Behind the Headlines

Christmas is called the most wonderful time of the year. But what do you call that awkward week between Christmas and New Year’s?

<>I had this conversation with some friends over Christmas dinner this past weekend. It seems you belong to one of two groups: in the office or out.

<>My wife–who works at an elementary school–has the week off, while I and many others are back at work.

<>It’s a tough week to function 100 percent in the office. Many of our regular contacts and sources are out on vacation or otherwise out of the loop.

<>A quick stop at the mall reveals where many of these vacationers are. The stores were flooded with post-holiday bargain hunters, gift card shoppers and return line loafers. Though it reminds you very much of the Black Friday shopping phenomenon after Thanksgiving, it has a different feel to it.

<>However, as I sit in the office and others sit at home, I do find some common ground. This is one of those interesting times of the year when you get a breather to look back on the year and look ahead to what will be coming down the pike in January.

I just turned in a story about a subdivision in Monroe, where two sisters have been locked in a friendly battle of Christmas decorating. They were hilarious! I also contacted one of the neighbors to talk about the rivalry. After we talked about the sisters, she told me what’s been going on at her house. Unfortunately her story didn’t make it into print, but that’s what blogs are for, right?

Her husband had enlisted a neighbor’s help in putting up the Christmas lights. While putting up said lights, the husband reportedly let loose a string of expletives. Swearing aside, they finally got the display finished. That was the weekend following Thanksgiving.

Since then, whenever the couple would return home, a different strand of the lights would be blinking inexplicable. Until the wife got a call.

Yeah, they said, we’ve been messing with Steve. We remove a bulb and switch it, which causes the chosen strand to blink. If he gets really upset, we’ll stop doing it.

The wife reported that this has been driving her husband crazy. He just can’t figure it out, particularly why a different strand seems to be affected every few days. She’s kept quiet about it until now.

So, it may seem to be a little malicious to keep up the charade, but it’s the kind of story I love. Aside from a little frustration, it’s one of those situations where there’s really no harm done, but those involved will be closer at the end of it and for years they’ll be fondly remembering the migrating blink of the lights.

I’ve written obituaries off and on during my career as a newspaper reporter, taking my turn at all four newspapers that I’ve worked at. I’ve long thought there was generally understood principles and consistency as to what information goes in an obituary. After all, the various formats I worked with were pretty similar.
But now that families are more spread out by geographic distance, and arranging for obituaries to be listed in multiple newspapers, I have noticed some distinct differences in local customs. The funeral homes generally send us an obituary in whatever format they are most familiar with and ask the newspaper staffs to re-arrange the information as necessary for their publications. It can get pretty confusing at times to translate what is customary in another city into an obituary for our community.
Some things that have caught my attention in recent months:

* There seems to be no rhyme or reason across the country as to the order in which to list biographical details and survivors. The only way I can keep all of the relatives straight is to highlight their names in different colors as I’m typing the list.
* How to list the visitation hours. “Friends may call” is the wording in our obituaries. One of our customers recently was confused about that phrase. “Why isn’t it worded as visitation hours?” she asked. “Local custom,” was the only explanation I could think of. I got confused by that phrase too when I moved to Monroe.
* Grandchildren’s names included in the notice. My best guess is that this trend emerged with the increasing practice of paid obituaries. After all, if you’re paying for the space, why not include as many details as you’d like? But I often have to explain to customers that grandchildren’s names are not listed in a free obituary at The Monroe Evening News. It can be done with a paid notice.
* How often does the obituary run? One day is the custom in Monroe, unless the family wants to arrange for a paid notice. I recently spoke with a relative in Utah who said obituaries commonly are listed for two or three days in her newspaper.

* Pallbearers and flower girls. I’ve seen the occasional obituary that lists pallbearers. A few weeks ago, one came to my desk with “flower girls” listed. I was told that’s a custom in the city where the deceased person lived. The family decided to go with a free obituary in our newspaper, which didn’t include the flower girls.

Working on a health story for the next week or two, I came across massive listings of national awareness months and days. They stem from National Diabetes Awareness Month to Mother’s Day to Open an Umbrella Indoors Day. When I came across June as National Goat Trauma Awareness Month, I just had to click the link.

