COLUMN: ‘An all-time great.’ The Telegraph says goodbye to reporter Joe Kovac Jr.

After more than 30 years, Joe Kovac Jr. has left the Macon Telegraph. His last day was March 3.

He told me he didn’t really want me to write anything about his departure. Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised that a man who made his living telling others’ stories is shy about his own being told. Journalists are taught not to be the story, not to insert themselves in the narrative.

But I convinced him to let me write something, anyway. So here we go:

My first day at the Telegraph was March 1, 2020. I moved 850 miles away from family and friends to a new state, a new city, a new job. Two weeks later, the COVID-19 pandemic became our harsh reality. It was the most significant challenge of my life. But I had purpose in my job, and new coworkers who helped me get through tough times. Joe was such a huge part of that, making me feel welcome and connecting me with my new community. Like he was for many journalists before me, Joe was a steadying force.

A lot about Joe stands out from those first few months: his juvenile sense of humor packaged in a suit and tie; his war stories covering everything from the Little League World Series to murder trials to county fairs; his instinctive need to teach this native Texan where Georgia cities are — utilizing a massive map hung on the wall next to my desk — and, more importantly, how to pronounce them; his true confusion at the fact that I don’t watch the Dallas Cowboys or Texas Rangers every time they play a game. “But you’re a fan, right? I just don’t get it. How could you not watch?”

But there’s more to Joe than meets the eye. Most folks probably see him as a reporter, a true wordsmith, a pro’s pro. Or they see him as the sports fan, tearing through fried pork chops at the Macon Touchdown Club while attempting to correctly pick winners in the upcoming weekend’s slate of games. Or maybe they know him from his Warner Robins days, when he was Jody, a gangly class clown, tearing through neighborhoods on his bicycle and participating in general mischief.

What they probably don’t see is Joe the proud father, beaming while talking about his daughter and her daughter, or his son’s music career, or how impressive his wife is, how she gets tough things done.

They don’t see a man who truly empathizes with the people he writes about, or who struggles to get through reading Brady Dennis’ heartwrenching tale of a man who misses his dead wife — headlined “After the sky fell” — without breaking down.

And what they might not know is just how good Joe was at his job. Writers make their living with words, and Joe’s were carefully selected, knit together with the precision of a clockmaker. He understood that every story needs a little something extra. A quote, a fact, a phrase, more spice.

It’s not a small town, it’s a hamlet. It’s not 1 a.m., it’s the wee hours of the morning. People aren’t killed, they’re slain. And on and on and on, in some 825 stories Joe wrote since I arrived three years ago — and many, many more before then — seen by more than 4 million pairs of eyeballs.

These aren’t artistic embellishments designed to flatter the author. It’s flavor, color to give you, the reader, a sense of place, a way to connect you with what happens where you live.

This color can be hard to come by. People are increasingly reluctant to talk to reporters. Authorities want to give you a version of the facts sanitized of all ambiguity, sterilized of all flavor. Joe wanted to give readers the truth, delivered directly, efficiently and effectively.

He visited Plains recently as the world prepared to say goodbye to former president Jimmy Carter. The tiny town was inundated with national press anxious to manufacture authentic connections to Carter and residents of his hometown.

Joe was not on his first trip to Plains. A colleague described, with some awe, watching him approach folks and get them to open up about what they thought, how they felt, despite the circus going on around them. He made them feel comfortable. He told their story with grace and skill.

Why spend more than 30 years, your career, your youth, reporting? What is it about journalism that can foster that kind of commitment?

You’d have to ask Joe. I suspect it’s a combination of factors: it’s something he’s good at, something that had a positive impact on his neighbors, something that gave a curious fellow a reason to ask questions, to dig, to get to the truth. Maybe, to steal a phrase, he writes for the same reason he breathes.

But if you do ask Joe, he’ll probably deflect. He’s quick to praise colleagues for their talent, eager to shine the spotlight on others, a bit embarrassed to stand in it himself.

Joe isn’t leaving Macon. He’s got another adventure ahead. I’ll leave it to him to tell you what it is, because, after all, this is a story about the past. The past 30 or so odd years, in fact, a story of thousands of bylines, millions of words, of late nights and early mornings spent across Middle Georgia and the entire Peach State, from crime scenes to press conferences to courtrooms to interviews to the office.

Pavement pounding, shoe-leather-journalism, the kind that you can’t mimic with phone calls and emails, building sources with painstaking care.

The Telegraph will fill Joe’s position, but I can’t bring myself to say we’ll replace him. They broke the mold when they made Joe Kovac Jr.

Joe, it was a joy and privilege working with you. Your dedication to the Telegraph, to Macon, to all of Middle Georgia and to the truth was unparalleled. You will be greatly missed.

Oh, and “Go Dawgs!”