June 4, 2005
In 1969, I was a sometime hippy and a sometime preppy. Never could quite make up my mind.
The Preppy Handbook was published in that era and rang true for me most of the time, including its preference for blazers, plaid skirts, and loafers.
I liked those a lot.
I even pledged a sorority.
However, I also relished “Gentle Tuesdays” at Mizzou’s Peace Park.
We wore flowery dresses, had long, straight hair, listened to folk singers, protested the Vietnam War, and professed agape for all.
Then, along came Ben Weir, Sr. and his wife Ludmilla, publishers of The Examiner, who proceeded to make up my mind for me.
I am glad they did.
Here’s how it went--I was attending the annual meeting of the Missouri Press Association as one of several student representatives or something like that for the M.U. School of Journalism.
There, I met the Weirs.
Ben Senior (that’s what I always called him) told me if I wanted a job to just stop by after graduation because he needed a “women’s page” editor, and he liked Mizzou grads.
So, I did, and he hired me just as simple as that.
Thereupon, began many adventures at The Examiner.
Today, I find myself having come FULL CIRCLE.
I am back with The Examiner writing a column for you on the subject of the reluctant aging of Baby Boomers and whatever else comes to mind.
Now, you know a lot more about me than I do about you, but I’m fixin’ to even that up as soon as I can.
I thoroughly enjoy emails and appreciate tips on people or things of interest in Eastern Jackson County and surrounding areas. Just let me know, and I’ll take a look.
During my tenure at The Examiner, Frank Haight, who is still here, as you know, gave me numerous and varied assignments.
First on his list that initial day was a stack of rewrites, and I don’t mind telling you that I was terrified.
Sort of feel like that today.
Next, came spending the afternoon with the then well-known Kansas City “hard news” reporter, John Grindstead.
Big John took me to meet the Chief of Police, introduced me to the Fraternal Order of Police officers, and then had me tag along to municipal court.
John said the kind of stories he wrote necessitated that he own a gun.
I was glad I was doing “soft news.”
John told me to always make friends with the police, and that it would come in handy later, and it surely did.
A few years had passed when Frank sent me on an unusual assignment one day to see why Big John had not come to work.
I found out why as I discovered his dead body lying in the open doorway of his home.
I certainly needed my police friends then, just like John said I would.
Sue Gentry introduced me to lots of political folks because, as you no doubt recall, Sue was the favorite reporter of former President Harry S Truman.
She was long celebrated as the reporter who covered Truman the best.
Nancy Vilmer introduced me to the society folks in Independence, and took me to the Junior Service League luncheons and helped me write countless stories about brides.
I parked my 1957 red and white Chevy two blocks away from the JSL Clubhouse because I did not feel it was quite “high society” enough to park in their lot.
Of course, I know now how off the mark that was.
I was young, and oh, if I only had that car today!
In those days, the women’s page was called the Society Page, but I soon changed that because I did not want to answer the phone all day saying, “Hi Society, may I help you.”
I was, after all, part hippy, and immediately went about changing old, old practices, such as not running engagement or wedding photos of Blacks.
I ran them, and that was unheard of then.
Remember, it was 1969.
The one and only Dick Puhr was there, and he, too is still around, cranking out those sports stories.
I worked with Carol Conrow, a brilliant and promising reporter and photographer, who was snapped up by the late Jerry Litton’s campaign and headed for DC when he died in a plane crash.
She, subsequently, had a long career with The Odessan and won many awards.
Jean was there, Charlie, Carl, Ben Junior, and so many others.
Ben and Ludmilla were our “parents” and watched over us personally and professionally.
However, no one mentored me more than Audrey Stubbart, the famed proofreader for The Examiner, who functioned more like a chief editor and eternal teacher.
Another memory is that of Frank Haight sending me to pretend to try out as a K.C. Chiefette (official greeter requiring white boots and a mini skirt) and write a story about it.
I did and made it to the finals.
Fun story.
This next story I recall wasn’t so fun because The FBI came to visit me after I wrote about the House of Agape, a local church/halfway house.
Apparently, they were quite interested in that house as a drug house, but who knew, and I had carried on extolling their virtues as the “house of brotherly love” designating them our church of the week.
The FBI didn’t agree.
There were many stories I remember writing including such topics as the one-armed violinmaker, the go-go woman drag car racer, the invention of the microwave oven (yes, I am that old), and the advent of women’s pants suits.
So, here I am having come Full Circle, and hope you will join me as I explore the oddities and the joys of aging.
