John “JB” Brown is the Assistant Deli Manager at SweetBay, but more importantly, he’s a single father of three.

John “JB” Brown learned everything he knows about being a parent from his mother. That’s a good thing, too, because over the past eight years, the 51-year-old Sarasota native has had a lot of parenting to do on his own.

As he thinly slices spice-laden Cajun chicken breast and honey maple ham at the Deli Counter of SweetBay Supermarket on 34^th St., Brown – a single parent of three – can’t help but reflect on the bond he shared with her.

“My mother was a nurse over at Shands, but no matter what, there never was a time my mother wasn’t at one of my games, so I didn’t care about anyone else.”

Growing up in Gainesville, Brown excelled at football at Eastside High School, but the three-sport athlete played baseball and basketball, too. Though his strongest affinity was between the hashmarks on a football field, Brown was determined to balance all three evenly, a trait he must have picked up from his mother.

“My mom was one of those strong women. She kept two jobs, was going to school to be a nurse, all at the same time while we were coming up. And she made it. Became an RN while we were still in school.”

Berthenia King showed her five children where hard work and determination could get you. Despite a demanding schedule, she remained a positive influence on her children, passing on a lot more than just determination.

“She’s why I’m in the kitchen, I love the kitchen,” says the Assistant Deli Manager over the low reverberating hum of the deli counter slicer. “That’s why I’m here… because of her. I was the youngest, so she always had me around when she was cooking, and I picked up a lot of what I know from her.”

He stops slicing and shrugs; as the spinning blade slows, the slightest, saddest smile traces across his face.

“She just passed away man, this past May. 76 years old. Still tears me up sometimes.”

At 51, Brown is a single parent raising three young children. Christian is seven, Cassidy four, and Chandler, his youngest, is three. Both Christian and Cassidy are in school at Wiles Elementary, and Chandler isn’t far behind them.

“A man’s gotta be a part of his child’s life,” he states, turning his attention to the Swiss cheese. “That’s what I love most about it, I get to make a real impact in their life. They get to grow up with some real values and strength about things. I don’t run it like a military school. I buy them whatever they want, but they earn it. I wouldn’t trade ‘em for the world.”

But raising three kids at 51 must be difficult.

He just shakes his head.

“Like I said, wouldn’t trade ‘em for the world.”

He says he provides now easily, but it wasn’t always as easy.

Until stumbling on this job back in April, Brown had been without steady work for nearly three years. There were odd jobs here-and-there, but since the Hospital had fired him for being unable to make his hours (“I couldn’t always be there when they scheduled me, couldn’t just leave the kids.”), the money wasn’t stable. But through the struggle, he never lost the hardened determination that had once made his mother so successful.

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Wouldn’t trade none of it for the world.”

These days though? It’s a different story. SweetBay understands his situation, he says. They’re flexible with his hours, he says. And while having a consistent income is a relief, it’s the consistent time he can spend with his children that gives him the most pleasure.

“And the thing I love the most, I can really see it, my eight year old, when we’re driving in the car, he’ll tell the other kids: ‘Hey put your seatbelt on, you’re gonna get my Daddy a ticket. The same thing I used to tell him. I hear him doing it, and I smile to myself, cause he’s serious.”

Just as he still sees some of Berthenia King in himself, he sees some of himself in his children.

With any luck, they’ll get his family values too.

Following the events brought on by the seemingly minor Watergate Hotel break-in in 1972, the theatrical version of All the President’s Men is an up close look at Washington Post reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein’s quest to expose one of the biggest political scandals of a lifetime. Though the investigative reporters rely heavily on anonymous sources to begin uncovering information, it’s their tireless vetting of sources that eventually allows them to ethically and correctly publish multiple damning reports of illegal espionage and cover-ups that eventually led to President Nixon’s resignation.  An allegation as large as a Presidential scandal isn’t something that can just grace the front page of the Washington Post with a few quotes from the anonymous Deep Throat – it took months of hard work to independently verify the paper trail that connected the Watergate burglars all the way to the top.

Verifying sources isn’t something that’s particularly new or creative in journalism; it’s a process as old as the profession itself. In journalism, few things matters more than reputation – one mistake can do significant damage to the outlet in question, while multiple incorrectly published or exaggerated stories can irrevocably taint the public perception of a news organization for years. Just ask The New Republic or The New York Times how trusting fabricating journalists Stephen Glass and Jayson Blair, respectively, worked out for them. It took both papers years to recover and recover the good faith their consumers had placed in them for decades. If a news organization doesn’t have the trust of the public, what do they have?

