By Frank James
Photo: Coburn Dukehart/NPR
Like many journalists, I've been fortunate to witness history large and small and to have people open their everyday lives to me.
I stood yards away from Nelson Mandela in Cape Town when he emerged from the parliament building with his white predecessor, part of the ceremony that marked his becoming South Africa's first black president.
I've watched a neurosurgeon snip a tumor from a patient's brain, working through a small hole in the skull like an an ice fisherman going after a sturgeon.
I accompanied a hardworking, grieving single mother as we both looked down on her only child on a funeral-home gurney, a baby-faced teen shot in the back by fellow gang member, an instance of urban friendly fire.
I held my breath in the back of a racing Chicago police cruiser as it joined the chase of a motorcyclist who must've thought doing more than 100 mph on city streets would help him escape. It might've if he hadn't lost control.
I sat in Alan Greenspan's office when he was revered as the Federal Reserve Chair and got the Maestro's take on the economy. That was before the economy spun out and wrecked, just like that motorcyclist, with Greenspan catching a lot of blame for contributing to the excesses.
I shouted, respectfully of course, in a U.S. Capitol corridor to catch the attention of a young senator to discuss immigration-reform. It seemed a stretch then to think he would become president in less than two years. He did, proving that the improbable sometimes happens.
You get the picture. In my years as a journalist, first at The Wall Street Journal, later at the Chicago Tribune I, like so many other newspaper reporters of my vintage, have had a glorious ride filled with interesting people, places and stories.
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