there were far fewer teams in those days, so becoming a major leaguer was more difficult.

However, he also was part of baseball history that I want to bring to light. On May 1, 1920, he was involved in what is still the longest game by innings in Major League Baseball history. The 26-inning affair between Boston and Brooklyn ended in a 1-1 tie that ended when umpires called the game. That was well before night baseball. Christenbury appeared as a pinch-hitter, per the box score.

A few years ago I had the Globe search its archives for an account of the game. Here is the article, box score and more. A fascinating note: Each team used only one pitcher, if I read the account right. (Relief-pitching specialists came along later; in those days, the bullpen was for washed-up starters.) Also, no runs were scored in the last 20 innings, and only 4,000 attended because of threatening weather.

His career ended before my mother was born, and he died when my mother was 10. So I never got to know him.

But I remember my mother saying that her father had to wait until after doing farm chores in Mecklenburg County, N.C., before practicing baseball. And I do remember some tales of him and his wife barnstorming in Cuba. And he was included in a table that ran with a 1992 Sports Illustrated story about “short” baseball players, with Kirby Puckett as cover boy. (The table does not appear online; I have a hard copy tucked away.)

So advancing technology means we will have fewer need for footlockers in the future. (The pictures included in this blog post have been in the family all along.) But something will be lost with that. It won’t however, be my grandfather’s major-league legacy. The Braves are in my blood, too.

"Lou" Christenbury runs the bases for the Boston Braves in the 1920s.

A portion of San Francisco skyline from my hotel, November 2010

Not being a parent, I’m not sure whether people still put locks of hair into baby books. But there are ways to commemorate special moments.

Thursday (12/23/2010), Suwanee Patch became a living, breathing Web site. Like other Patch sites, it’s all about community. (Can we bury the word “hyperlocal,” by the way, alongside “cyberspace” and “information superhighway”?) But this is different.

I’m the editor of Suwanee Patch, so it’s special to ME. Patch Media and AOL provided the infrastructure  and resources, in generous fashion. Atlanta-area Patch local and regional editors provided invaluable daily support. And Suwanee provided ample material.

Like other Patch editors, I was the one out there sloshing through rain and cold to take pictures and get information for all of you to enjoy. Other writers/photographers were on the other end of my e-mails and phone calls with story ideas, suggestions, etc. I was the one with endless notes in my briefcase that at times seemed overwhelming. I was the one learning to use a Mac for the first time, and reading online training material in the early hours, when infomercials are the only TV fare.

This is like slapping an infant on the rump, or cutting the cord, or … no more cliches. You get the idea.

Talk about evolution, of both me and the news media that has been my career, for the most part. Years ago, I remember an incident in which a rural sheriff actually locked in a jail cell one of the quarter-operated news racks that our paper used for distribution. Seems he didn’t like our coverage much. But you don’t need to put a quarter in the box for Patch, or most other Web sites.

I still have a bloodhound instinct in seeking stories. The picture below shows that. I once refereed a pro wrestling match for a first-person account, and came away exhausted but unscathed. (I already have written another blog post about this, and it frequently shows up on searches. Give people what they want, and …) And guess what? A British TV production company that is working on a pilot contacted me recently about using the picture. Really.

So the media have changed, and I have less hair. But we’re both still around.

As wrestling ref for Randy "Macho Man" Savage, top, and Roberto Soto

At Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco, with Alcatraz in the background

Before long, the social media grid will be overrun with holiday stories and year-enders. So I’m getting ahead of all that.

And gotta say that 2010 was one special year. There was a lot of fun and personal recognition. Thankfully, I recorded some of it digitally. And I want to note five highlights.

1. San Francisco: If you want to call this work, go ahead. One of my first duties as an editor with Patch.com was to head for the City by the Bay. As a former California resident, I also had the feeling of going “home.” Seems beaches, Hollywood and the Lakers get most of the media attention, but San Fran is quite remarkable (see above picture). The cable cars, bridges and bread bowls (and this year, the world champion Giants) help make it a city that everyone should visit at least once.

2. Social media recognition: Everyone likes to be lauded for their efforts. So I was thrilled to find myself as something of a “poster child” at SoCon10, the annual social-media confab at Kennesaw State near Atlanta. It was my third SoCon session, something that has added a new wrinkle to my journalism career. Pardon the cliche, but when one door closes …

3. Las Vegas trip: Again, it was a warm-fuzzies type of trip. My old Southern California stomping grounds are a few hours’ drive away. And it was my fifth visit to another remarkable place (see video below). Some things are in my blood: the signature part of this trip was when I walked the length of the strip, several miles total, sending out live updates on Twitter and Facebook along the way, and getting some cool responses immediately. The outbound journey culminated at the unique Stratosphere hotel/casino and some pics of Glitter City from above. Viva!

4. HBO “Boardwalk Empire” screening: A media connection alerted me to this event in September. A couple of the stars were in the Buckhead area of Atlanta for a viewing of the first two episodes. Also, two Atlanta residents with family ties to the Atlantic City period depicted in the film were on hand for an enjoyable discussion. And this blog gets lots of searches every time an episode airs. Blogging ain’t dead, folks.

5. Gen. Petraeus speech: The head of U.S. Central Command was in Atlanta in January to speak, thanks to the effort of former CNN exec Tom Johnson. And the hotel that hosted the speech was peppered with high-level security (men in black, wires in their ears, etc.). Petraeus spoke in typical military style, a calm, measured and diplomatic tone. He needled the Iranian president a bit, and spoke of the need for more drones. But it’s interesting how Iran has faded from the news in 2010. No news is good news, right?