Particularly in instances where investigative journalism implicates the American government as being connected to misdoings, we’ve seen distinguished papers seek out multiple sources before publishing their information. While one source might be the initial tip that gets the snowball effect rolling, you would never see a distinguished, respectable paper take the story to the front page with just one person’s voice. In first uncovering and reporting on the National Security Agency’s illegal surveillance on citizens in 2005, New York Times reporters James Risen and Eric Lichtblau interviewed “nearly a dozen current and former officials,” to corroborate a story that detailed a serious infringement of privacy rights committed by the American government. While it might be natural to wish to rush and publish breaking information as gripping as government cover-ups, no news agency would publish with only one on-record source. At times, the reliance on multiple corroborators can hurt a news agency – there’s a reason Edward Snowden chose to take his leaks to The Guardian rather than the famously thorough Times, but the good of journalistic integrity outweighs the risk of missing out on the big story.

From the beginning, The Washington Post would have been correct in publishing the Watergate scandal using only Deep Throat’s roundabout confirmations and Woodward’s intuitive investigative reporting, but would have been laughed at by the government and distrusted by the public with virtually no sources. Instead, Woodward and Bernstein worked for half a year to find peripheral players who would flesh out the story and give it factual and connected content, such as state attorney investigator Martin Dardis and CREEP treasurer Hugh W. Sloan, Jr. In the end, their refusal to rely on only anonymous sources gained them great respect with their executive editor Ben Bradlee, who is portrayed in the film as being initially unwilling to publish their story. Instead of rushing to get their information out in front of the public as quickly as possible and risk potential backlash of an incorrect fact or egregious error, Woodward and Bernstein took their time to interview different sources that could all contribute their own piece of the puzzle, before finally and largely exposing the Nixon Presidency as a sham. If reporters in this day and age were faced with the same information regarding Obama or any of his cabinet, you’d have to expect they’d take the same amount of time to vet and verify their sources, too.

Curtis Ashby, 67, works everyday with the two things that make him happiest: baseball and people.

Curtis Ashby is a people pleaser. Always has been, always will be. “For me,” he says. “It’s always been about the people.” His steely eyes never leave the fans he ushers down to their seats, yet his focus on our conversation never wavers.

He catches my name instantly. Casually. He never makes a fuss about it. Being honest, I’m perfectly sure he’s forgotten it.

Born in Harlem, N.Y. in 1946, Ashby grew up a Brooklyn Dodgers fan. But in 1957, after years of bickering with New York City Construction officials over the location of a sorely needed new stadium, Dodgers majority owner Walter O’Malley moved the team to Los Angeles.

It was a move made in the best interest of his team — and himself, but it was wildly unpopular amongst Brooklyn fans. Yet Ashby remained hopeful a team other than the Yankees would come along and breathe new life into a baseball city still reeling from two defections. (New York had also lost the Giants to California in the same season.) He wouldn’t have to wait long.

The New York Mets came along in 1962, and Ashby again had a team he could root for, though it wasn’t always easy. In their inaugural season, the Mets finished 40-120, which to this day remains the worst single-season record in the history of Major League Baseball. But as Ashby grew up, so too, did the Mets.

He took his first job in customer service with the New York public transit system in 1966. In 1969, the “Miracle Mets” won the World Series. By the time he chose to retire from his job in public transit in 1996, the Mets had won yet another title. As New York grew to embrace the Mets, Ashby further embraced his job. For 30 years he worked in public transit, endlessly inspired by a single ideal.

“People would come to me to complain. They were frustrated and angry, and I’d try my best to help them out. When ever I can give assistance to people, if they can walk away from me satisfied, it gives me pleasure. Simple as that.”

By 2003, Ashby, seven years retired, had had enough. “I wanted to go back to work.”

Which brings us, full circle, back to the Mets.

There’s an old Confucius adage: “Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.” Nobody knows that better than Curtis Ashby.

“I’ve always loved baseball. I’ve always loved working with people.  So I figured, why not put the two together.” And so he did, and has ever since.

