Permission

"Matt, I found this blog via a google search and just so you know, I was unpacking a box and found a script you had written for a new story we covered in 1987. I saw your name, was flooded with memories and Googled you.
First some of the memories..."

I got this letter yesterday.

I wrote back and asked for permission to publish it here, still waiting.

Things I did not know about me.

I had sex in a newsroom, with my boss.

I almost punched a racist murderer, while he was awaiting trial, in a jail interview, with the sheriff in the room.

I fell in love with a beautiful weather reporter. Back then I was shallow, when we did meet, she had a huge ass and I found a reason to cut it short and leave.

I did not do crack.

We accidentally took credit for a series of environmental hoaxes.

I rode a bike around the Catskills for a summer.

Permer was in his prime, memorable to this day, sexy and sophisticated.

When our news station switched formats one Friday and we were both immediately out of a job, by the end of the weekend I was gone, not a trace, phone number or any idea where I had gone. Until this letter, we had not been in touch.