He was also a chain smoker. If he wasn’t at his desk, he was out on the fire escape, getting a few puffs in. The smell of smoke hung around him perpetually.
Tammy remembered his face clearly. Stanley always had his glasses stuck up on his creased forehead. He was mostly bald but refused to shear off those last long wisps of white hair, which tended to fly away and point in just about any direction, like antennae on a beetle.
In short, the guy looked like he was nuts. He was also extraordinarily talented, extensive in his experience, and brutal in his honesty.
He had driven Tammy to tears of rage and tears of dismay on several occasions. One day, she’d had enough. She was ready to quit the business entirely, but not before giving Stanley a piece of her mind.
“I’m sick of you throwing all my stories in the trash can!” she started before she had even entered his office. She slammed the door behind her for effect. “I’m a journalist, goddamn it! And I demand that you treat my work with more respect!”
“Really,” was Stanley’s response. This must not have been the first time somebody made a scene in Stanley’s office. He was completely unfazed. In fact, the corners of his lips started to rise in the beginnings of a smile.
“Yes! Really!” Tammy worked up a head of steam as she stood at Stanley’s desk. The old man seemed unmoved, which only increased her frustration.
“Dammit, Stanley! I’ve been busting my hump trying to come up with things to show on the news. Some of them were good, and you know it. But for some reason you just won’t give me a chance. I’m working just as hard as anybody out there and—”
All the wind left Tammy’s sail as Stanley proceeded to slowly clap his hands.
“Can I go now?” he asked after several claps.
Her answer wouldn’t have mattered. He went.
“Sure, I’ve seen you work and rework a piece of news for hours on end. But you’re still missing the guts of the story.”
He paused at that point and looked up into Tammy’s face. Her anger was becoming clouded with confusion.
“What the hell do you mean?” she asked, slightly trembling.
“What I mean is this...” He considered his words for a moment. “Look, kid, you’ve got the desire and the smarts. I don’t doubt that at all. And with your looks, you could become a real star.” He looked her up and down, and Tammy squirmed under the scrutiny. “Yep, you could be a traffic or weather girl tomorrow, if you wanted.” He leered at her with an appreciative smile.
“I am a journalist. Not a ‘weather girl’!” Tammy could barely contain her rage.
Stanley lifted his hands in submission. “OK, OK! Why don’t you sit down?” He pointed at the chair next to Tammy. “My neck is starting to hurt, looking up at you.”
Tammy sat down. Damn that Stanley! He could get her so riled up with one line, only to confuse her with the next one.
“Tammy, you are not a journalist. Now let me finish!” he added, seeing Tammy’s reaction. “You’re a reporter. What I need, is for you to be a journalist.”
Tammy had no immediate response to that, so Stanley continued, “I’m glad that you’re finally coming around, though!”
“I don’t know what you mean ...” Tammy’s voice had dropped to something barely above a whisper.
“A reporter just collects information and tries to pass that along to the audience. They’re a dime a dozen. No, wait! They’re not even worth that dime!” Stanley really started getting into his discourse now. “But a journalist! A journalist researches the information. A journalist collects sources and interviews people. A journalist digs”—he made a grabbing motion with both hands to emphasize the word—“and gets to the truth of the matter!”
It was clear to see that Stanley was passionate about this.
“You’ve got to always be asking yourself, ‘What the hell is going on over there?’ and not be satisfied with anybody else’s answer. Get in there and find out the truth!”
He had a lot more to say that day, and Tammy soaked it all up. It was the day that she stopped being a reporter and started being a journalist.
Her relationship with Stanley changed drastically from that day forward. Oh, sure, she still got angry with Stanley on occasion — the guy was unbelievably stubborn — but now their dialogue had the undertone of respect.
She remembered watching other newby newsies go through the same process, a couple of years later and just before her first big break. Most just kept trying to do what they knew — what they had been taught in school — and ultimately quit or got fired. But one or two would struggle and fight, and eventually learn and adapt. Those folks were going to make it.
Tammy’s expression turned rueful. She had lost touch with Stanley shortly after getting her first regional network news reader job.
No. Not lost touch. You dropped him.
Stanley had died about two years ago. He’d suffered a massive brain hemorrhage, right at his desk. Tammy was quite upset when she heard about it and flew out to Minneapolis to attend the funeral.
That was guilt, too. Wasn’t it? Tammy recognized the truth of it with a fresh flush of shame.
A strange noise in the distance interrupted her musings, and Tammy turned her face, concentrating hard on the noise. It was there for a second. Something. Something big. Its sound had carried on the wind. A chiming, high-pitched sound. Then it was gone.
Tammy sighed in frustration and turned around to survey the rest of the roof. She was on the raised portion, on top of the gym. She walked past the bank of solar panels, which was blocking her view of the lower portion of the roof and the rest of her companions.
She watched Emily
