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Journalist’s latest move encompasses the best of both worlds

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In the fall of 2003, I boarded an Amtrak train in New Orleans bound for Chicago. My ultimate destination was Seattle, a breathtaking metropolis and a place where the temperate climate suited me well.

That first leg on the City of New Orleans, a passenger train immortalized by singer Arlo Guthrie, proved fairly non-eventful. The topography immediately outside New Orleans is a mostly wet one, a cultural canvas punctuated by swamps, marshes, bayous, wetlands, lakes and rivers. It’s also pretty flat. If it weren’t augmented by a bevy of dead trees and soaring gulls, herons and brown pelicans, parts of Louisiana would be Nebraska without the prairies. That is not to be disrespectful to the cornhusker state. But mountains are only cruel rumors in a part of the country that has been in the news recently because of a massive oil spill that threatens its shores.

Oh, there’s plenty of green in Louisiana. The forces of nature have assured that, whether it’s an unrelenting rainy season or the more recent occurrence of massive hurricanes. But the rising and ebbing flows of the Mississippi River and Lakes Pontchartrain and Borgne, and the recent oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico provide a never-ending torrent of terror on the terrain, in this case, the old protective brush along the shores. 

So life there is a constant cautionary tale.

The second leg of that first adventure was on board the Amtrak Empire Builder from Chicago to Seattle, on which I would pass through the heart of the nation’s upper core from Illinois to Wisconsin and on through Minnesota, North Dakota, Montana, Idaho and finally Washington state, where I landed in downtown Seattle.

Within the confines of that three-day excursion, we were allowed to disembark at Minot, N.D. and Whitefish, Mont. I distinctly remember the Whitefish stop with all the old railroad cars. A model railroad buff and a lover of trains from my childhood days in New Orleans, this was a place I felt a certain kinship, a railroad town where I could tell friends that I had been to Montana, even if was just for 15 minutes. If others can have their 15 minutes of fame elsewhere, I felt I could I have my 15 minutes of fortune in Montana.

Fast forward nearly seven years later, and once again I find myself in a Bill Murray/“Groundhog Day” state of mind. I am now once again on board the City of New Orleans. After a 20-hour sojourn through Louisiana, Mississippi, Tennessee and Illinois, my New Orleans exodus now leads me back to Union Station in downtown Chicago, where I once again board the Empire Builder headed for Seattle-Portland. 

There’s just one major difference. This time, I don’t make it to Seattle. At the train depot in Whitefish, I de-train but I don’t re-board. This time, Whitefish is the final destination. It’s me, several pieces of luggage and Montana.

My name is Lovell Beaulieu. I’m the new editor of the Valley Journal. I can unequivocally state as I did to the surprised ticket agent in New Orleans that I’ve moved to Montana to live, to work and to be a part of what I consider a special opportunity, to be the editor of a community newspaper that matters to the people of Northwest Montana.

No doubt, a look of surprise will appear in a conversation about leaving New Orleans for Polson, Pablo, Ronan, Charlo, St. Ignatius and Arlee, the six communities we vigilantly cover from the northern portion of Lake County to its southern end. So be it. It’s a conversation I’m accustomed to having and, quite honestly, one I have perfected an answer for. And I look forward to answering it again.

To be sure, there’s something to be said about being next to the largest freshwater lake west of the Mississippi River, a river I’ve grown a special attachment to after being raised in New Orleans. 

There’s something to be said about looking at the massive Mission Mountains, where the beauty is captured with an inspiring sunset and those “purple majesties” on a late summer evening.  

There’s something to be said about giving up trying to count the stars in “Big Sky” country because most views are panoramic perfections, where a dearth of obstructions keeps everything in the wide-open spaces. A summer lightning storm and repetitive rainbows remind me of the Mutara Nebula in “Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.”

Indeed, there’s a lot to be said about standing at the top of the stairs at the Kerr Dam and watching the water rush through into the Flathead River as an eagle soars nearby. Unlike the mostly stagnant waters of the Deep South, here the water is a raging reminder of the delicate balance between what Mother Nature gives us and how we are required to manage and live beside it.

Moving to a new place is old hat to me. I’ve lived in one small town and eight cities, including my native New Orleans. On several of those moves, I either left New Orleans or a city or town nearby in order to move my own newspaper career to a higher level. On occasion, I have left this industry to recharge the batteries. 

That’s what makes this particular move a special one. I’ve worked for some fairly large-sized papers, some mid-sized ones and other smaller-sized ones. All have been dailies. The Valley Journal marks my first foray into weekly newspapers. It’s an exciting move.

For the past month and a half, from the time I first threw my hat into the ring to succeed Jim Blow to accepting the position when Boone and Summer Goddard offered it to me, I’ve been immersing myself in all things Montana. I’ve tried to do my homework.

I’m excited about occasionally getting into Missoula this fall to either watch the Montana Grizzlies’ football team or the women’s basketball team, a sport I once coached and one I remain passionate about. 

I’m excited about taking up fly fishing and other recreational opportunities in this mecca for the outdoors. 

I’m even excited about being able to tell friends in New Orleans on a Saturday afternoon that I’ll be at a Saints game that weekend, all the while referring to the Carroll College Saints in Helena and not the Super Bowl champions from New Orleans. I really plan to be bullish on Montana.

I love the food, music and culture of the Big Easy but I also dread the city’s oppressive humidity. My longing for the cooler climates of the Northwest is genuine. And so it was music to my ears to learn Phil Jackson, the great Los Angeles Lakers head coach and former head coach of the Chicago Bulls, is a native of Montana who once fished on the Flathead Lake. 

Apparently, not even the cool L.A. breezes touch the soul like the unfiltered air of Montana.

As I settle in this new position, please be a little patient if something doesn’t connect right away. I’m a quick study and I love new challenges. In this ever-shifting climate facing newspapers, we really have no alternative.

You do. You can get news from a plethora of news sources, from cable to network to radio, and a host of online sites. But I have a hunch those sources can’t cover your communities the way we can. 

They’re not going to be at your children’s baseball or softball games. We will.

They won’t be at your local city council or school board meetings. We will.

They won’t be at those things that matter. We’ll always do our best to be there.

That’s why it’s important we get this thing called newspaper journalism right. We need to listen and hear your stories if our stories are to have any relevance. And I, as much as anyone, love a good story.

In a sense, I feel like I have the best of both worlds, a solidly good newspaper (one that just won 21 statewide awards) to enhance my craft and a place of enormous beauty populated by wonderful people in which to do it. 

Northwest Montana is my new cultural canvas, defined by its diversity and accentuated by its antiquities. That’s why I’m eager to start painting that picture.

That’s also one reason why the Empire Builder back to Chicago and the City of New Orleans will always have one empty seat as I report and write about a place that was once just a whistle stop, but is now home.

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