Wise lesson for journalists: Eschew big words (my retirement countdown clock at 47 days)

The sprawling newsroom at the Toronto Star has been a favorite location for movie shoots over the years.

I remember once responding to a call from the producers of “Finding Forrester,” a movie that was to star Sean Connery as a reclusive writer. They wanted an editor with large hands to simulate the typing of Connery. I guess Connery couldn’t type.

I volunteered my hands. But I didn’t make the cut and I don’t know who did. My hands were found to be “too young.”

Typewriters still clattered away back in 1981 so it was louder than it is now, and pipe and cigar smoke polluted the air.

My boss was Paul Warnick, who was known as “The Little General,” because he wasn’t tall and once served in the U.S. marines.

The writers were legends like Milt Dunnell, Jim Proudfoot, Neil MacCarl, Rick Matsumoto, Frank Orr, Rex MacLeod, Al Sokol and Ken McKee. Dave Perkins was to become a great writer, but he was on the desk when I began.

The copy desk was manned by gruff veterans like Wilf Smith, Jack Marks and pipe-smoking Arlie Keller, who were nearing retirement. They ribbed me about being the youngest editor on the desk. I was 28.

“When do you retire, Rush?” Marks asked.

“2017,” I responded.

That date was well past the turn of the century, for God’s sake. And who was thinking of retirement at 28? I just wanted to get through my three-month probation.

The sports desk was like our locker room and T-shirts and jeans were our uniforms. The exception was Wilf Smith, who dressed prim and proper with a white dress shirt and gray slacks.

Some of us looked like we could be pizza delivery men, and who was to know who we were since the place was so big with around 500 staffers at the time?

One time a sports copy editor walked into the newsroom wearing a ball cap and carrying a pizza, which was an immediate cause for mistaken identity.

“Hey, pizza boy, over here,” someone on the news desk shouted, waving him over.

Early on, I had my own humbling experience.

In a headline over a story about some mischief in the sports world, I used the word “imbroglio.” Warnick saw it before it got to press and he was not impressed.

“Who used the word imbroglio in this headline?” he barked.

“I did,” I confessed.

“Look for another word. We’re not the New York Times.”

I should have used a simpler word like “muddle” or “mess” to communicate the headline.

I’ve never used the word “imbroglio” in a headline since then.

That episode taught me an important journalism lesson. Never use a million-dollar word when a $10 one will work.

Finding the right word with the right tone for the story is more important than searching for a gargantuan, polysyllabic word.

As journalists, we are all well-read. Along with lawyers, we are known to have the biggest vocabulary of any profession. Sometimes we like to show it off.

Warnick was right. We also have to know the audience. We are not the New York Times. What works in the Times doesn’t necessarily work in the Toronto Star.

My fascination with big words started when I was a kid. “Surprise” was the biggest word I knew when I was old enough to read. And I loved trying to find words bigger than that. I soon built up my vocabulary to include “Sometimes,” which was a letter longer.

When I was about 9, I went too far. I came upon my older brother’s essay on astronomy, and I stole it. Neither my mom nor my brother knew. I used it in my school’s speech competition and I got all the way to the finals. To this day, I don’t know why I did it. I just loved the writing (my brother is a very good writer).

The judges smelled something funny.

Their alarm bells went off when I began using words like “gravitational pull,” because, of course, I had no idea what they meant and I was mispronouncing them. “Gravitational” came out of my mouth like “gravy-ational.”

I lost the speech-writing contest. For good reason. I didn’t understand a word I was saying. And I should have been penalized for plagiarism.

Plagiarism, I learned later, is a big word. A big, bad word.

This is my daily countdown of stories and memories from a 40-year career of writing and editing at the Toronto Star, the Sarnia Observer, Edmonton Report, Edmonton Journal and Toronto Sun. I will retire at the end of April. I will be 63 and ready to reinvent myself. Into what I have no idea yet. Suggestions welcome.