In 1958, Ebbets Field, home of the Brooklyn Dodgers, was demolished. In 2009, Shea Stadium, home of the New York Mets, was demolished. In 2013, Citi Field, located in Queens, is the beautiful new home of the Mets, and Curtis Ashby is a satisfied man.

“I don’t know if you can tell,” he chuckles. “But I’m getting pretty old. But life…” He stops to ruminate, waving patrons past who slow down to show him their tickets stubs. “Life isn’t about your age, it’s about your spirit. And I’ve still got a young one.

“Here, I still get to meet people, and I know that everyone I’m meeting shares at least one thing in common with me — they like baseball. This job gives me a chance to be around happy people every day.”

There’s a crowd forming near section 101, and Curtis’ eyes dart from me to the crowd. “I’d love to keep chatting,” he starts with a sly smile. “But I have to do my job.” I hastily shake his hand, thank him for his time, his tales, his truths. It’s been a pleasure, I tell him.

“No,” he says. “Marc, the pleasure was all mine.”

It’s been nearly 15 minutes now since I’ve told him my name, yet there he is, reciting it as if he’d learned it moments before. Granted, it’s a one syllable name, but I’m shocked nonetheless. As I retreat, I glance back once more at the man who’d rather work than retire.

As Mets fans file past toward their seats, there’s Curtis chatting, waving, grinning. He’s held two different jobs for a combined forty years now, but in that moment, I know the truth.

Curtis Ashby hasn’t worked a day in his life.

Gaining unprecedented access to the beacon of North American print journalism at arguably its’ most tenuous state, Page One: Inside the New York Times is a captivating documentary that follows the hollowed paper as it transitions into a new age of media. Spending the better part of a year that covers the end of 2009 into 2010 with the various departments and employees of the New York Times, Andrew Rossi’s documentary paints a picture of a prideful paper rooted in tradition, but prepared for change. From quick-thinking and quirky media columnist David Carr to the thoughtful and well-spoken executive editor Bill Keller, the movie introduces the audience to some of the paper’s key players while exploring a variety of themes – chief among them, the perceived death of print journalism.

In an age where words like Twitter and WikiLeaks exploded onto the scene and took all forms of media by storm, the New York Times, a constant in print journalism since its inception in 1851, found itself standing after many others fell. As print staple parent company Tribune filed for bankruptcy and popular long-standing papers like the Rocky Mountain News closed its’ doors for good, the Times stands in resilience, a proud fighter that’s taken a fair share of blows – and yet refuses to bow out. As financial reports and investigative reviews begin to count out the paper, the Times and its’ staff churns on, finding new ways to stay relevant and profitable in an era where news is obtained in simpler and cheaper ways. As production costs stay constant and profit margins dwindle, news media outlets nation wide cut back on employees, and at the Times it’s no different. Employees who for years poured their heart and soul into dutiful service are given sorrowful severance packages while those still standing soldier on. Of those survivors, it’s feisty reporter David Carr who serves as a constant wave in an overarching ocean of change. By the book but surprisingly willing to adapt, his uncanny survivalist instinct (hardened by years of drug addiction) serves as the perfect counter to the open-ended death sentence hanging around the paper’s neck like an albatross. If it’s employees can quickly adapt and conquer a sweeping change such as the dramatic, instantaneous arrival of Twitter, so too, can the Times.

Chugging along even as similar products fall by the wayside, the New York Times finds itself being depicted in the film in a way that would make Mark Twain blush. Reports of their demise were greatly exaggerated, and Rossi makes sure to remind the audience of that at every turn, as crafty business minds seamlessly coalesce with 150 plus years of journalist instinct to keep the Times, well, one step ahead of the times. It’s by no means the be-all, end-all answer to how print journalism can stay relevant when easier and cheaper forms of media make syndication the easy answer. But the movie captures a paper with no interest in giving up the ghost just yet. And as generational demands and creature comforts shift societal norms away from print journalism, Rossi’s documentary captures an organization in revolution, intent to keep the wheels moving forward by any means necessary.

Well, after a day and a half, I’ve learned at least one thing… I was never meant to be a computer wiz. Looking at all this coding we just waded through, it’s like another language. Except I’d probably learn Mandarin quicker than coding. Or more likely, they’d both go equally as bad. How do you say clueless in Mandarin?

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