Naptown Pint: To the entire Capital Gazette family, thank you

By Liz Murphy (Now Moorehead)

Capital Gazette / Baltimore Sun (Originally published, July 2

It’s a little after 8:30 a.m. Friday. Usually, that means I am pulling myself out of bed under duress in a cloud of indecipherable groans and moans, making myself a cup of coffee that’s always too hot (and then later too cold), and eventually ushering the dogs into our home office to start the last day of the work week.

Instead, on this morning, I find myself writing this column while on the Amtrak Northeast Regional train, heading back home to Annapolis, following a quick trip to New Haven.

Although there is no question in my mind that Annapolis is my home both in the literal sense and in my heart today, that wasn’t the case on the day I interviewed with Steve Gunn, the then-editor of The Capital.

It was Thursday, Oct. 31, 2013. Even though I’m a Halloween week baby — born Oct. 26 — I’m not a big fan of the holiday, thanks to years of elaborate costume birthday parties as a child. At the time, however, I worked at a tight-knit company where the idea of dressing up was taken very seriously. Not participating wasn’t an option.

So, after perusing aisle after aisle of different female costumes at a local shop the night before “the big day” — risqué cat, risqué pirate, risqué axe murderer — I grabbed a pair of bee wings, antennae and a set of face paint crayons. I would be “Bee Arthur,” a perfectly punny costume that appealed to my editorial sensibilities.

The following morning, I put on a pair of nice black slacks, a black top and a black blazer. After my interview with Steve in what looked like a perfectly professional outfit, I would put on the rest of my costume, write “ARTHUR” across my face and be counted as participating in the activities at work.

It was the perfect plan.

Unfortunately, as my friends and my loving husband, Patrick, will tell you, I am great at devising brilliant plans. Executing them, however, is another story.

I pulled up to The Capital offices, which were then still located on Capital Drive, off Gibraltar Avenue. I was early. I didn’t want to seem too much of an eager beaver, so I sat in my car for a bit, with nothing to do.

After twiddling my thumbs and flipping mindlessly through radio stations, a brilliant thought came to mind. I should go ahead and paint “ARTHUR” on my face while I had some downtime and still had access to a mirror!

Within seconds of finishing the last “R,” I realized what I had done, as I looked at my reflection.

I tried to wipe it off, but without tissues or any sort of makeup remover, I was just making everything worse.

I realized I had only one real viable option. I would wear the rest of the costume and cross my fingers that my error wouldn’t cost me the opportunity to become The Capital’s first beer writer.

I got out of my car, put on my wings, took a deep breath, and headed inside.

I can’t even imagine what the woman at the front desk thought of me — a 6-foot-tall, 30-plus-year-old woman in a bumble bee costume with a man’s name scrawled awkwardly across my cheeks — towering over her as I cheerfully declared, “Hi, I’m Liz Murphy, and I’m here to see Steve Gunn, please.” I let her know he should be expecting me.

When she looked up, her expression was genuinely welcoming and polite, but understandably baffled.

There was a pause.

Finally, she said, “Sure, uh, hold on one second.”

She told me to go sit in a set of seats in a waiting area off to the side and picked up the phone.

A few minutes later, Steve came out.

To my relief, he didn’t see put off at all. In fact, he seemed pleasantly amused, which allowed me to breathe a sigh of relief.

“So,” he said. “You’re … a butterfly named Arthur?”

“No, uh, I’m Bee Arthur. It’s a pun,” I replied with a sheepish smile.

“I like it, very clever,” he said with a laugh.

Then, we went into his office. He asked me questions. After confirming I was an AP style-trained editor, he handed me a few pages to copy-edit, as we talked. A few days later, much to my surprise, Steve reached out to me and told me I had the job.

By that point, I had only been living in Annapolis for a few months. We had moved from Washington, D.C. — my hometown — in July. Patrick’s family is from Annapolis, and after years of my complete refusal to leave city life behind, I had abruptly changed my mind that spring while we were on a vacation to Boston, over a bottle of Dogfish Head’s Sahtea.

I had reached a breaking point in life, at work, with everything. It was time to leave. We broke our lease, and a couple of months later, we moved into our first Annapolis apartment on West Street.

But other than Patrick, his family, and one or two others, I didn’t know anyone.

As I reflect now, almost five years later, on my time writing for The Capital, I realize that this column has been so much more than a platform for me to share with you all the captivating local stories that have elevated a humble, diverse fermented beverage from a party drink to a life’s passion.

Thanks to this community-driven local paper, I’ve gotten to know my home. I’ve have met my closest friends. I’ve had my greatest memories. I’ve grown as a person. I’ve found a source of one of my greatest inspirations. Most of all, I’ve seen first-hand how critical community reporting is, but how often it is overshadowed and overlooked.

Washington, D.C., will always be where I came from, but Annapolis has my heart. It is a part of who I am.

I look forward to sharing many more stories with you after this week, helping you all get to know more of the wonderful Maryland craft brewers who inspire me on a daily basis with their talents and commitment to their communities.

But today, readers, I thank you for allowing me to share these thoughts with you.

And to the entire Capital Gazette family, thank you. For everything.