A while back, a woman applied for a writing job at DeanHouston and she wasn’t the right fit. It happens. She asked for some feedback – something, anything – to improve her chances for the next place.
I wrote back some in-depth notes. She was gracious in thanking me, saying how valuable it was to have somebody take the time to help.
I wanted to say: Don’t thank me. Thank Steve Brandon.
***
Getting a foot in the door is the hardest part.
It really is. When you’re starting out, just finding your way inside the velvet rope can feel impossible.
When I was 18 and hoping to get into journalism, Steve Brandon opened a side door and said “Come on in, kid.” As the sports editor of the Portland Tribune – a twice-a-week paper back in the day – Steve brought me in. Literally. I would go into the office and I had my own little spot. It felt like the big leagues: equal parts exhilarating and nerve-wracking.
And I woke up this Sunday morning to learn that Steve died from a heart attack. He was only 68.
Even if you don’t know Steve Brandon, you know a Steve Brandon. He was the sweetest person you’d ever meet. And even though he had a staff full of veteran sportswriters, he facilitated unforgettable experiences for me.
How many 18-year-olds get to cover NBA basketball games, interviewing stars like LeBron James, Kobe Bryant, Tim Duncan?
My year at the Tribune helped springboard a decade-long life in journalism, and that life in journalism is a reason I have my job at DeanHouston.
It’s not hyperbole to say I have the life I do now because I had a Steve Brandon.
***
There are two reasons why Steve helped me: because he was a great person and because I asked.
And while “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” discredits your own skills, it’s true that relationships and people who are willing to take the time for you are incredibly important. My experiences with the Portland Tribune – and my time with Steve – taught me more than journalism skills. It also taught me how simply taking a moment out of your day to help somebody can forever change their life.
There’s been a handful of times over the years when I helped somebody like Steve helped me. And when they thank me, I always tell them the same thing:
When the time comes when you’re the person who can help somebody, help them.
Call it a professional pay it forward.
And I learned something interesting after Steve passed.
When he was a teenager, he reached out to the local sports editor — partly to ask for the chance to become a reporter.
“He asked what experience I had,” Steve said about the sports editor. “I had to tell him, ‘Well, sir, I am 16 years old and have never had a job.’ He paused for a moment and said, ‘Why don’t you come in, anyway, and we’ll talk.’ The rest is history, as someone once said.”
I guess I’m lucky Steve Brandon had his own Steve Brandon.
RIP to the sweetest man in journalism.
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