The day I (officially) became a journalist. A day when my dad did not excitedly cheer, because: “Women write stories,” men work for the railways, the police, the post office or the prison. Later on he could not hide his pride. The early days were difficult, hard and often full of tears. Having only a racing bicycle to follow stories, sometimes Dad had to become a taxi-driver. Mom was the one who spent sleepless nights unlocking the door – listening to another gruesome story. She was the one who bought two pairs of trousers, two shirts and a leather jacket and read me the “riot act”. “You will dress neatly every day – this shows that you respect the people and they will respect you.” That first morning she made me turn around, scrutinising me to make sure that everything was in place, and then ordered: “Straighten your tie!” Now, this is 45 years later.
One could study at the largest university – the University of Life. There is no better and larger institution where one can study. However, the values of a parental home were the things that kept me standing for 45 years. That – and you knew where your help came from – your help is in the name of the Lord, the Creator of heaven and earth. Without a tutor your road would become a maze in which one can easily lose direction… To have a boxing promotor as editor was – to put it mildly – “challenging”. The “Pen,” Leonard Neill, practiced journalism in its purest form. When parents complained about problems occurring on the Witbank High School bus from Middelburg to Witbank, he tasked Wally Karbe to obtain school-wear and travel in the bus with the scholars. When complaints about “unholy shenanigans” occurring in the cemetery were mentioned, he said: “Go and sleep there…” Today I want to give kudos to those who “raised” and “tutored” me. The Hennie Erasmus(es), Brian Clarke, Tonie van Rensburg, Dana Truter, Robert Brandt, Wim Bosman, Pedro Diederichs, Sefako Nyaka, Essop Patel. Cor Leijenaar, attached to Beeld, taught me the importance of names. The Forum for Community Journalists on which I could serve since 1990 was a career highlight. It does not happen every day that a connection with the Pretoria Technicon (Tshwane University of Technology) would last so long, since 1985. Precious relationships were formed and could be made to improve journalists and the trade. The police officials, like Captain Boning, who passed stories on to me. The young constables who exchanged stories during the evenings as we drank Rum and Coke from cut-open cans.
Prosecutor Leon van den Berg, who phoned with stories, and allowed me to first read the dossier before the case opened in court. Adjudant Uys – connected to the mortuary – who opened his books for me every Tuesday morning, despite the fact that I refused to help when there weren’t sufficient hands to help carry a corpse. Tributes to a family who suffered because of a father’s “newspaper-status” and did not allow them to fall over, but rather they rose above all this. It is a privilege to be a member of the newspaper-brotherhood. The list of those who all drank from the “ink-jug” is long: Louis Oelofse, Lizel Steenkamp, Linda Heyns, Antoinette Nezar, Karien de Klerk, Henriette Engelbrecht, Jan Bezuidenhout, Ilse Cronje, Ingrid Erlank, Buks Viljoen, Wilhelm de Swardt, Julie van Rensburg, Lynn Wilton, Annalet Steenkamp, Jana Boshoff, Daleen Naude, Sjani Campher, Tiisetso Malunga, Fanai Siziba, Jabu Masina, Gerhard Rheeder, Sefako Nyaka, Ilse Debbes, Jeanette McLean, Lynn Siebert, Wally Karbe, Hester Swanepoel… Graduating from an old Olivetti typewriter to the modern computer, from black and white photography to digital cameras, from hand-held landline phone to cellphone – one could experience all these. However, Leonard Neill’s journalism remains today’s journalism; the values of 1975 still remain with the same values… What a privilege to be part of this journey – indescribably, incredibly great!
