Before I got that far, however, I got a call from Chuck McCuller, asking if he and Dub could come by and see me. I had heard occasionally from the Big Boys in the past six months or so, running into them at chamber meetings or getting a call when they didn’t like something in the paper. This would only be their second visit.
Although the McCuller name had not come up in any of Alex's research, Marcus Taylor had mentioned them as partners in Major's real estate developments. I thought of Pastor Jean and her “red flags” and figured the call was not a social one.
They arrived early, and when I walked in, Chuck sat at my desk. Dub wandered around, flipping through a couple of files that lay on the little coffee table. They acted like they owned the place, and I realized how much had changed in less than a year. I shepherded them into the conference room, eager to get them out of my office.
“Miss Lois,” Dub opened, “we appreciate all you’ve done with The News-Item. You’ve made some good changes, and we like the efforts you’ve made to revitalize downtown.”
“But,” Chuck continued, “we have heard some rather distressing news, and we think you should know about it. Folks are saying the newspaper is asking questions around town that it has no business asking.”
I tried to look shocked. “Really? What kind of questions?”
Dub took up his part again. “People are saying that sloppy young reporter Alex is trying to dig up dirt on Major Wilson and some of the other business leaders in town, that he's out to get them and throwing around all sorts of allegations. False allegations, might I add? It's slanderous, and it's not good for the town. You’d better keep an eye on him because you might find yourself getting sued.”
“Plus,” Chuck said, “there's lots of advertisers involved, and you sure don’t want them to cancel their advertising.”
“You need to kill this story, this investigation, whatever it is,” he continued. “You don’t want this kid to tear down all the goodwill you’ve built up, and it's just not good for Green, dragging good people's names through the mud. Newspapers always have to be looking for the bad. Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?”
Major must be about to have a stroke if he had sent Chuck and Dub over for this discussion.
“Are you referring to the stories Alex is working on about the developments on the lake?” I asked in a calm voice.
They nodded.
“And you’re familiar with those developments? Partners, I believe, in those developments? So you know all about Major Wilson's business deals and what he's doing out there?”
Suddenly it dawned on them that I was turning the tables.
“Now wait just a minute,” Chuck said, standing up so quickly that I thought he was going to turn over the chair. He leaned over the table with both hands spread out, holding him up. “We’re partners with Major, sure. Everyone knows that. But we aren’t involved in the daily workings of the business. Dub and I haven’t done anything wrong, and you better watch what you say.”
Watching the two men try to decide whether to cover their own hide or defend Major was one of the more interesting interactions I’d ever had in the news business. It was clear they were trying to size me up, to figure out how much I knew and what the paper was going to do.
Chuck was still standing, and slowly Dub stood up too.
“Kill the story or you’ll regret it,” Chuck said, and they stormed out.
We hired an attorney in Shreveport to look over the package. He had First Amendment experience, and I did not want anyone in Green to have an early look. My banker recommended “the young Walt King.” He and his father had done work for the paper before, and Walt turned out to be exactly the lawyer we needed.
“You know, Alex,” I said on our drive to Walt's office, “the thing about good newspaper lawyers is they never try to talk you out of running a story. They just try to let you know your likelihood of getting sued and of winning the case if you do get sued. Wonder what this one will say?”
“These are very interesting stories,” Walt said, as he entered the law library where a secretary had parked us. “You’ve got some good stuff here.”
Alex and I both probably loved him at that moment.
Walt was a short, bookish man in his mid-thirties, a look I found appealing. I was glad I had worn a sharp-looking suit and a nice pair of flats. He had a quick sense of humor and was methodical as we went through the stories. He made a few suggestions for Alex to follow up on and calmed my jumpy stomach.
“Don’t hesitate to call,” he said as we prepared to leave. “I’ll do whatever I can for you. I’ll be glad to come down to Green anytime you need me.”
I had been hesitant to hire him because I wasn’t sure we had enough money, but decided we probably couldn’t afford not to hire him. When I asked about his rates, he said, “This one's on me and my Dad. You can pay for the next visit. I like what you’re trying to do.”
Every copy of the newspaper sold out when the Major Wilson stories broke.
Alex waited to get Major's response till a couple of days before they were to run. That had been my idea, and Walt agreed. As expected, Major refused to return Alex's calls, having Linda tell the reporter he was tied up. Finally Alex went to his office, and Major blew up. He ultimately provided a written statement, denying any wrongdoing. “I have lived in Green my entire life,” he said. “I have served faithfully as a public servant and worked tirelessly to make this a better place to live. I am shocked and disappointed that the local newspaper has chosen to attack innocent people.”
“Run the statement in its entirety on page one,” Walt said, and we did.
The day before the first stories ran, Lee Roy came into my office, shut the door hard, and said, “I hear we’re doing an exposé on one of our most important advertisers. What are you trying to do, kill the paper?”
“No, Lee Roy, I’m trying to keep the paper alive.”
