Yes, you read the headline right.

For two weeks, some years back, I worked at one of those wild-and-wooly “supermarket tabloids” filled with crime, scandals, and spying on movie stars and politicians and other celebrities. And, sometimes, in the case of this particular newspaper, also breaking “true” news stories with real impact before the traditional papers did.

My story started in a raging blizzard that tied up Hartford, CT for several days. As I looked out my 11th-floor window at the snow piling up downtown, I decided I wanted to move to a warm place. I doubled down on that decision when my brother, then living in Philadelphia, told me the same thing. And he got a job in Florida right away.

A month or two later, I happened to be glancing through an issue of “Editor & Publisher,” a sort of “bible” for journalists. I came to the classified section. And then I saw the ad that changed my life.

It was a half-page ad for an editor. For a nationally-known “Supermarket Tabloid,” as those types of publications were called in those days. (Although many people referred to them as “Scandal Sheets.”)

It was located in Florida! And they were offering a salary of $52,000 – eye-popping for a young guy who was probably making less than half of that.

So I dashed off a resume. And promptly forgot all about it. So much so, in fact, that when they called a week later to invite me down for an interview, it took me a minute to remember I’d contacted them.

I’ll never forget sitting in a plane on the runway at Hartford International Airport at 6 a.m., looking out at the pitch-blackness. Three hours later I landed in Florida, and walked out of the airport into a day with 76 degrees, swaying palm trees, and the bluest sky I’d ever seen.

In those days, the executives at this “Scandal Sheet” were mostly British; not a surprise, as I recalled the numerous “Supermarket Tabloids” I’d seen on my trips to Great Britain. And so I found myself being interviewed by an editor from Britain named “Ian” (which seemed to be the name of just about every other editor there, as well).

The interview was not particularly scintillating, I thought. Until mid-afternoon.

Then, suddenly, all hell broke loose. Police banged in the doors on two sides of the building, and started running in and shouting “Nobody move!” Women started yelling. Men started running.

I asked one of the staffers what was going on, and he said…”Oh, nothing.” And I can recall thinking, “Well, maybe this sort of thing happens regularly here.”

Someone whispered to me that some of the Brits didn’t have green cards. And that one of the green-cardless Brits had apparently offered a relative of a recently-deceased celebrity $10,000 if he’d open the casket for a few photos.

By this time I was having trouble keeping a straight face. Much to my surprise, however, I was invited back for a two-week mutual look-see. They’d put me up in a beachfront hotel. They’d pay all my airline transportation, rental car and food costs. And, oh, yes, they’d also pay me at the pay-rate for the editor job … $1,000 a week.

So I found myself back there a few weeks later.

It was an interesting experience, to say the least. Say what you will about this particular paper, it did end up “scooping” mainstream media occasionally. But I quickly decided, despite the $52,000 salary, that I preferred traditional journalism (and let’s leave it at that!).

So, toward the end of the two weeks, I walked in off the street to the local daily newspaper at lunchtime. And they hired me as a reporter on the spot. For a salary in the teens…not $52,000. But I was happy as hell!

Soon after, I was on my way back down to Florida for keeps. And in a way, everything that’s happened in my life since then has been because of that original interview at the “scandal sheet.”

My precious children. Lifetime friends who would – and have - walked through hell and back for me. Travels all over North America and Europe and the Middle East. A wonderful woman who puts up with my moods. Good weather (except for hurricanes!) And the ability to do my daily 6 a.m. run in welcoming temperatures.

And because of that first trip to Florida for an interview with the “supermarket tabloid,” the only snow I see now is on the mountains I climb.