The early years of the Messenger are missing or lost. Who knows if they will ever surface. It was started in the year 1980. The only issue I have from then is Vol. 1, No 20, dated December 31, 1980. It was a special flood edition.
The Messenger was first introduced August 19th as “The Sultan Messenger” a small town weekly paper with no more ambitions than to be a quiet little, “Mayberry” type of town newspaper. A paper that focused on more good news than bad and with the intent of finding something good even in the bad.
It was an exciting time for me. A time of new beginnings, and of a frightening yet wonderful adventure.
To say that my background in journalism was a bit meager is like saying that a rock is a bit dense. I had no formal education, a mere handful of freelance articles, including a very brief stint as a sports writer for the Monroe Monitor, and no money. I was on paid summer leave from the Edmonds School District, as an assistant to the Athletic Director. I had signed a contract for the upcoming year on condition that I could decline it if my summer adventure in the new paper business proved successful. I never intended to go back.
DomesticallyI was married with a new born son. I had serious responsibilities. How I talked my wife into this adventure I have no idea. Although less than enthusiastic she was a good sport and proved to be a tremendous asset in the success of the paper.
So, why would I choose to be a writer, a journalistof all things? To risk so much and to sacrifice a good job for something that defied all logic and good sense? Oh, and I forgot to mention that I was a poor speller, and I do mean poor, as well as horrible in regards to the mechanics of proper English. Not to be overlooked was the fact that, as a photojournalist, I was blind in one eye.
These were not my worst credentials.
The list of reasons why I should not be a writer/photographer, newspaper entrepreneur were so lengthy that I can hardly recall most of them.
Moreover, the country as a whole, was in a deep recession with high unemployment, high inflation along with serious global threats. Sound familiar?
The answer to the question why was actually very simple, because I believed with all my heart and soul that writing was the one thing that God wanted me to do more than anything else in the whole world. He put a passion in me that I could not deny. What I could not do I believed that God could overcome. I had prayed for direction for years.
The world was full of cruelty, lies and injustices. I wanted badly to make a difference. “Write about it.”, was the answerI got, time and time again. Where there were lies, I could tell the truth. Where there was cruelty I could expose it. Where there was injustice I could cry out for justice. The written word could make a difference!
I didn’t know how of course, but God would show me. So I prayed. And every week I would lay all my notes on the floor, all around me, and I would lay face down with pad and pen and I would always start by praying to God for direction and to guide me and bless my pen. I prayed for every article, no matter how small. I prayed because I can’t write, but God can. I prayed because I wanted to make a difference, and I believe it has.
And so the Messenger was born!
It turns out that the name , Buddie, means Messenger, in old English, and that’s where the name came from.
The little town newspaper didn’t turn out at all what I had first envisioned, but God had a plan. People began to call me at all hours of the day and night, asking for help. They were getting a raw deal from city hall; their child was being treated unfairly in school and the officials were not helping; the police were brutalizing innocent citizens and other members of the local press would not write their story, would I?
I did some real soul searching at that time. What was to happen to my small town newspaper if I tackled the hard news and bucked the local establishment? I was pretty sure that it would change things, but I had no idea just how much.
Was this where God was leading me? People were asking for help, my help. How could I say no? I couldn’t. So then, the Messenger morphed from happy to hardcore and there was no turning back!
I quickly developed a reputation as one who would answer the call no matter who the offender was. In the process I was sued a number of times by police officers as well as threatened to be killed by them. My advertisers were threatened, papers confiscated by the police or their friends. I was attacked by violent criminals, whom, I had written about. It cost me more than I could ever imagine. In the end I couldn’t feed myself, let alone my family. Advertisers were afraid to advertise, and stores were afraid to distribute. Yet, I couldn’t print enough papers to meet demand.
I eventually quit, took other employment, and started writing photographic history books, more as a hobby.
My passion never died. That small voice, that I believe to be God, never stopped calling. Now I have little left in my life other than my faith, my passion, and the voice. I’m back now, the Messenger is back and we’ll see where the voice leads now.
I still don’t know how to write, but God will help and soon, very soon, you will be calling. How do I know? Because, injustice, brutality and liars never sleep, and so, neither does the Messenger.
( The following are just a few of the articles printed in the Messenger over the years. You decide weather they made a difference. )
Sky Valley Messenger 