So I decided to come out in the paper and say something really bold. I'm not convinced I wrote things just to sell papers, but I did have a bit of an edge to my writing sometimes. As the 22-0 Springboro girls basketball team approached its tournament game against Little Miami, marking the third time the Panthers played them, I decided -- for reasons I still do not understand -- to say that Springboro did not have another victory in them. So I made a bold prediction.
The Panthers proved me wrong, of course, and I made good on a promise I made after the game.
I literally ate my words. Pass the ketchup.
...
August 20, 1984 -- No Way To Plan This
It was a Monday afternoon, 4:00, and I was at The Western Star putting together my pre-season football edition for The Star Free Press. I wasn't exactly on top of the world. I was a college graduate, but I was still working with a weekly newspaper making the grand sum of $180.00 per week -- which adds up to $9,360.00 per year. How long could I keep that up? It was but one of the many reasons I was not a very good husband.
As I was finishing up my column, doing the best I could to be a positive influence on someone, I get a page over the loudspeaker that I was wanted on Line 7. Usually that made for a last-minute request for some sports team or organization to get an announcement into the paper. Nothing special.
"Jeff Kirby? This is the University of Dayton School of Law. Do you have a moment to talk with us."
What, were they calling to humiliate me even further? Just a few months earlier, I had been given the opportunity to show myself in its summer qualification program, taking two classes over the course of eight weeks to see if I had what it took to be the law student my grades and my LSAT said I could not be. And I had blown it, prompting the letter I'd received earlier that month that said basically, "Thanks, but no thanks. We won't be seeing you when classes start on August 22." So my fledging legal career was over before it started.
Why call me to rub it in?
But that's not what they had to say. Evidently, there had been a last-minute cancellation, so there was an open spot for the Class of 1987. Did I want to join them? You may be one of the dumbest students we've ever had, but your $5,000 that year will surely help us pay our bills.
I went home that night not sure what just happened.
Years later, I would still wonder.
On Wednesday morning, I was in Torts class. Unbelievable.