He leaned over my desk, both hands gripping the edge. “This is some bogus setup, and you know it. You disliked Major from the minute you laid eyes on him. Just because he doesn’t kowtow to you.”
“Perhaps this would be the time for me to remind you that I own this newspaper, not you. These stories are an excellent example of the public service a true newspaper provides.” I stood up and glared back at him. “Now, please get out of my office this minute.”
I gasped when he left, knowing the stories would have a financial implication. If nothing else, just the loss of Major's real estate advertising would be a blow, and I knew we would lose his car dealer business for the short term.
The stories were picked up by the Associated Press wire and ran all over the state. Alex rushed into my office a few days later with a broad grin. “There's going to be a federal investigation of Major. The Cypress Point development is on indefinite hold.”
While some people clearly believed the paper shouldn’t make waves, most were supportive.
“It's about time someone dug around a little,” Rose said. “People should be honest. It isn’t right when people use their positions for personal gain.” Others, such as Linda, weren’t quite so sure. “Even though I don’t necessarily like the man,” she said, “I don’t want harm to come to him.”
“I’m with you, Linda,” I said, surprised by the way I felt. “I like the stories we do about nice people doing positive things. Those make me feel really good.” I took a deep breath. “This investigative work has been hard on all of us. But I know, too, it's The News-Item's place to do it all—to talk about the good and shine light on the bad. It will make Green a better place to live.”
One of the unintended consequences of the stories came the day after we broke the news of the impending federal investigation.
My attorney Walt King called and asked me on a date.
16
Congratulations to Mr. Irman Jackson for having
the first bale of cotton ginned this year in the parish.
Mr. Irman was honored with a plaque and
received
a standing ovation at the gin.
—The Green News-Item
Only a matter of weeks remained to do what I wanted to do in Green. I knew the clock was running on my time here.
After the Major stories ran, I slowly reemerged, needing to touch base with a dozen people. I made a list that ranged from going to hear Jean preach to following up with the Green Forward group to see what we could do for the fall event. I set a lunch meeting with Duke, a dinner date with Walt, and a shopping trip with Kevin.
“I want to go antiquing with you and Linda,” I told Rose. “You and your Mom are invited to lunch at the country club,” I mentioned to Katy. “Let's have brunch Saturday,” I said to Aunt Helen.
Iris Jo had invited me to a high school football game, to see my neighbor Chris Craig and his team in action, and I needed to do that before the season ended. “Everyone in town goes to the games,” Iris Jo said. “Folks are wondering why you haven’t gone to one.” The weather was beautiful, and I kept trying to decide if I liked spring or fall in Louisiana better. The hickory trees turned bright yellow, and the vivid red sweet gums reminded me of Ohio. The cypresses on the lake became a rusty red color. “They’re almost exactly the color of your hair,” I told Iris Jo, and she smiled that warm smile of hers.
The terribly hot weather was definitely gone, and people seemed to have a little more pep in their step.
With fall also came the special election to fill the retiring mayor's seat. The news staff gathered for lunch at the country club as a thank-you for everyone's hard work, and I mentioned the upcoming primary.
“Now that I’ve thanked you,” I said, “we need to plan something bigger and better with the upcoming election.”
They all groaned at first. They were tired, and things had been tense around town as the Major Wilson stories continued to break. Alex seemed a little ticked that I expected him to help with a new project so soon, and I turned to him. “I just don’t feel like we have any choice. Thanks to you, we’ve raised the bar on what people expect from The News-Item. We have to keep on exceeding those expectations.”
“Let's do an editorial campaign to get people registered and motivated to vote,” Tom said. “In our last election, we had twelve percent of the registered voters show up. Twelve percent! That's a crying shame.”
Katy, who had gotten permission to check out of school for the luncheon and who was now getting journalism course credit for her work at The News-Item, wanted us to do something with young voters and even kids who couldn’t vote.
“They’re the future,” she said. “We ought to ask them what they want in a mayor.”
Alex couldn’t keep pouting and threw out his idea—that we run photographs and blurbs on everyone considering running for mayor. One of the first names that surfaced on the potential candidates list was Eva Hillburn's. I had not thought of her as a politician, but it made perfect sense. I volunteered to call her.
“It's true,” she said when I phoned later that day. “I’m thinking about running. I’ve been sitting on the sidelines for a long time. But I need to talk to you first.”
“Me? Why? I’m not running,” I said, joking.
“Thank goodness,” she said. “You’d be a tough opponent. But seriously, I need to talk to you about some downtown business before I make my final decision.”
We set up a supper meeting for the next night, hamburger buffet night at the country club. Maybe it was my imagination, but the place seemed totally different since my first meeting there with Eva. The Methodist preacher was there with his family. Kevin and her parents and a handful of African Americans I recognized from the neighborhood association were there. I knew about half the other people and spent ten minutes walking around the room visiting.
