George Plimpton and me

I've always admired George Plimpton's approach to journalism. He pioneered "participatory journalism," injecting himself into the culture that he was covering. Throughout his career Plimpton threw himself into the worlds of professional football, ice hockey, played piano at the Apollo Theatre in Harlem, and many other adventures.

It's a courageous approach, quickly exposing one's inexperience and lack of knowledge about the culture and lifestyle. It also forces a reporter to use all his or her investigative senses and to quickly relate to the people being covered. Plimpton had the unique ability to be both humble and transparent in worlds that were foreign to his roots, bringing his readers along for the ride.


I never had the pleasure of meeting Plimpton. But, had he been aware of my journey through the world of "work," I think he would have been proud.

When I graduated from U.Mass/Amherst (with a Bachelor of Business Science degree) I thought (rather naively) that the corporate world would be clamoring to hire me. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do or how to search for a job. I did know one thing however - I wanted to make money and live independently.

By mid-summer 1975 I was getting desperate so I started doing what any desperate, aggressive, Boston-bred, ex-hockey player does - I started knocking on doors in downtown Boston. (I also wanted to try city living, having been raised in the suburbs and craving the life of a young bachelor.)

One of the doors I knocked on was Liberty Mutual Insurance Company, right smack in the middle of Boston, just off Boston Common. The conversation with the HR person went something like this:

"You just graduated from U.Mass Bill, correct?"
"Yes I did, with a BBS in Business, marketing major."
"Have you ever worked for a corporation before Bill?"
"No I haven't, but for the past few years in school I've been a bar tender at a pretty large Polish restaurant in North Hampton. I've seen some pretty interesting things there."
"How would you like to be a Group Insurance Underwriter here at Liberty Mutual?"
"A what?"
"A Group Insurance Underwriter. We have about thirty right now. You'd have an assigned territory and determine group insurance rates based on risk factors for companies in that region."
"What's the salary range for this position?"
"Your starting salary would be $18K a year."
Realizing I had no other options and that this guy was actually offering me a job I said "I'll take it!" I still had no clue what an underwriter did.

My naivete really struck me on my first day at work. My new supervisor met me as I stepped from the thirteenth floor elevator. "Welcome to Liberty Mutual Bill, let me show you to your desk," he said. Looking out over the sea of desks, there were no cubicles at all, I thought to myself "I'm going to hate this."

So this was corporate America in 1975. They didn't tell me about this in college and, of course, I was too busy partying and playing hockey to even think about life after college. (Or even, frankly, why I was there in the first place.)

I lasted a year to the day at Liberty Mutual. I spent my lunch time either running along the Charles River or visiting the Boston Public Library, researching career paths that would take me away from city life.

Yes, I quickly realized that living a "city bachelor's life" was not for me, I loved forests and clean air way too much to ever be happy in a city. (Running along the Charles at noon was certainly an escape, as was another newly-found passion - bicyle touring and cycling to work from my hometown of Lynnfield, about 25 miles north of Boston. (My commute time was about the same whether driving or cycling!)

Digging deep into my passions during that awful year made me realize a couple of things about myself. One, I craved muscle-powered adventure and two, I wanted to get the hell out of Boston and New England. (With my reconnections through Facebook, it appears I wasn't the only young guy to hear the "Go West Young Man" call.)

So, in 1976, who was I really and where would be the best place to begin my "passions quest?"

Duhhhh! I was physical by nature (clearly not cerebral), an athlete willing to push and test myself against the world's challenges. So it made sense to pursue an M.A. in Physical Education and combine that degree in some way with my bachelors in business. (How exactly was very unclear of course, I've never been known to plan too far in advance.)

And where would this M.A. be sought? Why of course! A college in northern Arizona! For a young guy from Boston Flagstaff seemed to fulfill my fantasy of the wild west - mountains, sun, fewer people, and clean air - at least from what I could tell from research at the Boston Public Library.

Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff would become my school and home for the next two years. But I had to get there first...

January 1977: time to make the drive to Flagstaff from Boston. Possessions: a '69 Kharmann Ghia (no heat, questionnable windshield wipers, several rusted-through areas in the floor boards - covered with floor mats), a touring bicycle, some clothing, and one pair of inflatable arctic-style Air Force boots purchased at the Army/Navy store in Boston.

The trip was certainly an adventure and full of lessons. Lesson #1: don't travel across the middle of the country by car in January and, if you must, be totally prepared. By the time I got to Oklahoma US 40 was more like the skating rinks I knew so well back in Boston. A blizzard blew in and caught me totally by surprise. I was quite a sight to passing cars. Left arm out the window holding a window scraper (questionnable windshield wipers quit about 500 miles out), heater never worked so the arctic boots came in handy, and snow tires? Didn't need 'em when I left Boston....thankfully they closed US 40 and forced me into a hotel for a couple of days.

But I did finally make it to Flagstaff. At 7,000 feet in elevation Flagstaff has it's own unique weather challenges in January. So excited was I upon arrival that, on my second day, an overcast yet mild day, I decided to cycle a dirt road loop north of town and back to the motel where I was staying. Lesson #2: at 7,000 feet storms blow in very quickly, trapping and killing high elevation neophytes like me every year. At the half-way point of my trip, about 8,000 ft., a snowstorm blew in. Couldn't see the road, didn't have a compass or any survival gear, and the snow was getting too deep to keep cycling. Wound up carrying my bike along (what I hoped was) the road. While slogging through the snow I kept thinking of the headine in Lynnfield's (MA) weekly Shopper News: "Local Man Lost and Presumed Eaten by Bears near Flagstaff Arizona."

Tired, wet, and shaken, I did finally emerge from the dirt road and was able to cycle the rest of the way back to town. Interesting isn't it that, the more you survive situations that could end your life, the more confident you enter life's inevitable challenges. The key is remembering what you've survived - and how you dealt with each situation.

Prior to moving to Flagstaff I had taken up fitness running for both physical and mental reasons (I was getting "chunky" and I found that distance running calmed my aggressive tendencies - a result of years of being a rough and tumble ice hockey defenseman. Who knew that endorphins were being released!) Boston Marathon? That was for those skinny little guys....

The Flagstaff running community, however, turned me into a competitive runner. Several new friends encouraged me to train for the annual 15K coming up during the summer of 1977. Plimpton, I suspect, would have approached the challenge the same way. Interested in the whole "running culture" that was gaining national attention ( a result of Bill Bowerman's book) I decided to challenge myself by training for the race - simply to see if I could finish and what the experience would show me.

I found the running community totally different than the ice hockey community in which I was so entrenced (and totally burned out on.) Runners came from both sexes, many different shapes and sizes, as well as different racial, ethnic, and educational backgrounds. In the 60's and 70's New England ice hockey was composed of white middle class men who, once their playing days were over, did not participate in lifetime physical fitness activities.

Not so with the running community. During the boom years of running in the 70's and 80's both young and old were entering road races and looking to running to add "life to the years."

to be continued....