Play Meter

THE LAST WORD A final word xactly five years ago, in April 1989, I had something to say about local governments wanting to ban arcades because they were seen as a public nuisance. But where could I vent my spleen? Not in an article; that's no place for personal opinions. No, what I needed was a vehicle to express my disdain. I got it that month in the form of this page, "The Last Word." Sadly, this will be my final editorial. I'll be leaving Play Meter in June to help run my family's business here in New Orleans. For those of you with a good memory, it's the same business I said I'd never join in a June 1989 editorial. But things change; people get older, new opportunities present themselves. I remember when I joined the magazine in July 1988. I had worked previously for a daily newspaper and, naturall y, was unfamiliar with the industry, especially the terminology. "Now tell me again what an operator is and what he does? " I'd say (frankly, I still don't know what some of you guys doll. It became clearer after my first AMOA show in downtown Chicago. As I reflect on my time here, I realize how lucky I've been. How many journalists get to travel as much as I have and write about a subject that's fun? We forget about it at times, but this is the coin-op entertainment industry, and entertaining it certainly has been. The luxury of being able to express myself on this page is also something most journalists don't have. There have been readers who've thought this column was meant to "educate" them or discuss a topic of much gravity. No. E Christopher Caire Features Editor PLAY METER 170 Though at times it was used to be critical or to get a serious point across , "The Last Word" essentially served as a bit of escapism, a chance to depart from weighty matters and be lighthearted. If only one person a month connected with it and smiled, my goal was achieved. An old journalism professor of mine, speaking to us for the last time before retiring, said, "In the journalism business , it isn't the stories that you remember, it's the people. " How true. Having traveled to shows big and small for nearly six years, I've made a lot of friends. Initially I had the crazy notion of listing them here as a way of thanking them, but when the names got into the seventies I scrapped it. Just know this: I'll miss seeing all of you. Most of all, though, I'll miss the sweetest group of people anybody could be blessed to work with: my editorial mates, Valerie and Bonnie, who put up with my wanting to print everything; my first-floor lunch buddies , Jane and Mary, who make sure this book looks so good; my second-floor "mamas, " Renee and Carol Lea, who helped me with 10,000 tasks that I was too thick to do on my own; Ron, the guy who kept me from being the lone "token male " over here ; Carol Ann, who was a cheap lunch 'cause all she'll eat are burgers and fries; the boss lady, Carol P ., who shares my passion for lentils and extra-virgin olive oils; and three-year-old Kristen, who could bring a smile to my face on the worst of days . It 's you people who've made these six years such a joy. Don't think you've gotten rid of me for good, though. The '95 AMOA show is in New Orleans, and you can be certain that I'll be there-if for no other reason than to tell you where to eat! Au revoir. D APRIL 1994