First order of business: thank you. Thank you all, even the ones who channeled their inner Nelson and gave me a hearty HA HA. But mostly thanks to everyone who sent letters on behalf of the column – many of which, oddly enough, were longer than the column whose loss they were lamenting – and wrote words of encouragement on their blogs. And large blushing thanks to Hugh Hewitt, who spent about sixteen hours on the subject on his coast-to-coast radio show.That said: jeez, folks, it’s not like they gutted Mencken in front of his family, or anything. The internet – and journalism – abounds with great talent in increasingly large quantities, and I am honored that you regard the work so well. But honestly, you’re embarrassing me. Please keep it up. . . .
I usually write at home, since it’s easier, and I can pace and talk out loud and listen to music. But I didn’t think I’d have any writing in me today. (Although I filed a column in the morning.) The office atmosphere was a bit charged; think the morning of the day they tested the first atom bomb, and you have an idea. I had lunch in the cafeteria, something I never do, and was reminded why: you hope there’s a measurable difference between the consistency of the turkey burger and the Styrofoam plate on which it rests, but you can’t have everything. You could, however, have Salsa, this being a Southwestern Turkey burger, and I watched as the cook got out a giant industrial-sized bottle of Pace and glug out a portion with a sound like a rich, ripe beany fart. I ate at my desk and walked around talking to people, collecting rumors – they’re going to fire everyone and raze the building and publish via mental telepathy! – until I realized that I had a big feature on the 30th anniversary of Star Wars due in two days, so I wrote that.
Ninety minutes to the Big All-Company Meeting. Let’s walk! I put on my headphones and walked around downtown, and I must have looked like a madman. See, I know what’s going to happen to me, and it has its own liberating quality. So I just put on show tunes from the very limited selection of show tunes I can bear, and when “Singin’ in the Rain” came on I almost hopped up on a lamppost. Which is really the sort of thing you ought to do more often, anyway.
Then the meeting. Bar graphs were displayed. Some of them looked like basement steps built by a drunkard, unfortunately. The bad news was released: 145 positions would enter the ether. They would be pushing up daisies. They would be ex-parrots. After the meeting was over everyone regrouped according to profession, and the plans for the future were laid out. Buyouts were extended. Questions were posed. I canÂ’t speak for all, but it seemed like people were looking at others and seeing White Star Lines caps on everyoneÂ’s head. Which is to be expected, I suppose; this sort of thing is unknown at the paper. This was the first time the blade had fallen in a long time; not since the papers were merged, the Star absorbed into the body of the Trib, had the Reaper roamed the halls, laughing loudly.
I should also note that thereÂ’s no reason we should be immune to this sort of thing. IÂ’ve seen all my friends go through this, no matter which industry theyÂ’re in. I should also note that if IÂ’d been fired outright, well, thatÂ’s life. If IÂ’m not producing enough to justify my salary, make me write one or two features per week in addition to my column. And make me write longer columns! My dismay had to do with the nature of the specific reassignment, not the fact that IÂ’d come hard up against Reality. Just so weÂ’re clear.
After the announcement the phones began to ring; I got a call from a local TV station. They were going to be outside and wanted a reaction on the end of my column. Good Lord. Television cares? Of course, it doesn’t – but Strib cutbacks were a story, and as far as anyone knew I was the only public casualty thus far. . . .
So where do we stand? Well, I had some conversations about things, and things may happen. Other, different things may happen as well. I just know that the column ends on Friday, and now I have to write the last one.
I know how to do that. I’ve had it in my head all weekend. I still can’t quite believe it’s over, and ended in this fashion. But I guarantee you that this situation has caused far greater unhappiness and uncertainty for my fellow workers, and they don’t have email campaigners on their side. They have to worry about being shifted around to a different time of day – who will pick up the kid? They have to worry about losing their beats for something new, and wondering whether the convulsions will shake the place anew a year or two down the road. I’ll always have other outlets, no matter what happens at the paper. But there are people who’ve given their professional lives to newspapers, and not just because it was something they fell into by chance. They loved the medium.
But that’s not enough alas. Things change. I still remember the first day I saw a web browser; it was in the offices of the Washington Post. I swear the fellow who showed me how it worked said “Wait a minute, wait a minute. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”