Like a fool, I let poker and partying derail my time at college for two full years. The downtime back home gave me a taste of a listless life that I did not like. I knew when I graduated that I needed to find a fulfilling job and stay the course.
But I didn’t know what I should do with my UCSB English degree. And this was 2008, the depths of the Great Recession. Work opportunities were scarce. I thought maybe, if they’d have me, I could go into education or library services. Perhaps grant writing.
It just so happened that one day, walking to my senior Hemingway class in South Hall, I spotted a flyer for the copyediting track of the professional writing minor. Four-year universities are famous for imbuing their students with knowledge but not necessarily the skills to make it in the real world. Here was a chance to develop some marketable chops.
The minor required you to get an internship in town. (This was long before remote work.) The Independent jumped out from the list of options, not because I had any journalism experience or cared much about current events, but because I liked how the paper broke up Santa Barbara’s white stucco landscape with some real color and mettle.
The energy of the newsroom was infectious. I admired the staff and enjoyed the action. Soon I wanted to be a reporter. I still remember the quote by Baltimore critic H.L. Mencken taped above the office microwave: “As I look back over a misspent life, I find myself more and more convinced that I had more fun doing news reporting than in any other enterprise. It is really the life of kings.”
At some point along the line, the internship became a job and the job became a way to see the future. Santa Barbara stopped being the pretty college town where I happened to land and felt like a place I could call home.
My first cover story, published in 2011, was about Cottage Hospital security guards and their German shepherds roughing up patients and visitors. It made a splash, and it made a difference. Cottage ditched the dogs and overhauled their security protocols. Now I was fully hooked, this time not by a vice, but by a sense of purpose.
Shortly thereafter in an issue we called “Surviving Santa Barbara” I wrote about a mother and her disabled daughter cycling on and off the streets. They’d been kicked out of their last homeless shelter because the daughter’s late-night seizures were keeping others awake. The day the story came out a reader dropped off an envelope stuffed with cash, explaining: “I trust you to get this to them.”
Fifteen years later, I wish I could say that all my work has had such a direct, immediate impact. The truth is this job, like many others, can feel like screaming into the void, or dropping a stone down a well, craning your neck, and hearing only silence in return. The Bellosguardo boondoggle comes to mind, or the maddening lack of accountability for the botched evacuations of the 1/9 Debris Flow. A certain amount of faith is required to keep at it.
Reporting on a Santa Barbara base jumper was a fun and strange experience | Credit: Courtesy 
Photo taken during a Neverland Ranch flyover. Tyler dropped his camera from the helicopter shortly after. | Credit: Courtesy 
Tyler has been around long enough to remember when drones were a new and exciting thing | Credit: Courtesy 
An interview at Fairview Gardens | Credit: Elaine Sanders
For me that faith ― which I will admit has waxed and waned over the years but remains utterly abiding ― comes from knowing that in its four decades of existence this newspaper has made Santa Barbara a better, more connected community to live, work, and belong. By celebrating the people who hold the fabric tight, and singling out those who would tear it apart, the Independent enriches and enlightens daily life few other institutions can.
I and many others owe our good fortunes to the people who started this thing ― Marianne Partridge and Nick Welsh ― and continue leading it with more pep and passion than those half their age. Just as inspiring is our team of young, hungry reporters with more sagacity than people twice their age. They are my reminders that this is work worth doing and, on its better days, truly a life fit for a king.
As the Santa Barbara Independent celebrates its 40th anniversary in 2026, our staff is sharing their “Indy Origin” stories and other memories. See more of them at independent.com/40.
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