development?”
“Major and his friends own the property, and they intend to make a lot of money and develop their own little compound over there. You’ll learn soon enough that a handful of people in this town have all the power. What they say goes. Most of those folks have money. The ones who lose don’t. The jurors from that area know which side their bread is buttered on.”
Troubled both by what seemed to be the unfairness of the decision and my etiquette faux pas at missing the meeting with Green's movers and shakers, I headed to the phone. I was more worried at that moment about irritating people who paid the paper's bills than I was by the housing development. After all, the guy did own the property. It was his to do with as he wanted. Those people could find other places to live, surely. It was prime real estate, after all, and they were just renters.
A handful of phone calls later, I had set up meet-and-greets with my new challenge, Major Wilson, and with Eva Hillburn, who owned the Ford dealership and Wilson's Department Store. I had also left a message for Mr. Marcus Taylor, head of the Lakeside Neighborhood Association. Starting tomorrow, I would make it a point to see and be seen, getting out and making contacts.
I dialed Marti in the newsroom, but she was running between meetings and couldn’t talk.
“Hang in there,” she said. It was one of those rushed conversations I recalled well from my city desk days. Next I called the moving company for an update on the arrival of my belongings. Suddenly, sleeping in my own bed was incredibly appealing.
Still restless, I headed to the newsroom and edited a few stories, trying not to grimace at run-on leads about spaghetti supper fund-raisers and an upcoming revival at the First Baptist Church. I made a few suggestions on headlines and how photographs should be cropped.
A crisis developed when an ad in the second section fell through. “I’ve got this big hole that needs filling,” Tammy said from the composing room. “I can’t decide between those reader recipes left over from Tuesday's paper and this filler house ad.” She held up copy that reminded people to place a garage sale ad, three lines for three dollars. “Lots of people like their yard sales.”
As I wondered how much money the extra newsprint would cost, pressman Stan ambled in to tell me we had a problem with the press, and he needed to drive up to Shreveport to get a part. He thought he could be back by 8 p.m. and have it fixed in time to run the next day's paper and to print the little free-delivery job we did on the side.
“How much is the part?” I asked. “Are you sure the one you’ve got can’t be fixed? What about getting the part locally? What if you don’t get back in time? We have to get the paper out, no matter what. What are our options?”
My questions revealed my fear and ignorance.
“Miss Lois,” he said. “I’ve worked on this old press for twenty-five years, and I’ll get her up and running in time for tomorrow's paper. Now trust me. Sign this purchase order, and I’ll hit the road.”
I gulped and signed. It was a good thing I had a free house and a year to figure this out.
6
Adopting a nutria litter for family pets was not a smart idea,
according to Wildlife & Fisheries officials who were called to
a Bouef Parish home after the animals ran amok, tearing up
furniture and terrorizing neighborhood children. “Pets are
pets,” one agent, who asked not to be identified, said. “Wild
animals are wild animals. Quit trying to mix them.”
— The Green News-Item
T ammy opened the door for me on Friday morning a bit more cheerfully than she had the day before.
“Doughnuts,” I said, pausing to release the latch on the lobby gate. “Celebrating my first edition as owner of The Green News-Item .” Moving around the building, I had fun holding up the green-and-white paper boxes. “Chocolate?
“Major and his friends own the property, and they intend to make a lot of money and develop their own little compound over there. You’ll learn soon enough that a handful of people in this town have all the power. What they say goes. Most of those folks have money. The ones who lose don’t. The jurors from that area know which side their bread is buttered on.”
Troubled both by what seemed to be the unfairness of the decision and my etiquette faux pas at missing the meeting with Green's movers and shakers, I headed to the phone. I was more worried at that moment about irritating people who paid the paper's bills than I was by the housing development. After all, the guy did own the property. It was his to do with as he wanted. Those people could find other places to live, surely. It was prime real estate, after all, and they were just renters.
A handful of phone calls later, I had set up meet-and-greets with my new challenge, Major Wilson, and with Eva Hillburn, who owned the Ford dealership and Wilson's Department Store. I had also left a message for Mr. Marcus Taylor, head of the Lakeside Neighborhood Association. Starting tomorrow, I would make it a point to see and be seen, getting out and making contacts.
I dialed Marti in the newsroom, but she was running between meetings and couldn’t talk.
“Hang in there,” she said. It was one of those rushed conversations I recalled well from my city desk days. Next I called the moving company for an update on the arrival of my belongings. Suddenly, sleeping in my own bed was incredibly appealing.
Still restless, I headed to the newsroom and edited a few stories, trying not to grimace at run-on leads about spaghetti supper fund-raisers and an upcoming revival at the First Baptist Church. I made a few suggestions on headlines and how photographs should be cropped.
A crisis developed when an ad in the second section fell through. “I’ve got this big hole that needs filling,” Tammy said from the composing room. “I can’t decide between those reader recipes left over from Tuesday's paper and this filler house ad.” She held up copy that reminded people to place a garage sale ad, three lines for three dollars. “Lots of people like their yard sales.”
As I wondered how much money the extra newsprint would cost, pressman Stan ambled in to tell me we had a problem with the press, and he needed to drive up to Shreveport to get a part. He thought he could be back by 8 p.m. and have it fixed in time to run the next day's paper and to print the little free-delivery job we did on the side.
“How much is the part?” I asked. “Are you sure the one you’ve got can’t be fixed? What about getting the part locally? What if you don’t get back in time? We have to get the paper out, no matter what. What are our options?”
My questions revealed my fear and ignorance.
“Miss Lois,” he said. “I’ve worked on this old press for twenty-five years, and I’ll get her up and running in time for tomorrow's paper. Now trust me. Sign this purchase order, and I’ll hit the road.”
I gulped and signed. It was a good thing I had a free house and a year to figure this out.
6
Adopting a nutria litter for family pets was not a smart idea,
according to Wildlife & Fisheries officials who were called to
a Bouef Parish home after the animals ran amok, tearing up
furniture and terrorizing neighborhood children. “Pets are
pets,” one agent, who asked not to be identified, said. “Wild
animals are wild animals. Quit trying to mix them.”
— The Green News-Item
T ammy opened the door for me on Friday morning a bit more cheerfully than she had the day before.
“Doughnuts,” I said, pausing to release the latch on the lobby gate. “Celebrating my first edition as owner of The Green News-Item .” Moving around the building, I had fun holding up the green-and-white paper boxes. “Chocolate?
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