“So I turned myself to face me

But I’ve never caught a glimpse

How the others must see the faker

I’m much too fast to take that test”

— David Bowie, Changes (1971)

Today – almost 44 years later – I still enjoy telling the story about the first time something that I wrote was published.

It was 1981. I was 16 and a high school junior. We were required to do a one-week work-study project, exploring a career field that seemed of interest.

I thought I wanted to be a newspaper reporter. So, I called the Journal Tribune —then this region’s daily newspaper – to make an inquiry. The editor (Eric Reiss) agreed to let me shadow a couple of reporters and work in the newsroom.

Back then smoking was allowed in newsrooms. So was coffee, profanity, screaming matches and the constant hum from a chorus of IBM Selectric II typewriters.

It was a marvelous time, especially for an enthusiastic high school kid with dreams of grandeur about becoming the next Bob Woodward.

Near the end of the week, I was allowed to occupy an empty desk that was closest to the cranky city editor, Bob Melville – a man who wore his glasses perched low on his nose.

Mr. Melville would later become a well-known real estate agent and was repeatedly elected to serve on the Biddeford School Board after his retirement. In real-life, Bob had a great sense of humor and was well-regarded as a hard-working, respectable man of intellect and integrity.

But for me, a skinny 16-year-old kid with stubborn acne, Mr. Melville was like the Wizard of Oz, and I was a combination of the Cowardly Lion and The Scarecrow. I had neither brains nor courage.

I was just sitting there at that desk, wondering what I should do. Phones were ringing all around me, but I was not allowed to answer them.

Our deadline was looming. If you have ever worked in a newsroom, you know that editors become increasingly grumpy with each passing second closer to deadline.

Melville, clutching his phone, suddenly turned to me, staring at me over the glasses that remain still perched on the end of his nose.

Mr. Melville was like the Wizard of Oz, and I was a combination of the Cowardly Lion and The Scarecrow. I had neither brains nor courage.

“Kid!” he barked. “Line Two.”

I was shocked, excited and terrified. The city editor was giving me a story. Finally! Something I could actually write! I was on my way now!

Oh, the places you will go

Turns out that the guy on ‘Line 2’ was a local funeral director. He was calling to give me a last-minute obituary for that afternoon’s newspaper.

I took copious notes on a legal pad. I do not remember the name of the gentleman I was writing about. I only remember that he belonged to about every social club you could imagine: The Elks, The Eagles, The Lions, Rotary . . . the list seemed endless.

The deceased also had roughly 250,000 nieces, nephews, cousins and grandchildren.

I hung up the phone and loaded a fresh sheet of paper into my typewriter. I had never written an obituary before, but Mr. Melville gave me a stack of some recent obits as a guide.

I put my very best effort into writing that obituary. I pained over each word, doing my best to avoid split infinitives and ending any sentence with a preposition.

Melville kept glancing at me and then the clock on the wall. I could tell he was becoming impatient.

I tore the copy from my typewriter and proudly placed it in a wire basket on Melville’s desk before returning to my chair.

I watched as he began to read my masterpiece. His brow furrowed and his posture stiffened. He grabbed a red pen and was waving it across my piece with an almost gleeful abandon.

After several painstaking seconds of anticipation, he finally turned to me and asked: “Where do you go to high school?”

Actually, that year I was attending Rumford High School, but I blurted out “Thornton Academy.”

“Well, don’t they teach English at Thornton Academy?” he huffed.

I was humiliated but could barely wait until the first run of that day’s paper was completed. I anxiously turned to the obituaries page but found nothing that remotely resembled my masterpiece.

In the end, the only two things I got right was the man’s name and age. Basically, everything else had been rewritten. No matter, I was proud.

My mother was proud, too. She cut out that obituary and posted that poor bastard’s obituary on our refrigerator – I was now part of an elite clan: a newspaper reporter who had published something in a real newspaper.

In the mood

More than four decades later, and I am now a semi-retired newspaper editor and reporter.

A few weeks ago, I launched a new endeavor, The Biddeford Gazette. The Gazette is a free, online news outlet that focuses on Biddeford news and events.

A lot has changed in the newspaper business over the last 40 years. For example, you can no longer smoke in a newsroom, but profanity among your coworkers is still strongly encouraged.

For better or worse, more and more people are turning to social media for their news and information. Thanks to technology, today’s news consumers can now custom tailor their news feed almost in the same way you create a music playlist on Spotify or YouTube.

Some of the changes are good, but many of the changes – especially AI (Artificial Intelligence) – are not so good.

Launching my own media source was never intended to become a source of income. It’s basically a hobby, a tool to help provide some handrails on the road of life.

Yes, I still do a little political consulting and some public relations work for clients throughout New England, but none in the Biddeford or Saco area.

The Biddeford Gazette allows me to report news on my terms, when I want and how I want. I’m not here to compete with any other traditional publication, including Saco Bay News, the Biddeford-Saco Courier or the Portland Press Herald.

Up until last year, my website was called Randy Seaver Consulting and provided an overview of the services I offered as a public relations consultant.

My lingering mental health issues, however, played a part in me stepping away from the full-time, stress-packed world of political consulting.

Then, as I began shifting my professional career, I renamed the site, Lessons in Mediocrity so that I could basically do whatever I want: serious journalism, political satire, fiction, local news and a diary of coping tools against schizophrenia, anxiety and depression.

Well, how did I get here?

Today is the first day of 2025.

I am no longer that skinny kid with pimples too afraid to look a girl in the eye. I am once again going to rebrand this website as the Biddeford Gazette.

Up until today, the Biddeford Gazette was a sub-page on my blog. Rest assured, my personal blog will continue – but now as a subpage to the Gazette.

Since launching the Biddeford Gazette just six weeks ago, I have been able to break some significant news stories and also have a bit of fun at the expense of local politicians. (Someone needs to keep them on their toes)

And I am pleased to announce that beginning January 6, 2025, the Biddeford Gazette will publish local obituaries that are supplied by local funeral homes.

Traditional media outlets charge significant fees to publish an obituary. The Biddeford Gazette will publish them for free with the help of some social media partners in the Biddeford and Saco area.

Imagine that, 44 years later, and I am going right back to where I started, doing my best to honor and remember those who are no longer with us.

This change just feels right.

Happy New Year!

P.S. This website is currently being reconfigured.

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