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| The paper was always the thing |
It was all about the stories. Those are words I appreciate.
"Rob, I wish I had some of your demeanor," I was recently told.
The person -- someone I had not met before yesterday -- was pleased with my approach and I have to admit it surprised and pleased me.
I'm used to assuming I'm literally no part of that sentence.
Oh, not for lack of trying, but I also have a low tolerance for ... well ... you can probably guess.
So, in lieu of that, allow me to write an ode to a great journalist. The person who cares about the story.
Susan -- really, does she need a last name? She has "Cher" status at this point* -- is leaving the Darien Times. (Edit: she is moving to another role in the Hearst Connecticut Media empire)
*She'd kill me if I used a Madonna reference as she's not too fond of the Material Girl and she'll likely be annoyed enough at me for whatever I write within this post so I need to keep her on my good side.
I think I'm a journalist. A *crappy* one (different words have been used) but one nonetheless. I've never met one better than Susan and I know quite a few.
She didn't just work at the DT. She WAS the DT. She found a way to massage and assuage every person she dealt with, good and bad. Where I'd grumble at her for allowing them to have anything to do with her, she'd make the best of it, pull her Fedora on that much tighter, take a swig of her Bud Light Lime, yet straighten her skirt and deal with whatever was in front of her.
I always told her she was the girl who could hang with the guys about as easily as anyone I've ever met.
But she's all of the above, and the fiercest journalist I've had the honor of observing.
You have to know her to understand. In all honesty, she's not as outgoing as you might think. She's actually incredibly shy and reserved. She's very private. But when she goes into "Lois Lane" mode, well, get ready because she's going to get answers.
She has the awards. She has the stories. She has the notebooks. She has a computer and a memory full of things to back all of that up.
Want a dissertation of 830-g (the affordable housing statute)? Yeah. Her. Want to know every...little...piece...of Darien town government? She's your editor. Need to know about a restaurant or business or some minutiae in Darien? Want someone you can trust to tell your story, no matter how emotional?
Want insane knowledge of Billy Joel lyrics? Yep. Her.
You want analogies? It's her pride and joy. Well that and her daughters, the esteemed Snakey and Pinecone of Wilton, of course.
I saw it wear on her. I heard it. I felt it. She was literally blood, sweat, and tears when it came to the DT (and she'll also be annoyed that I used an Oxford comma).
Often it was me being the jerk trying to keep her grounded and reminding her to tell people that certain hours were off-limits. It was also me who found out about those who did her wrong and getting hyper angry to the point that I didn't understand how she could look any of them in the eye. Yet, if she could do it, how could I let it bother me?
I know she could take care of herself. It's just my nature to protect and defend (and I'm still annoyed at some).
That's a whole different topic for another time.
Darien was a better place for having Susan in it. She dealt with people who openly tried to get her fired and went behind her back and that's just those who she worked with!
I might be kidding about some part of that.
But it was time. Time for a variety of reasons. Time to spread her wings. She's sad tonight to be leaving and excited for what's next. She's probably nervous. Maybe even a little scared.
I'm not talking for her at all. Yet I have a sense of what's crawling around in that brain that first came from Staten Island.
She's getting the respect she has earned since she made the announcement and deservedly so
While she'll say, "It's good for the paper," she knows that's where I call ... ahem ... you know.
It's good for her.
She doesn't need it as much as she thinks. That ferocity has carried her through stories both scandalous and benign.
The community was what mattered. She was Darien.
I could literally write a volume about just the nearly eight years that I've known her and the most recent times have been eerie as we've compared notes.
"Eerie." Few words are better suited when it involves Susan, who is also the queen of legit horror.
I know the drill. She'll thank me. I'll get the, "Thanks much!" and a heart from her. She'll likely not let this be seen on her Facebook page.
She might -- might -- pass it on to the Godfather (her father) whom I've become friendly with. That is if he doesn't see it on my Facebook page first.
She'll hate the attention.
But she'll be grateful for it.
I raise a toast to you, fair Lois. To those fierce discussions about journalism and integrity. Thanks for allowing me to read your brilliance and for challenging me to be better both in written and electronic form.
Scott Pelley, one of your heroes, once told you to tell Lucy and Annabelle that the world will be OK in the long run (and I'm paraphrasing, of course).
I'm here to tell you that you, too, will be OK. That you'll still be that same journalist. That you're going to take those skills and that dogged determination to tell a story and throw all of that into your next challenge. Journalists like you don't simply toss those Fedoras in the trash. They look for their next story.
Go write your next story, Lois. We'll all be reading.
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