This morning, I had a nightmare that woke me. It was the kind that sticks with you and prevents sleep, so I grabbed a glass of water and turned on the TV to watch the season premiere of “How I Met Your Mother” on DVR.
It was 4:25 a.m. when my father came downstairs. He was groggy-eyed but dressed for work. He always goes to work at that early.
This weekend, my father, Tony Mangan, was honored as South Dakota Broadcaster of the Year. I am biased, but nobody deserves this award more than him. On a slow week, he works 60 hours. He is at every event and every major player in this state knows his name. Sources in Pierre call him first and he this magical ability to find out things just after they happen. Yet, he posses the most legit quality about any good journalist: he has friends and enemies. He’ll write about your event but he’ll question you about the shady practice.
He’s always deserved this award, but he pretty much sealed it during the flood. He worked every day for months, publishing flood notices and live-broadcasting press conferences. Every single day he called the Corps out. Sometimes it was clarify details, but other times it was to find recognition of the disaster. If I said the name Tony Mangan to someone in the Omaha office, I’m sure they’d squirm.
That is a legit reporter.
Congratulations, dad. You deserve it.