Ray Kisonas: Thanks for the memories, but it's time to move on

It was a warm, sunny summer day when I walked through the newsroom of the paper on my first day and the first person I met was Jeff Meade, whose first words to me were, "Do you play softball?"

I just graduated from college and was living at my mom's house with my wife and toddler son and had to get out. It was 1986. I was so grateful to have a full-time job as a reporter, but I told Kathy that The Monroe (Evening) News was part of a five-year plan. I'd get some experience, then we'd move on.

I was close. I was off only by about 30 years.

After more than 36 years of reporting on the good, the bad, the strange, the curious and the amusing community that is Monroe County, it's time to move on. I have been lucky to meet many of you over the years and report on everything from the most notorious criminal cases to the closing of our kids' schools to cat shows.

Jay Leno once referenced one of my stories back when he mentioned funny headlines during his monologues. I stood in the middle of the track at the Brickyard as race car engines roared during an Indy 500 race. The great blues artist Muddy Waters once sang to me a couple verses of a song he had just written as we chatted over the phone.

I once interviewed the legendary Gordie Howe, who was at a local library. But then I spotted an older gentleman sitting nearby unnoticed. I approached him and discovered it was none other than Bill "The Great" Gadsby, a hockey Hall of Famer. He said he didn't want to interfere with Mr. Howe's fans.

I interviewed Chris Osgood and Ken Holland of the Red Wings and the Lions' great wide receiver Herman Moore. I hung out with the Hansen Brothers, famous as goons in the movie "Slap Shot," who visited a golf course in Monroe County. I drove a golf cart with former Tigers pitcher Dave Rozema as a passenger. And I had breakfast with the great Ernie Harwell, who later took the time to send me a hand-written thank-you note.

Because of the wonderful Kaye Lani and her infinite optimism, I grew to actually enjoy covering the Miss Monroe pageants. I found myself backstage discussing with organizers various fabrics of the gowns, such as taffeta, and if the color should be best described as salmon.

I became involved in politics, too. I visiting Lansing several times and Randy Richardville, the Senate majority leader at the time, arranged for me to sit in on an important meeting with the governor of Michigan and Gretchen Whitmer, who at the time was Senate minority leader. They all wondered who the heck I was, then promptly ignored me.

But it was in 1997 when the editors decided the paper needed a columnist and gave me the task. I didn't really want to do it, but I figured why not. My very first column topic came to me rather easily. It was about my oldest son, Ryan, who was 12 at the time and playing in Little League. I imagine most dads who have sons have visions of athletic professionalism, of sitting in the stands and watching their sons being cheered for their greatness.

Alas, poor Ryan, inherited my athletic abilities and quickly turned his focus toward technology. It should have become obvious to us after he disassembled the VCR in an effort to repair it when he was 8 years old. He's now the technology director at Ida Public Schools.

Writing columns about my kids was easy, like when Nick, our youngest, decided at age 17 he was joining the Army, much to our shock and dismay. But I think most readers really took notice when the topic shifted to my mother. She oozed column material. This was a woman who peered through the window of the gymnasium during my eighth grade dance and her spying was brought to my attention by the girl who I finally got enough guts to approach.

This was a woman who, on the day of my wedding, sobbed uncontrollably while she was being escorted to her pew in church. I thought for sure I'd have to drag her to my honeymoon as she clutched my leg. This was a woman who always wore a babushka, knee-high stockings with a dress, hid money throughout her house and licked her fingers to seal pierogis.

She was born in Poland, but grew up in Germany after the Nazis attacked in 1939 and was sent to the United States by herself at age 21 to seek a better life. In Detroit, she met my dad, a Lithuanian immigrant who fought the Bolsheviks because he believed in human rights and hated communism. She was not impressed with him. But she eventually relented to my dad's persistence.

So as the years went on, writing columns became habit. And now, after 25 years of doing so, it's time to move on. I'm not saying I won't ever write a column again. But it certainly won't be weekly. And to those of you who sent me the many letters or emails or stopped me at the grocery store over the years just to thank me, I now thank you. So thank you ever so much.

But perhaps what is most endearing to me about these past three decades are the many lifelong friends I've made. People like John Austerberry who, on that first day, drove me around town, then quickly stopped at a bar. Or Deborah Saul, who introduced herself on that first day as the city editor and I, expecting a man, responded with, "So, you're gonna be my boss?"

And I'm lucky enough to say there are many others who are scattered all over these United States, people I can still call friends even though we don't keep in touch as much as we should.

It's been a good run. But it's time to go. I'll certainly be doing something. But I'm fairly certain that something won't involve playing softball.

Ray Kisonas was the regional editor of The Monroe News and The Daily Telegram. He can't be reached at rayk@monroenews.com anymore.

This article originally appeared on The Monroe News: Ray Kisonas: Thanks for the memories, but it's time to move on