Back in 2006, when I was the new kid on the Times Observer block, there were several seasoned reporters around.

I thought that was a good thing.

Although I was not a rookie reporter, I was new to the area and didn’t know the people and the places. Chuck Hayes did.

There were experienced reporters right next to me – Vicky Barone – when I needed help.

It wasn’t so bad to be the new guy.

Sometimes.

It wasn’t always so good.

I got the bad hours. I didn’t get the big stories.

I got a whole lot of, “Move over, new guy.”

During my first year here, Ralph ‘Bucky’ Phillips, a native of the region, had escaped from jail, shot three New York State Troopers, one of them, Joseph Longobardo, fatally.

Phillips then avoided capture for months, reportedly spending a good portion of that time in Warren County.

That led to some hectic times in the newsroom. Sometimes there was a lot of ‘Bucky’ news. Other times, nothing.

As new guy, I didn’t get the choice assignments, but I was involved.

When there was a Bucky ‘sighting’ – one of many because of the hefty reward being offered – at an apartment complex in Warren, I got the assignment. I can explain how I got such a good assignment. It was late and I was probably the only reporter around.

There was another sighting that I covered at Cable Hollow.

It was eerie chasing a man who had killed someone, especially a police officer. It’s one of those parts of the job that seems to make sense while it’s happening, but is hard to explain, even to myself, later.

It would have been incredible to get a look of him on the run. That’s my job. A picture of him could have netted me an award. Heck, maybe even a reward.

But what about my safety? Shouldn’t I value my well-being over a story? Sometimes failure is an option. I didn’t have those thoughts at the time.

The call up north was exciting for a while – like when I was advised to stay behind a car while the very-serious looking cops entered a storage building. Nothing came of that one.

I think Phillips had actually been at the apartment complex on the night I drove over there. There was something of a chase afterwards

Neither I nor the person who called in the tip received any of the reward, but I think he was there.

Days after that possible sighting there was a breakthrough.

Ten years ago last week police believed they were closing in on the fugitive.

Everyone in the newsroom jumped up, gathered gear and headed north. I remember asking where Gouldtown Road was. Nobody bothered to answer me because I didn’t need to know. Someone – new guy – had to stay in the office.

I get it now, but at the time I thought another pair of hands carrying another camera to THE story just made sense. If three reporters was good, wouldn’t four be better?

Even though I was stuck in the newsroom, I had hopes that I could be helpful. I monitored the scanner traffic. Maybe one of the reporters would call in and ask what the latest was or send updates that I could compile. Maybe, just maybe, I could get a byline out of the capture of a man who was one of the FBI’s most wanted.

It didn’t work out that way.

I’m sure there was important work that came my way while everyone else was out on the story of the year. It sure didn’t feel like it.

Now, I’m the old man and I try to be understanding. The young people need that feeling, that taste of what those big stories are like. Without it, they might lose their zest for the job, or worse, they might go straight past the expected state of cynicism and into bitterness.

I don’t want to see that. I certainly don’t want to be the cause of that.

There’s one problem.

I want the big stories. I want that feeling and that taste.

And you know what? It’s my turn. And when push comes to shove, I just have to say, “Move over, new guy.”