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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