Eva shook my hand when she came in and quietly thanked me for our series on her brother. “You nailed down something I never could,” she said. “Excellent work, even though it stung. I knew he was doing something illegal, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I’m so angry at him for abusing people's trust … and ashamed, too.”
As we ate, we chatted about what was going on in town, the one-day OktoberFest planned for downtown and even a little bit about my vacation trip to Dayton. “So, are you thinking of moving back there?” she asked.
That question surprised me, but the answer was easy. “Oh, no, no, no. In fact, I probably need to go ahead and put my condo on the market. My renter's moving out in a couple of months.”
“What are your plans?”
“To tell you the truth, they’re up in the air right now. I’m still trying to recover from Alex's stories on Major and trying to get us all set for covering the mayor's race. You planning to run?” I wanted to turn the conversation back to her as quickly as possible, still not ready to discuss the sale of the paper.
“Well, that depends on you,” she said. “I’m going to run unless you’ll sell me The News-Item”.
I set down my glass of tea so hard that it sloshed out on the white tablecloth.
“What?”
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I’ve always thought I might run for office, and the timing seems right with Oscar stepping down. It might be a little better if my brother weren’t likely headed for jail, but people will get over that.” She casually dipped a French fry into her catsup.
“I had just about decided for sure when I began to hear some talk that you’re putting The News-Item on the market. I think I could have some fun with the paper, make a difference. It would have to be easier than walking door-to-door and kissing babies to get elected to office. Besides, I don’t want just any owner coming in and taking over. You’ve shown us what a great owner can do. You’ve done more with that paper in a year than the McCullers did in a decade. So, is it for sale?”
A strange possessiveness about the paper moved across me, like it was mine and no way was Eva going to get her hands on it. That was ridiculous, since it was officially on the market. Someone would be getting it. I liked and respected Eva. She might be the perfect owner.
“I’m thinking about selling it, but I’d appreciate it if you kept that between us for right now. I’ve got to make hard decisions between now and the end of the year, and I don’t want the staff to feel like the rug's getting pulled out from under them.”
“I don’t want to be too pushy, but have you listed it with a broker? I’d like to know some of the particulars. I have to make a decision quickly. If I’m going to run, I have to get a campaign organized right away.”
I don’t know why, but I could not tell Eva I had officially listed the newspaper. “Well, I have been talking to someone, but nothing's certain yet.” Perilously close to lying, I felt bad. “I should know something for sure in a week or two.”
Eva knew I wasn’t totally upfront with her. She was all business when she reached out and touched my hand. “If you’re selling it, I want a shot at it. But I have to know something soon.”
Heading to my car, I wondered yet again how my life had gotten so complicated.
The next person I was to question about the mayor's post was Rose. Her name came up as a potential candidate because of her involvement with the downtown group. She quickly shot that down.
“Are you kidding me? I’d have to give up my mail job, and I’d probably lose all my business at the Holey Moley, and I’m not any kind of a politician.” She paused for just a second. “But I have been thinking about getting involved in somebody's campaign. All the stuff you got us to do downtown and all that mess with Major. Good people have got to get involved.”
Rose was much more excited, though, talking about my upcoming date with Walt. “I can’t believe it. Finally. I’ve been trying to fix you up since the day I met you. I just don’t understand how a woman can live alone, way out in the country.”
“Rose, it's not like there's a trainload of eligible men in Green. I’ve met approximately three single men—one is eighty, the other's going through a vicious divorce and that Ch
ris Craig guy hasn’t even looked my way. Besides I haven’t been here that long.”
“Now, what are you going to wear? And what's he look like? Is he good looking? What are y’all going to do, go out to eat, catch a movie?”
I laughed and went through her list. “I haven’t thought about what I’m wearing. Something I’ve got in my closet. We’re going to that seafood restaurant on the lake. He's nice enough looking, although he's a little short.”
“Wear those black pants with that black-and-white shirt— that flowy one. And be sure to get your nails done. You’re an attractive woman, and it's high time you found someone in your life.”
I despised dating, but I had to admit being excited about going out for the first time in a year. When you get to your thirties and haven’t married, you’ve probably been out with at least two dozen men who were either weird, rude, boring, or a combination of the three. I felt optimistic about Walt.
We met for Sunday brunch at the nicest restaurant in the area, Brocato's Marina Inn. I suggested we go early, to beat the church crowd, and then worried that Walt was part of the church crowd.
“I go on Saturday,” he said. “My church is very laid-back. My mother calls it rock-and-roll church.”
He was already at the restaurant when I arrived and led me to our table, which had a beautiful view of the lake. Several people we knew came in and stopped at our table to chat. Walt had worked with some of them on cases down our way, and I recognized others from the community.
Everyone wanted to know how we met and how long we had known each other. We both were vague, implying that someone in town had introduced us, which was technically true since Duke had referred me to Walt. For the second time in two days I was deliberately misleading.
Gone to Green (Green (Abingdon Press)) Page 14