Remembering Mr. Kinsella: We were young then
The Front Page
Morning Update
Thursday, March 24, 2022
By Ken Tingley
Back in 1980, Jim Kinsella and I were young reporters starting out at the Plattsburgh newspaper where the winters were long and the bars stayed open late.
We became fast friends and blood brothers. We had a standing dinner engagement each Friday at Arnie’s on Margaret Street and often prowled the bars downtown after work, listening to music, shooting pool before heading to the Bistro to shoot darts.
We were young, single and still finding our way in the world.
He was a Springsteen devotee and shortly after I arrived in January, 1980, he proclaimed “Rosalita” the greatest rock and roll song of the 1970s.
When I left Plattsburgh in August of 1982, I remember standing outside Arnie’s on Margaret Street and saying goodbye after one final beer. We would never see each other again. It happens that way sometime.
Jim went on to become the long-time business editor at the Cape Cod Times and one of the few of us from those early days in Plattsburgh who managed to stay in the newspaper business until the end. Before he was done he had jobs all over Cape Cod.
The end came this week.
What surprised me was that I had been wondering how he was doing just a few days earlier and had done a search on social media to see where he was. I found nothing new.
What surprised me even more was the flood of memories after I learned of his passing.
Jim was a news side reporter. I was in sports and you would not think we had much in common. Jim always looked serious, wore a jacket and tie to work each day and had a habit of addressing people formally.
“Mr. Tingley, would you care to join me at Arnie’s for a Molson?” he would say before heading out of the office.
Jim had this hang-dog look, a mop of dark hair combed across his forehead and a long dark coat. He always seemed to be hunched over, shuffling slowly through the world to take it all in. He lurked in the background of conversations, listening, searching for an opening to say something profound before breaking into a broad grin when I told a joke at his expense.
I guess we became drinking buddies for a time.
We would go out to two or three bars, shoot some pool and try to solve the world’s problems.
Even then, Jim’s first love seemed to be rock and roll music. He wrote a weekly column for the Press-Republican. He once enlisted me to help him with research to try to find the best jukebox in Plattsburgh. I remember him going to the bank for a bagful of quarters before starting out.
The highlight came the night we dared to invade the lone black bar downtown where many of the Air Force men went. Jim and I and a couple of our female colleagues waltzed in the front door still wearing our ties from work before heading to the jukebox.
There were a lot of stares and a few glares. But since there weren’t that many women in the bar, there was soon a line to dance with our female colleagues.
When Springsteen’s “The River” album came out, Jim and I spent the evening listening to every song on the double record set - twice.
The night John Lennon was shot, we were at his apartment again. Jim was devastated. It was as if he had lost a family member.
Jim later introduced me to a new band - The Clash. He decided that when we left our final bar of the evening we had to exit appropriately. Jim would put a quarter in the jukebox and play The Clash’s “Should I stay or should I go?” As soon as it came on, we both put on our coats and left the building.
Another one of Jim’s friends wrote that right after hearing of Jim’s death, the first song he heard on the car radio was “Rosalita.”
But I’d like to think, The Clash was playing for his final exit.
Godspeed Jim Kinsella.
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Sounds like a really good reporter and person! So sorry for your loss. Thankfully, you have nice memories.
I met Jim during my brief, undistinguished stint at St. Bonaventure. We remained friends ever since. I'm still coming to terms with his death. What I can say for sure is that he was one of the good'uns.
Best memory:
We caught "Goodfellas" in a theater the year it was released. When it was over, we were overcome by the need for an Italian restaurant that was open after 9pm. Jim raced us into Hyannis, and we were scarfing down the pasta before you could say, "Fuggedabowdit!" A good reporter always knows his beat.
Jim did the Lord's work as a daily print reporter. You haven't experienced boredom in it's undistilled purity until you've sat through a school board meeting in a district where you have no kids and own no taxable property. Now multiply that over decades. Add zoning committees, state bond issues, and politicians who won't be pinned down if you ask if it's raining. Toss in a few tractor trailer crashes and multiple-fatality house fires to keep it interesting. The readership of, "That Local Rag," knows for a fact you're a tool of the Oligarchy, AND a subversive who wants to institute Sharia law, force us all to get gay-married and call each other "Comrade."
Jim could have chucked it all and written handouts for politicos or medical consortiums. In stead, he knotted his tie and stared down the deadline every fuckin' day.