These Times

An interview with a newspaper columnist

Kirk Ericson | Dec 05, 20240

Kirk Ericson, a columnist with the Shelton Mason-County Journal for the past seven years, has a new book out that contains more than 100 of his favorite columns. “Great Writing!” is his second book, after “Disappointment Awaits,” which came out in 2019. His work runs every week on page 4 of the Journal.

Kirk sat down with Kirk earlier this week for a Q&A about his latest book and matters related to producing a weekly newspaper column.

Kirk: First of all, Kirk, how tall are you?

Kirk: That’s a great question. Really great. Thanks so much for asking. I often tell people I’m 6-foot-1, but I’m 6-foot and a half an inch.

Q: I have a follow-up question. Do you like your height?

A: Great follow-up question. I do.

Q: Why do you like your height?

A: I don’t know. I also don’t know why I’m rapturous about my width and depth. Maybe I’m a dimensionalist, if that’s even a thing.

Q: You seem to have a hard time being serious. You can be sarcastic. Is that true, and have you ever thought about why that is?

A: I suppose it’s true, but I’m learning to be more considerate of others during my bouts of unseriousness. I have a theory. I’m the youngest of four children, and when you’re the youngest in a big family, you learn early that it’s hard to compete in matters involving mayhem and conversation while surrounded by people who are bigger and have more stories to tell, and who can control the conditions and conversation better than you can. A brief, off-putting comment seemed the fastest way to attract the attention I craved. That approach got honed. I appear instinctively drawn to the youngest in big families. Most of my longest-tenured friends are the youngest siblings in large families. And Mrs. Ericson is the youngest of seven.

Q: Did your attempts to draw attention to yourself cause problems?

A: It did. It took me a long time to learn people have feelings that can be hurt, just as I had feelings that could be hurt. I was in my midteens when I had a moment of awareness: I was overly sensitive to the slights I received and overly insensitive to the slights I gave. That awareness didn’t do much to change my behavior, though.

Q: What did you do to improve your understanding of people?

A: It might have been why I read so much as a teenager. I was most drawn to books by humorists and comedians, and books that dealt with epic human suffering. I read a lot about war, especially Nazis and the Holocaust. A friend told me a few years ago that I was aware of Josef Mengele (the “Angel of Death” at Auschwitz) from an early age. Maybe I was trying to understand the range of human experience and response, from knock-knock jokes to Auschwitz.

Q: Is it possible you were drawn to working for newspapers as a way of understanding people?

A: Maybe. I started as a reporter, which requires constantly meeting strangers and getting their part of a story, a story that you likely know less about than anyone else involved in the story. You have to learn to read people and their surroundings and calculate your questions and presence to draw accurate and truthful answers. You’re constantly searching for the telling detail. You need to be as aware of people’s emotions— and your own biases — as you are of plain old facts.

Q: Do you have an example of one of your columns that might illustrate your, as you claim, improved understanding of people?

A: I wrote this summer about Adrianna Tupolo, the North Mason High School student who won state in the discus in spring. I sent her an email asking whether she’d show me how to throw the discus. I didn’t hear from her, but I was patient — I know many teens pay sporadic attention to emails. After several days, she answered by text, apologizing for the delay and saying she’d talk to me. I met Adrianna and her mom at the high school a few days later, and I spent time talking with her mom. I knew it was critical for her mother to trust me, and I passed that test. Then I spent 45 minutes with Adrianna, focusing exclusively on what it takes to throw a discus. She was completely engaged, maybe because I was asking questions that excavated what she’s learned from her silent and countless hours of repetitive physical effort. When the interview was done, I told her how much I had enjoyed myself, and she responded likewise. Everything came together for that one.

Q: How did that column idea come to you?

A: I remember. I was alone in a 5-acre field last June at my sister-in-law’s property, pulling scotch broom. The sun was new on the horizon. I had a thought in spring about doing a story on Adrianna after she won state, but nothing more after that. Two months later, I was throwing those scotch broom stalks onto a pile, and I found that by spinning my body 360 degrees before releasing the stalk, I could generate more distance and height on the throw. That made me think of throwing a discus and that connected with Adrianna and that connected with having her teach me how to throw a discus. It was a lovely moment. You should have been there. Have you ever pulled scotch broom?

Q: I haven’t. And that discus column had the added advantage of putting you in the middle of the story.

A: Yeah. That can be a bad thing. Maybe I do it too often, but I’ve developed a justification. It makes it more interesting for me. I could have done a story on Adrianna that focused on how she felt after winning state, her plans for the future, her favorite school subject, a comment from her coach, that sort of thing, and then sprinkle in some stats and be done with it. But that’s not enjoyable to me.

Q: OK. That’s it. It was nice meeting you.

A: Thanks. It was nice meeting you, too.