You could almost have grown a forest since Vince Dooley coached the Georgia Bulldogs. And Dooley practically has.

“From field goals to marigolds” is one title Dooley suggested for the speech he gave recently (10/15/2010) at an Atlanta-area college. In recent years, the school’s winningest football coach (201 victories, six SEC titles, one national championship) and longtime athletics director (1979-2004) has become well-known for gardening. There are Vince Dooley hydrangeas (my mother has one) and Vince Dooley camellias out there, and the coach has written a book and travelled internationally because of his latest passion.

“I’ve been bitten by the (gardening) bug, and there is no cure for the infection,” he said. His book, “Vince Dooley’s Garden: The Horticultural Journey Of A Football Coach,” is documentation of his new activity. He said learning about gardening grew out of his love of lifetime learning – he has a Master’s degree in history, obtained before his coaching career began – and he has taken other courses at the university.

The book contains forewords by Michel Dirr and Allan Armitage, two UGA officials who Dooley mentioned often in his speech.

His 2.5-acre home site in Athens — the same one he lived in during his coaching/AD career – has one acre devoted to a garden. Among the foliage are 120 camellias and 120 Japanese maples. He calls it a “garden for all seasons …. there’s something going on all the time.” He’s particularly fond of Japanese maples. He gave his wife one for their 50th wedding anniversary. “It’s the only time I’ve ever known her to be speechless,” he said.

It now is in his blood. When wife Barbara recently mentioned downsizing, Dooley replied, “I am not leaving this garden.”

Such is the evolution of his gardening that the Vince Dooley hydrangea now has three versions: “Endless Summer,” “Blushing Bride,” and “Twist And Shout.” Dirr aided in the cultivation and naming. The photo tour of his home garden showed a pond by his sunroom, a pyracantha covered by heavy snow, and “Augusta Pride,” wisteria that came from the famous Masters golf course.

So, will there be Vince Dooley hedges? “No,” he responded, laughing, to my query that referred to the famous shrubs inside Sanford Stadium. “Those are sacred.”

(Disclosure: I’m a UGA alumnus.)

Vince Dooley shows a picture of himself at his Athens, GA, home to an audience in Atlanta

Bad news about newspaper downsizing is easy to find, and now a cliche. However, I thought it would be interesting to put the carnage in human terms. In some cases, the downsizing has been a blessing. Reaction and attitude are important.

So. here are the tales of four colleagues of how life has gone since the newspaper business has been among those affected by the Internet.

Tony Barnhart, Atlanta: His severance package must have included a magic wand. Likely the nation’s most versatile college football journalist, Barnhart took a buyout from The Atlanta Journal-Constitution in 2008. After 24 years at the paper, he feared being confined to covering one team instead of a variety of SEC and ACC football. But Barnhart’s list of coaching and media contacts is extensive, and therefore he is in high demand. He currently has six contracts: three with TV/Internet outlets of CBS Sports; Atlanta radio station 790 The Zone; the AJC itself (as “Mr. College Football” blogger, five days a week, 37 weeks a year); and a CSS TV show. He made 31 round trip flights to New York last year, and 2010 looks similar. Is he better off financially than before the buyout? Yes.  The real question: Does he sleep standing up?

Diana McCabe, San Diego: Another who has hardly missed a beat. The Ohio State grad and avid runner was a business writer at The Orange County Register before trying non-newsroom work. Now, she has surfaced as the business editor down the road at The San Diego Union-Tribune. She’s also well connected. Husband Gary Robbins also was a reporter at the Register, and now is the science reporter at the U-T. Also, new U-T editor Jeff Light was the interactive chief at the Register for many years. She does it all; she disclosed in a Facebook post that she would be late for a morning run after working the night desk shift.  As a former Union sports editor, I miss that newsroom and I also wonder how the Lahaina Beach House in Pacific Beach is doing.

Ray Melick, Birmingham, AL: He once was the authoritative voice of Crimson Tide football. To put this in perspective, I’ll offer a comment from Sports Illustrated a few years ago, in which then-Alabama coach Bill Curry’s minister said: “Is football in the South a religion? No, it’s more important than that.” But in the new journalism world, sleeping with the enemy is allowed. Melick took a buyout from The Birmingham News in May and now does public relations for British Petroleum. Yes, that BP. He contemplated moving to St. Louis — his wife has family there — but using the same skills on home turf makes sense. Melick works on a one-year contract and did 12-hour days while the famous Gulf oil spill was in crisis mode. (He provided me with this account of his work.) The main thing, he told me in an e-mail, is to be working and making contacts. “I know I’ve been fortunate,” he said.

John Newland, London: Some people are willing to go “across the pond” to find work. Newland, a Tennessee native and once a news editor at The Orange County Register, moved to The Washington Post in 2004. The Post has been downsizing, too, but Newland left on his own, feeling no pressure. He moved to London to get married; the couple did not want to move her three children away from their father. “Terrified,” he said of heading for Britain without a job in this environment. But he has landed a job as production journalist at the Financial Times, Europe’s leading business newspaper. In a recent Facebook post, Newland disclosed he was spending time at his in-laws’ house in the English countryside; part of the country house dates to the 16th century.

Yours truly: It has been an adventure since being among those downsized by The Orange County Register about a month after the 9/11 terrorist attacks. I worked in the financial field for a while, and was an editor/reporter for a national B2B newsletter company based in California. Since moving back to Atlanta in 2007, I’ve become something of a poster child for social media, which has a great future. Stay tuned. (Updated 10/20/2010: I’m now involved with www.patch.com, an AOL company, as a local news editor in the Atlanta area. Boo yah!)