Tim, the city editor, only had one reporter position left. It was down to two of us and we would do a try-out assignment. He gave me fans lining up overnight for Springsteen tickets. I rode my maroon Schwinn to what was then the Activity Center, did a few interviews, biked home about two miles off campus to write it and then biked back to campus around 9 p.m. with my story printed out the old, old, old fashioned way. In hard copy. On paper.
It was all pretty exciting, plus I was wearing headphones and listening to Bruce, which is why I collided head on with another biker going the opposite way. We both flew onto University, but weren't hurt except for some scrapes and bruises. So, I wiped off about a zillion tiny, bleeding abrasions with the papers, walked my bike to the newsroom and handed in my copy. Everyone was so impressed that I was bleeding for the State Press job that I actually got the job on the spot.
Four weeks later when the entertainment editor covered Hunter S. Thompson and ended up going away with him that night never to return to the newsroom, I got her job. The best job ever. I still remember all those hours living, eating, breathing, sleeping and dreaming in Matthews Center. One day Stephen King called and said, "I hear I'm supposed to do an interview with you Cindy. What's a state press?"