I was directed to www.goat-trauma.org, The Childhood Goat Trauma Foundation. So says the site: “… was created in 1982 by a small group that originally came together as a an informal support group for problems that were the result of traumatic experiences at petting zoos as children. This group realized that there were many others out there who were afraid to come forward with their horrific stories and wanted to find some way to help as many people as they could. The Childhood Goat Trauma Foundation is the result of their dream.”

When the mouse rolls over the goat illustration its eyes turn red and it grows menacing fangs.

I’m having one of those days where I realize that things I considered normal or accepted as nothing special are actually kind of odd. This is what reporting will do to a person.

I’m currently writing a story about some wigwams the historical society put up at the outpost off of Raisinville Rd. Some look like actual wigwams – half domes rising out of the earth like foothills and some look like teepees. More than once in talking with people about these, I’ve had my own flashes of wigwam memories (which, for whatever reason, I keep wanting to refer to as wamories).

In college, one of our friends – this older (ha! in his 30’s) hippie kind of guy – lived in a wigwam during the fall and winter months. During the spring he had to vacate because the melting snow would overtake the wigwam, flooding it until it was more like a wading pool than a place someone lived. It was out in the woods, one of those places that you had to know how to find – turn left at the knobby tree and then right at the moss pile, etc. It was actually really nice and would get so warm with a few of us in there swigging from the wine jug that he would have to move the animal skin door off to the side and let the fire die down a little. I should probably mention that I went to NMU in Marquette where these kinds of things are not commonplace, but not rare, either.

There was also a grouping of teepees, a little outside of town right on the coast of Superior, where I spent a bit of time. Technically I think they were in Harvey, kind of a suburb to Marquette. It was like a condo village, just slightly non-traditional as the teepees were concrete. There was a house that seemed like the overlord house at the front of the collection. I remember it had a hot tub. In the winter we would sit for hours getting pruny and then try to run the 40 feet or so to the lake through the snow to jump in. We never made it. The worst was when our warm feet would break through the ice crust on top of the snow, sinking us into the deep snow, scraping our shins all the way down. (By the way, the heat and then extreme cold thing was borrowed from the concept of the traditional sauna. Heat heat heat and then go roll in the snow while your friends hit you – to invigorate! – with a cedar bow.)

So in thinking about this and trying to write the story, I’ve realized this was probably not typical. Can you imagine just walking through the woods and ending up in a village of large concrete teepees? Writing features is always interesting, if not for what it conjures in one’s mind.

I’ve been working on a story about high school students and the pressure to succeed that they’re under. A school out East decided to not print the names of honor roll students because they’re under enough pressure as it is. They assume all students realize their names appear in the paper because of good grades.

Of all the students, principals and parents I spoke with for this story, everyone thought that the names of honor roll students should be published in the local paper. Does anyone think differently?

To go to the forum thread on this topic, click here.

I’ve always thought that one of the perks of this job is the opportunity to see things first and tell about them first. I got a chance to do that again this week.

In a story that ran in Monday’s Evening News, I toured Dundee’s new village hall. It’s an impressive structure. The spacious brick hall is a big step up from the space the village uses now.

Village manager Pat Burtch showed me through the building last week and pointed out some of the best features, including the offices that overlook the River Raisin. Construction crews were still there putting on the finishing touches.
I was by no means the first to get a walk through the new building, but I’m sure that the pictures and descriptions we reported were the first that many have seen. That’s really the fun part. A reader in Bedford or Newport may have no opportunity to see it otherwise.

I was one of the “behind the scenes” people at a charity banquet Thursday night, working on kitchen crew for the annual Madrigal Dinner hosted by the Monroe High School choir department at St. Paul United Methodist Church.

This is the second year I’ve helped at that dinner theater event. The logistics for the kitchen are amazing. But previous volunteers had compiled a detailed to-the-minute checkoff list with instructions such as exactly when to start cutting the pie. There’s also a binder with all the traditional recipes and instructions. Yes, the kitchen crew and leaders were constantly referring to the board and the binder. Some instructions were handed down word of mouth, “don’t do this, do that instead,” but everyone knew where to find or look up the most critical directions and what happens next.

Kudos to whomever dreamed up that list, and to those who have maintained it over the years! It really does help!

Man oh man. Our phone system has been wonky for over a week now. This is highly vexing. Voice mails – forget it. Navigating the system – not going to happen. Calls coming through – it’s dicey.

