So Where did This "Unleashed" Thing Come From, Anyway?

Those of you who live in California may well remember that I, The Chuckmeister, used to be a prolific contributor to the "Letters to the Editor" section of the Newport Mesa Daily Pilot.

Now this little paper is the main way that residents of Newport Beach and Costa Mesa, California, find out what's going on in their little piece of what used to be paradise.  And I was a happy resident thereof for decades.  Yet, I often spied something that proved interesting to me, and thus might well be interesting to others.  

And so, being a bit handy with the written word, I would crank off a quick opinion piece and email it to the Paper.  And they would publish it.  Almost every time.  And over a period of years the total number of such published offerings grew to more than 300...

As a result I grew to be something of an opinion "leader," or at least "former" among the conservative element in that community.  A community that, like the rest of what used to be the Golden State, was slowly, inexorably turning Blue.  As in liberal, doncha' know.  So I built up a following.  Not intentionally, you see.  Just kind of by accident.  When you feel you have to write something, and then do, you don't really need an ulterior motive.  Kind of like having an itch and needing to scratch it.  And if others are moved to have an opinion about those opinion pieces, so be it.  

The Daily Pilot was, and is, owned by the "Lost Angeles Times."  And you know by now that the LAT is one of the very most liberal papers in America.  So how did the Times wind up owning a more than 100 year-old paper in a reliably conservative enclave?  Because the Pilot, like nearly every other local newspaper during the past few years, ran out of money and needed an investor.  So, picture this: my submissions would necessarily be poured over by some 19 year-old intern in the Editor's office.  Some kid with a newly-minted journalism degree would be charged with "correcting" my submissions and the submissions of others.  And more often than not, he or she or it would make all sorts of "corrections" which could, and often did, change the thrust or intent of my essays.  Which pissed me off, Bigly!

All this came to a head, so to speak, when, deep in a debate about literary freedom with an editor steeped in liberalism one day, I was offered my own weekly column.  I jumped at the chance, hoping against hope, that I could finally, finally be permitted to puke forth my mind without some weenie figuratively looking over my shoulder.  Oh yeah, and they agreed to pay me $50.00 for each submission.  Wheeeee!

My hopes were in vain.

I launched my new column to no fanfare whatsoever.  It just showed up one day.  But loyal readers expressed their glee that there I was, offering up my oft-strange opinions.  And those who didn't like me before, liked me even less.  

But then one day some miscreant somewhere shot up a school.  And I opined in my column that the "answer" to solving such crimes was to first, tear down the "Gun Free Zones" signs.  They are nothing but an invitation to evil doers to "Please kill us."  And that schools and shopping malls and sporting events and concerts should be "hardened" so that Bad Guys with guns couldn't blow away dozens of unsuspecting citizens without having to face armed resistance.  Resistance as in arming teachers, for instance.

Oh God, the howls!  The screams and shouts and condemnation from the lefty weenie contingent poured forth!  We're talking a community-wide case of the vapors!  They wanted me tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail!  Who was this freak who actually had the temerity to suggest that soft, weak and lily-livered teachers should and could be trusted to actually carry a concealed weapon?  Oh, the horror!

Well, my friends, we went back and forth.  The naysayers clouded up and rained all over me while I fought the good fight, trying my best to educate an entire population of folks who were unfortunately born and raised in a place where the mere thought of shooting back when attacked was anathema ("Go ahead and kill me, but please don't make me touch that awful gun!").

The Editor asked me politely to resign.  I politely resigned.  And in my last offering, I was nice enough not to mention that the $50.00 per submission fee I was supposed to receive from the Paper for my professional submissions had yet to be paid.  

And it still hasn't.  The Pilot, and its daddy the "Times," is short of cash, doncha' know...

My good friend Geoff West, another prolific contributor to the Paper, called me to commiserate.  Geoff had a wonderful blog at the time he called "A Bubbling Cauldron."  It was universally read and appreciated, earning him awards and notoriety throughout the area.  And having had his own problems with the Paper, Geoff suggested that I start a blog of my own.  It was easy, he said.  And I could write what I wanted without some wet-nosed kid rearranging my "1's" and "0's."  And so he showed me how to get started.  And I did.  That was more than 10 years ago.  And I'm still at it.

Now, many of you know that I got the "Chuckmeister" moniker when I was saving America from communism while stationed in Germany.  So the new  "Unleashed" part was to signify that no one, nowhere, nohow could thereafter tell me what to write, or change it once it was written.  And they haven't.  Oh, I've made mistakes that a good copy editor could have, and likely would have caught.  But the price for that bit of assistance, like the rent in New York City, was just too damned high...

Putting your thoughts down in a blog is, to me, therapeutic.  I write something that needs to be written, I feel, and then push "Publish."  And then I more less forget what I've written, my spleen having been thus vented.  And I frankly don't care what people think of it.   

You might want to try it for yourself...

BTW, if the Times somehow comes into some extra cash, and would like to settle old accounts with the Chuckmeister, they know how to reach me...