Finding Direction: The Wind Vane Chronicles

[Note:  Our family's dire situation is still ongoing, but I'm also trying to keep on going by staying busy and industrious as much as possible even though my heart is heavy.  So this morning I want to share with you the  repeat of a story of a very good friend of mine who I've known for years.  I hope you enjoy it.  It may not be what you think of in a typical friendship, but then again, maybe so.  You decide today, okay, and comment to let me know.  Dee] 

You'd think I'd have it made.

In one of my "previous" lives, of which there've been several, I was a newspaper Community Editor and journalist for several years. During that time, I worked hard and did very well, winning several Mississippi Press Association awards. And, I had a large following from the weekly column I wrote, in addition to doing all of my daily duties.

Then, when I was in college (yeah, the work came first - but, that's a long story about one of my other "previous" lives better left for another day), I wrote a weekly column for a long while as a "non-traditional" commuting student and had a large following there. Mainly, among the Journalism professors, who were very encouraging.

Later, after I became an attorney, I worked for about four years as a Staff Attorney for a large law firm in New Orleans, where I specialized in legal research and writing. I wrote all kinds of briefs and appeals for all kinds of cases for the 40 something attorneys in the firm, from the managing partners down.  Again, I did well.

Now, I'm writing here, which should just be a continuation of past endeavors and a sure sign of future accomplishments, right? Well, you'd think so. But, there has been one nemesis who has dogged me each step along the way, who still does and who, it looks like now, always will.

I first met him the day I went to work at the Picayune Item, in Picayune, Mississippi. He was one of those "crass" advertising guys over on the other, less desirable, side of the building, the Advertising Director. I, on the other hand, was several levels above that sort of thing, going to work on the "correct" side of the building in the newsroom, where the "purists" who were journalists resided, engaged in truth seeking, fact sorting and secret exposing, all in the name of what was good and just and right.

But, this guy had a way of needling me, pointing out rather succinctly at the most inopportune times that it was the advertising dollars coming in that kept the newsroom afloat and in business, not the other way around, no matter what the level of "purity" was among the elite.

Besides that, he was a well read young man and knew a lot more than I did about layout and design of pages and photography and all sorts of things. I found I could - and did - learn a lot from him. But, still - I was a writer, a "journalist," and he wasn't, so I had some advantage.

One night, I was in the newsroom working late on a big series I'd taken on for the front page, no less, struggling mightily with the story I'd just covered of the local school board meeting. Over 200 parents had attended because of the first story I'd done for the front page a couple of days before.

My best writing time was always in the mornings, though, and this was fairly late at night. I was tired. Well, the Advertising Director walked in from the other room where he was working on what we called a "picture" page or "feature" page, which was an entire page full of photographs of various sizes with just a small amount of copy on it all done by one person.

He had the page laid out, but wanted me to look at the three short paragraphs he'd written and to critique and "edit" them, as needed. I was Community Editor, after all. So, I read it and suggested one small change to one sentence, which he made. He added the comma.

Then, feeling rather magnanimous, and also a bit frustrated, I asked him to take a look at the screen at my long, complicated article. He did. He didn't understand several things I was trying to say and suggested changes. He offered to help me with them and I accepted. He then sat there and basically re-wrote the entire article for me. I went home and went to bed, glad it was done.

Late the next morning, as the newspaper rolled hot off the presses, the managing editor went and grabbed one and sat down at his desk to read it. About that time, I walked by on my way to the "composing" room in the layout area in back to retrieve some copy (that was before automated, computerized output and I was looking for actual paper copy to paste up to a page).

The managing editor stopped me.

"Dee," he said. "I just want to tell you - good job! This is a great article. Your writing has really improved a lot lately!"

I was chagrined. Mortified. Totally humiliated.

And, though I knew I should, I didn't say a word. Nope. Kept my mouth shut.

Well - sort of.

I finally said, "Thanks. Thanks a lot."

And, then, I couldn't resist adding, "Do me a big favor, would you. Just don't say anything to the Advertising Director, Tom Andrews, about it, okay? He probably wouldn't get it."

* * * * *

Post Script: He found out, of course. I eventually told him. But, not for a long while. And an even longer while after that we got together and were married 15 years ago.

For several years now, he's been a newspaper Publisher. Over two newspapers, no less, a daily and a weekly. And, he's very good at what he does. He's still a better editor than I'll ever be, probably, and a good writer, as well, even though I've got a lot more "formal" education in that area than he does.

I had him read and edit everything I ever wrote in law school, even after I made Law Review, because although he didn't always know much about the particular legal issues, he knew a good, clean sentence when he saw one. And still does.

That's why I still ask him to help me with my work whenever I'm in trouble. He still always bails me out and makes my writing much better and stronger.

Besides all that, he provides me with lots of good stories to tell!

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