For reporters this is particularly harsh. Depending on how the individual reporter works, we try to get out of the office to do a story. But that’s not always possible. Many times we’re tethered to our desks by the umbilical phone lines or the ensnaring glow of our computer screens. Other appointments, deadlines and odd schedules, combined with the size of the county, sometimes make it impossible to get to all the places we want to get to. It’s then that we make our calls or wait for calls or send out emails and hang on for responses.

This week it’s been a little like the lottery. We wait anxiously until something comes through. Hopefully it’s the call one really needs. (of course, they’re all pretty important, but deadlines drive priority.) Like right now, I’m waiting to talk to Kathy Angerer about a recent bill she authored in the House. She’s on the floor and when they take a break I’ll hear from her. What if I have to go to the bathroom?

Anyway. Those who are trying to reach us can call a direct line, email or call the main line. If you call a direct line and get no one, call the main line (734-242-1100) and leave a message in the traditional way – with a person who is writing it down.

Call now. Operators are standing by. At least until Saturday when they promise we’ll be back and ready for action.

We survived another Goodfellow Sale this past weekend despite the frigid, windy and wintry conditions. It never ceases to amaze me how generous people can be at this difficult time of year. People of all ages and sexes willingly rolled down their windows to donate to our charity (the Erie Food Closet). One man stopped in a van at Sterns and Crabb Rds. and asked me why I was soliciting. When I answered him, he promptly pulled out his wallet and dropped a $100 bill in my jug. I asked for his name and address so we could send a proper thank you, but he politely refused. He just said “God is the one to thank because he is good.” I couldn’t agree more. I actually ran into the man again about an hour later at the intersection of Dixie and Manhattan St. in Erie and he donated again, this time about $8 or $9. He still wouldn’t tell me his name, but he did say he lived just north of town. There was another man who dropped in a $20 bill who said he was criticized by someone for not donating more the first time. He, too, wouldn’t give me his name. There were many other folks who kindly gave. Even a young lady on a cell phone donated while still talking (which is a good lesson for others who think they can’t do that). There’s always a few elderly men and women who dig deep into their pockets or purses to find an extra coin or two. I’m sure many of the Goodfellow salesmen and women froze this year, but it was worth the effort. I felt bad for the ones who worked early Friday in the cold rain. The afternoon wind was terribly strong, often moving me from my perch on the yellow dividing line in the middle of this four-way stop. Someone must have been concerned about my safety because a sheriff’s deputy rolled up and activated his emergency lights. He wondered what I was doing and if I had a permit. I showed him my driver’s license and then told him we’ve been covering this corner for 25 years and never had a problem. The deputy was young and probably not familiar with the longstanding tradition of the Knights of Columbus to sell at street corners. He said okay, but advised me not to sell too much longer. So a half hour later I left and found a new spot in downtown Erie. It wasn’t as windy, but still very cold. I met a lot of nice folks there, too. God bless them all for donating to a worthy cause.

I was looking over some statistics on car ownership recently and was intrigued by how much Americans love their automobiles.

With all the doom and gloom about the auto industry recently, it’s pretty clear that cars are here to stay despite some inevitable consolidation and retrenchment in the industry.

Did you know, for example, that about 16,663 households in Monroe County have three or more vehicles? That’s about 28 percent of the total households.

As I pondered these facts, my mind drifted back to the first car I ever owned – a Pontiac LeMans, silver, black vinyl roof, power windows, power brakes (when power still was a rarity) and bucket seats.

It was a cool car.

Then I was reminded of some of the cheap thrills I’ve had in cars doing this job. Once I was testing a new onboard navigational system (when they still were relatively novel) on a late-model vehicle and was trying to drive fast enough so that the satellite fed system couldn’t keep up. I did get ahead of it just a little bit at 105 mph on I-75.

Then there was the time I was a passenger in a BMW sedan driven by a professional test driver. The car was equipped with a new brand of Tenneco shocks. “Where’s some real bumpy road?” he asked me. Since we were tooling south on I-75, I suggested we visit the triple rail crossing on S. Otter Creek Rd. He veered into the exit lane and took the circular ramp at about 55. You could feel the outside wall of the front left tire start to crumple under in the turn. We came out of the sweeping loop fine (though a little woozy) and headed west, bound for the tracks. I think we were going 70 when we hit the first one. The car handled it well but still was trying to recover when we hit the second. The car went airborne and we skipped the third rail entirely.

Boy, I’d love to try that again!