A few weeks before graduating from George Washington University, I applied for a sportswriter’s position at a small New Hampshire newspaper. I did it mainly to get my father off my back about not yet having a job, and I figured they would never even consider hiring a guy still weeks away from even being available. Much to my surprise, they held the position open for six weeks because of my computer expertise. You see, this small-city newspaper was moving from typewriters to computers, and my college paper had used a pioneering computer system (Sidenote: The system never made it out of the testing phase). So, my technological expertise – combined with a very strong writing resume – made me the Claremont Eagle Times’ newest sportswriter.
I arrived in Claremont, then a slowly dying mill town on the Connecticut River, ready to take the world by storm. I was a technologically advanced, sophisticated writer from a big-city college. I was going to show these hicks what journalism really was. Instead, these insightful people taught me some of the best lessons of my life.
Three men, above all, shaped me as both a professional and a person – my father, my maternal grandfather and Lawrence “Poody” Walsh. Poody was my boss in New Hampshire and a lifelong resident of the Claremont area. He was a short man with a round face and even rounder glasses, a walrus moustache and an ever-present, old-fashioned golfer’s cap. He only graduated high school, but Poody gave me the greatest post-graduate education.
Here are three of Poody’s most memorable lessons:

Poody Lesson No. 1: You Could Be Digging a Ditch
Covering high school sports along the Vermont-New Hampshire border is not for the faint of heart. December soccer matches in the wind, snow and cold. March baseball games in ice, sleet and sub-freezing temperatures. Long drives. Small, musty gyms. Gusty fields. Late hours. All on deadline. There was a lot to complain about.
But Poody would just point out a road crew as we drove past on the highway and say, “Why complain? You could be digging a ditch.”
That one sentence – repeated often – taught me to focus on the job at hand: Do it right, do it well, and don’t complain. I’m doing what I want to do. Others always have it much worse.

Poody Lesson No. 2: I Don’t Get It
I was the big-city college kid, so when I wrote the funniest lead paragraph in the history of New Hampshire journalism, I expected a Pulitzer Prize. Poody just said, “I don’t get it.”
I explained what made it so clever. Again, he replied, “I don’t get it.”
After a couple more rounds of my impassioned explanations, Poody shrugged and said, “Okay, I get it. Now, change it.”
I went to protest some more, but he calmly said, “If you want to go door to door and explain it to each of our 8,000 subscribers, you can keep it.”
I rewrote the paragraph.
If your audience does not get what you are trying to say – if you need to make an extra effort to explain your message to them – then it’s not clever, it’s pointless.
Always write in terms the audience understands. Simple advice, but too often forgotten because we want to sound smart and authoritative. Be clear, not complicated.

Poody Lesson No. 3: It’s Not About the Horseshoes
I was thinking big for my career when I arrived in Claremont. I planned to eventually cover the World Series, the Super Bowl, the World Cup, the Olympics! Not the Claremont City Horseshoe Championships.
I remember staring blankly at Poody and stammering out, “Horseshoes? Those things we toss around in the backyard? What the heck am I supposed to write about horseshoes?”
Poody’s reply: “It’s never about the sport. Find a good story, and everyone will want to read it – whether they care about the topic or not.”
I got rave reviews for my story. It was not about the competition, but the competitors, who turned out to be a colorful bunch. I’ve since covered high school ski jumping, international equestrian events, musicians, sports stars, politicians, even a presidential primary. In each case, I could always hear Poody’s voice imploring me to “find a good story.”
It’s all about the story, folks, not the topic itself. It’s about why our audience should care about the topic and what it can do for them. Look for the story. If it interests you, it will interest others.
And if it doesn’t, don’t worry, you could be digging a ditch.