By Clint McElroy
HQ 107 | AUTUMN 2019
The year was 1989, and I was at a crossroads. My years working as a secret agent had taken their toll on me. I had orchestrated the fall of the Berlin Wall, organized pro-Democracy rallies in Tiananmen Square and helped clean up the Exxon Valdez spill. I loved serving my country, but a life lived undercover is hard on the soul.
I tried a music career. I sang back-up for Bobby Brown on My Prerogative, choreographed the Like a Prayer video for Madonna and was offered the title role in a new Broadway musical called Phantom of the Opera. (I turned it down because I didn’t want to wear the mask.)
In 1989, consulting was a popular profession so I decided to give that a try. I suggested a couple of physics theories to Stephen Hawking for a book he was working on called A Brief History of Time and gave some beauty tips to recording artist Michael Bolton. I told him, “I’d grow the hair out if I were you, Mike.” Later that year I suggested to the NBC network brass that a stand-up comedian named Jerry Seinfeld should have his own TV show.
But still I felt unfulfilled.
Then, I decided to try my hand at politics. I was working as a lobbyist at the West Virginia State Capitol trying to get Chalcedony named the official state gem. I had spent a heated three-hour lunch arguing with the pro-Peridot and pro-Tourmaline factions and needed to clear my head, so I jumped in my new Plymouth Acclaim and headed west on I-64. I found myself sitting at the counter at Dwight’s on Eighth Street, jonesing for a Kingburger, when a smiling young man sitting at the table next to mine asked to borrow my ketchup. The next thing I knew, we were engaged in a delightful conversation in which the young man proceeded to tell me his dream.
“I want to publish a high-quality magazine with well-written articles, gorgeous photography and columns written by the funniest person in the Tri-State,” the young man explained. “It will come out once a year and I’ll call it Huntington Annually.”
I smiled at the young man’s infectious enthusiasm and then imparted some sage advice:
“That sounds amazing! But you know what? It’s such a great idea that you should come out with it more frequently than once a year. How about Huntington Quarterly?” I queried.
And on that fateful day 30 years ago HQ was born. The young lad was so impressed with my wisdom and wit that he literally begged me to write a column in every issue of the newly formed publication. Who was I to say “no” and crush his one chance for success? So, I agreed on the condition that the last page of the magazine be reserved for yours truly, as I wanted the last word, or last laugh, to be mine.
It has been one of the great honors of my life to be associated with this enthusiastic young man and his terrific magazine.
By the way, every line of this story is a lie — except for the last one.
