Preface: The Maine Storyline

“Are you lost?” the cashier asked.

Being a guy who prides himself on navigation, whether it be country roads, touchscreen menus, or trains of thought, that was not a question I was used to hearing.

“What in the hell are you doing all the way up here?” was the follow up question she asked as she glanced again at my ID.

I knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. I was at the Circle K in Presque Isle, Maine, buying a six-pack of Sea Dog Wild Blueberry to celebrate a successful 3-day, 1,400 mile journey and christen apartment C4 at 53 Dupont Drive, my new home address.

But most residents of Presque Isle had trouble grasping why a clean cut, modest looking 24-year old kid from the South Side of Chicago would move to their quiet corner of the country.

It was a no-brainer to accept the entry-level TV reporting job at WAGM in Presque Isle. The people at the station were great, they’d allow me every opportunity to work every position (anchoring, live reporting, sports, etc.), and most importantly, it was a foot in the door.

It’s a tough market for TV news jobs. Stationindex.com lists 210 television markets across the country. Ruling out the top 100 markets, which require 2-5 years of experience in the business as a requirement for employment, that cut my sights in half. And of those 110 markets, maybe a handful had openings they were trying to fill at any one given time. So the pickings were slim.

When I began applying for jobs upon graduation from DePaul University in June of 2014, I hoped to stay somewhere close to Chicago for my first gig. WLUK in Green Bay would have been great. Rochester (MN) would have rocked. Starting out in Terre Haute? Terrific.

The Bottom of the Ladder

After two months, I had received only two calls back from the dozens of emails I’d sent and phone calls I’d made to stations daily. They were KTVF in Fairbanks, Alaska and WAGM in Presque Isle, Maine.

Fairbanks is market 202. Presque Isle is just two spots behind at 204.

I’d been to Fairbanks in 2009 as part of a family vacation, but had never been to Maine. I instantly thought of one minor detail about going to Maine that excited me a thousand times more than it should have: by going to Maine, I could finally hang up that map of the United States with all the pins in it for the places I’ve lived and visited. After all, it won’t stay up unless you visit the top two corners of the country first.

That’s an old Polish joke of my grandpa’s. I say Polish because I don’t think you’re supposed to say Polock anymore. Funny how some words can be considered endearing by some, derogatory by others. That’s context for ya.

My grandfather, along with my Old Man, had been the greatest storytellers I’d known. Just the way they spoke. The details they’d include were essential. The pictures they’d paint were vivid. The stories they’d tell were captivating. The audiences they’d command were small…. but left richer for having listened.

And that’s my goal, my aim, my charge in getting into the news reporting business. That’s what I’ll be doing here in Maine, telling their stories. I’ll be on the news at 5:30, 6:00, 10:00 and 11:00. Everyone in town is thrilled to get a new reporter, especially the old ladies. I know. They’ve already stuffed me with zucchini bread and seafood salad sandwiches and all other kinds of treats, and I’ve only been in town for a week!

I introduce myself to people and they’re so excited to meet me and can’t wait to see my stories on the air. I’m entrusted with being the mouthpiece of a brand new community. I better know what they want to hear.

So I figured the best thing to do is immerse myself into the culture, sip in the local flavors. That’s where the Seadog came in. It’s brewed in Portland, Maine. In seven days I’ve drank three sixers of the stuff. I’m hooked.

After all, I knew I wasn’t going to find Blatz beer anywhere within a 1,000 miles of Presque Isle. It’s 1,457 miles from Presque Isle to Milwaukee.

1,457 Miles from Presque Isle to Milwaukee

Cold beer would not be far wherever I would find my first reporting job. It’s not like I was going to another country or anything. However I would now be only ten minutes away from the New Brunswick border. So that was pretty exciting.

I knew my first job was not going to be in an exciting place. It was not going to be anywhere glamorous or thriving or bustling.

It wasn’t going to be any of those. Those are words that conjure up clear pictures in our minds. They make us think of architecture you’re eye can’t miss, people walking at a purposefully busy pace and an energetic buzz in the air you can hear and feel.

No. Northern Maine is none of those things. It has none of those things. It doesn’t need none of those things.

Northern Maine is not glamorous, but rather enchanting. There’s no stunning enormous man-made structures anywhere. What does take your breath away is the alluring beauty of the rolling hills, the sturdy abundant woods, and the absolutely limitless sky.

Northern Maine is not thriving, but rather rationing. There’s no millionaires or big spenders in these parts. What little some folks have they’re more than willing to share with someone who needs it more. They use personal sacrifice as an opportunity to build community.

Northern Maine is not bustling, but rather ambling. There’s no overcrowded avenues or lively late night hot spots. What energizes the area is its natural simplicity. Nobody’s really glued to their smartphones or trying to do a million things before a quarter to three. They’re here now, experiencing the wondrous landscape.

And that’s what I’ve gathered in so far about my new home.

I’ll let you guys know what I find, what I learn, and what I love as I rationally amble through the enchanting lands of Aroostook County.