One Of The Best Damn Writers I've Ever Known
Martin Fennelly, a brilliant writer and even better person, gone far too soon.
Imagine being employed at the Justice League, but your job is to wash Aquaman’s boots. Or you’re working with the Avengers as Hawkeye's assistant arrow wrangler.
That’s how I felt working at the Tampa Tribune in the 1990s.
I was a burgeoning sports journalist surrounded by a phenomenally talented staff of writers and editors. It pushed me to always deliver the best story I could write.
How could I mingle amongst the giants if I half-assed a piece?
But there was one Tribune writer that inspired me the most. That spoke to me in the way he crafted phrases and told captivating stories.
His name was Martin Fennelly.
Martin passed away this week suddenly at the age of 65. He was one of the best damn writers I’ve ever known.
You didn't so much as read Martin’s work; you felt it.
Martin was one of the Trib’s premier sports columnists. He took up residence on the left-hand side of the sports section’s front page. There was also David Whitley, who was one of the funniest people I've ever met. Martin's more human approach played well off of Whitley. They were both excellent reads.
But Martin was the writer I most wanted to stylistically emulate. Not copy, mind you, but draw inspiration from.
Tucked away in the remote Lakeland bureau, I read Martin’s columns. Then I reread them.
Martin wrote about people. What made them tick or go boom. His specialty was packing an emotional wallop into a single line.
For three years I admired his work from afar. Then I got the chance to work with him.
I advanced my way through two small bureaus before landing in the “big time” in Tampa. Now I was in the orbit of all of those bylines I had only read. I earned the opportunity to work beside them as I was getting bigger assignments.
I met Martin at a Tampa Bay Buccaneers’ media day. He was wearing his trademark outfit of shorts, sneakers, and a short-sleeved shirt. In the winter he would add on a windbreaker. But you never saw him in pants.
Martin always looked a little disheveled. That was just an outward sign of how unpretentious he was.
Martin was kind to everyone. He could level a room with a funny quip. He could be quiet and a little distant (show me a writer who isn't), but never mean.
You could see a little bit of rascal in his eyes.
I don't think he had any idea of how good he was. Or how many of us admired him. He never big-timed anyone even though he was one of the biggest names at the paper.
At first I was terrified to be working next to someone I so greatly admired. I would help him fetch some quotes at Buccaneer games. He was always appreciative.
Martin wrote everything on an old TRS 80, pictured below. He typed with two fingers. For such a gentle person, he typed loudly. You could hear the clackclack of his keyboard echo in the press box.
Maybe that was a reflection of the power of his words.
In 1998, St. Petersburg was hosting a regional final of the NCAA tournament. The Tribune sent a score of journalists over, including myself. I was assigned to cover Duke.
We all assembled in the NCAA media room for a press conference with the coaches. The Trib writers sat together near the back. There were probably 100 people in attendance. TV cameras rolled and flashbulbs popped. The coaches sat behind a long table with a blue tablecloth up on a riser.
You were allowed one question. I had ZERO intention of opening my mouth because I was petrified. In the room there were journalists that I admired from afar and I was not trying to make a fool of myself.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Martin.
“Hey Garrett, you have a question?” He asked.
I shook my head no.
“Would you mind asking Coach K something for me?”
Inside I shook my head no. Me, ask Hall of Fame coach Mike Krzyzewski a question?
But of course, I said yes. It was Martin.
So, I raised my hand. An NCAA representative walked over with a microphone and handed it to me.
I stood up and started talking.
Thank the Creator I didn’t biff the question.
After I sat down, Martin thanked me.
Later that year, I got the chance to work directly with him.
I was covering the Plant City high school football team which was on an historic winning streak. It was a great story and I had covered the team relentlessly all year. They were heading to the playoffs for the first time in more than 20 years.
Downtown at the main office, I walked by Martin’s desk and pitched the idea to him. We settled on him penning a column on the head coach, Todd Long.
Martin and I attended the Plant City playoff game against Hillsborough. They narrowly won 28 – 20. After the game, Martin, Coach Long and I met at a sports bar. We sat at a high-top table and had a couple of light beers.
Then Martin went to work.
It was less of an interview and more of a conversation. Martin had this way of making his subjects comfortable. He would gently respond to move the discussion along.
Even though I had interviewed coach Long dozens of times, Martin found a treasure trove of personal details and wrote a wonderful column. I have posted it below.
The last time I saw him was at the Tampa airport.
It was 1999. I was leaving the Tribune. I was going through a separation and divorce and had decided to move to Atlanta and leave journalism.
It was a painful time for me. I loved being a journalist, but I couldn’t live on $24,000 a year. Only a few people at the paper knew of my situation.
I was traveling up to be with Erin, a longtime friend that I was starting to date. She’s still my wife today.
Martin and the Buccaneers’ writers all rolled up to the gate. They were heading to cover the Falcons game.
Martin asked what I was doing in Atlanta.
I tried to pull some BS line out of my hat to belie my pain.
“I’m going up to see the fall color of the leaves.”
“Leaves, huh?” Martin responded.
He fixed a sympathetic gaze on me that saw right through my façade. I responded with a little nod.
That was Martin.
He knew people.
Beautiful tribute
So sorry, Robert!