Who: Jim E., Keith E.,, Bob B., Bob L., Jody J.
What: A periodic melding of the minds and memories of former News Tribune staffers, apprentices and hangers-on.
When: Monday, November 25, 2013, at 10:30 a.m.
Where: 721 Commerce Street in downtown Tacoma.
Why: To share somewhat literary and extremely personal news.
Bob L.: One of the Friday-afternoon duties of the last-hired reporter in the newsroom of the Billings(Montana) Gazette was to hustle to each of the half-dozen photography studios downtown and pick up the engagement and wedding photos for the Sunday society pages. Addison Bragg, a seasoned and personable writer, was assigned to show me the ropes, so to speak, of the Gazette's routine.
We began by strolling next door to the Empire Bar & Grille. Smokey the bartender brought us draft beers, no charge. Addison explained that he would mention the Empire someplace in one of his Sunday columns.
We slipped out the back door, went up the alley and around the corner to one of the photo shops. Addison chatted with the receptionist. He inquired about her family. He told her when and where his band would be playing. I learned that Addison was a drummer, like Gene Kruppa. But Addison's band, he explained, was less Kruppa and more Laurence Welk.
Another tavern lay between here and the next studio, so we stopped there. By the time we collected envelopes from all six studios, two hours had passed and I was half in the bag.
For the rest of the summer I was a faithful (and unhurried) collector of the engagement and wedding photos. Why the Society department didn't do their own pickups, I never questioned--why spoil a good thing?
One day it was announced that all the Anaconda Mining Company's newspapers--every daily in Montana except the Great Falls Tribune--had been sold to Lee Newspapers of Madison, Wisconsin. And one of the first acts by Lee's new Montana general manager was to order the hiring of an office girl for the Gazette. This was Georgia, red-haired daughter of an Absarokee cattle rancher. She was cute, she was personable, and she was efficient.
Efficient! We learned just how efficient on her first Friday,when Hal Lichtenberg, the city editor, sent her out to pick up the Society photos. She was back in 20 minutes. Hal was astonished. "Did you go to all six studios?" "Yes, Mr. Lichtenberg. All six on the list you gave me." "They didn't make you wait until the prints dried?" "No, Mr. Lichtenberg. The photos were waiting in envelopes." "Do you think you can be as fast next Friday?" "Faster, Mr. Lichtenberg. Next time I won't have to ask directions."
For the rest of the summer, Hal had me filling my idle hours on Friday afternoons editing the country columnists, a feared and dreaded task.
I thought of Georgia this morning, while wondering what time Jody would show up for our planned 10:30 gathering of ex-employees of The Tacoma News Tribune. We were in the newly re-opened and re-located Olive Branch Cafe, at 721 Commerce Street. It's right behind the northern terminus of whatever they call that fancy trolley that runs from and two the Tacoma Dome area. We were not surprised she was not yet there--Bob, Jim and I had worked with Jody when she was newsroom office girl (later office person)at the new News Tribune up in the Allenmore district. She would have been a natural for the old Billings society-pictures run: No 20-minute speedster, she.
But right on Jody-time, she appeared--at 11:10. Not bad.
Jody should have been a reporter. She talks more than anyone I know, not in volume, but in substance. Unlike us reporters, Jody speaks with people, not at them. And unlike us, Jody says more. She is empathetic. And she is involved. Christ, is she ever involved!
The four of us had left the Tacoma News Tribune nearly three decades before, but Jody remembered faces and personalities and conversations as if this was till 1986. As cynical as any stereotyped newspaper reporter was ever portrayed, I could cast scorn on almost any of our former colleagues. If the conversation kindled any uncomfortable memories in Jody, the only clue would be a slight faltering in her smile. And then she would bring up an incident that would make us all laugh, and perhaps forgive a bit. (A very little bit.)
I don't think Jody could travel the shortest distance between two points if you locked her in a boxcar. She pushes back her chair to leave. She stands. She sits to continue a conversation. She stands. She picks up her papers, her gloves. She puts down her papers, her gloves. She picks up her coat, puts it on. Sits down. More converstion. Up again, Up with the papers, the gloves. Seven people stand between the table and the door. Four of us are out the door. Jody greets one, then another, says farewell to each of the seven. Speaks again to the first, again to the third.
Outside, she bursts into our midst. "Where are you parked?" She asks one, moving swiftly (conversationally) to wave toward where she is parked. More goodbyes.
Finally, Jody is in her car and gone, and so are we.
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