Then my banker, Duke Brazil, brought it up at one of our regular lunch meetings. "What are you thinking, Lois?" he asked. "How can the bank help you with this?'
I had put it off as long as I could.
The paper was making a decent profit, although we were not blowing the roof off. Still, it would probably be a fairly hot property, especially with one of the chains in the area. I had originally planned to put it on the market by the middle of the year, getting everything lined up for an end-of-year takeover. Now I was staring at the fourth quarter and had done nothing.
"I suppose I need to get a business broker or run an ad in a magazine, like the one that brought Ed down to Green, but I'm just not sure," I said. "There's always so much going on, and I can't seem to focus on this. I know I need to."
"Are you having second thoughts?" Duke asked. "Because from the looks of things, you can pay on your line of credit and easily keep the paper, if you want to. I'd be happy to sit down with you and go over any of those numbers."
That, however, opened a door I was not about to walk through.
"No, of course not," I said. "I definitely plan to sell the paper. I just am not sure how I want to proceed. I want to get the best price I can, and I need to keep this quiet. I don't think it would be good for the staff or the town if they knew the paper was about to go on the block again."
I knew, too, that the sale of the paper would mean I had to make another big decision-what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
After lunch I immediately got on the phone with Marti. "Let's take a few days off and take a little vacation," I said. "I need a break."
We decided I would drive up to Ohio, stopping to see my brothers and spending a few days at Marti's place. We'd shop, eat at our favorite restaurants, and go to a new spa that a former reporter had opened. If a manicure and pedicure with my best friend didn't help me feel better, nothing would.
My friends in Green thought the vacation was a great idea. "You've been working too hard," Iris Jo said. "We can hold down the fort." "Check out the antiques up there," Rose said. "See what the prices are doing."
"You're chewing on something in that brain of yours, aren't you?" Aunt Helen asked. "Does this have to do with the sale of the paper?" Okay, maybe Helen didn't think the vacation was a great idea.
Ed's death was on my mind, too. Only a year earlier, he had been excited about moving to Green, making plans he would never have the opportunity to keep.
The unknown loomed, waiting to grab me around the throat. I found myself waking up in the middle of the night, restless and unable to go back to sleep. I snapped at people at work, including Katy when she turned her column in late.
"I'm s-o-r-r-y," she said, drawing the word out to about four syllables. "It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't," I said, and hurried back to my office.
The next afternoon, she stuck her head in and asked if I had a minute. "Are you mad at me?" she asked. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Oh, no, Katy," I said. "I'm so sorry. I just have a lot on my mind. I need to make some business decisions and to take care of a few things."
"Oh, you mean about selling the paper."
"What? What do you mean? Of course not. Business things."
"Everyone says you're trying to decide who to sell the paper to. That you had a year to get rid of it, and it's time."
In some way her remark made me love my little paper all the more. Rumors and speculation were the fuel that kept things going at newspapers across the country, and The NewsItem was no different.
I looked Katy straight in the eyes and wondered how much to say. "I miss my friend Ed" were the words that came out. "This was supposed to be his paper, not mine. He was the one who was meant to move down here and do all these cool things and fight the battles and meet all of you and eat all those doughnuts."
Katy perched on the edge of a cabinet near the door, the place she usually chose to sit when she came to see me. "Maybe you should go see Pastor Jean. She's smart. She's usually pretty open-minded. I talk to her a lot."
She turned to walk out, and I fidgeted with papers on my desk.
"Lois?"
I looked up.
"You'll do the right thing."
After that conversation, I practically flew out of town, desperate to catch my breath, regain perspective, and reconnect with old friends and family. I packed up and left two days early, figuring I could stay a little longer, spoiling my nephews and niece. A book on tape did not keep my attention. My thoughts rolled. I finally pulled out a notebook and put it in the passenger seat, jotting to-do's for the next three or four months.
As the list took shape, a calmer feeling came. This I was good at-planning and setting goals. The right buyer was out there somewhere, ready for me to unload the paper. For a minute I thought about using one of The News-Item's "three lines for three dollars" classified ads and laughed to myself.
Visiting cleared my mind. My noisy family told funny old stories, ones that we retold every time we were together. My brothers and their wives took me out to eat and listened to the highlights of life in Green. "You can't believe how hot and humid it is in the summer," I said. "I don't know how anyone can live there all their life."
The Dayton leg of the trip was bittersweet. Marti invited a lot of the old gang over to her place to play Scrabble, and I showed them a few editions of The News-Item.
"Look, here are young Katy's columns. She's good, don't you think?"
"I'm a fan of Katy's already," Marti said. "You've talked about her nonstop these past few months. I think we'll all be working for her one day."
I pulled out a funny story we had run about a policeman barking on the police radio. "No one would confess," I said, "and no one would rat on the guy. So, the entire department got written up. Only in Green." My former colleagues passed the story around. "You'll never believe where we got the tip. My elderly friend Helen called it in. One of her `old lady friends,' as she calls them, listens to the scanner all day and all night. She called Helen to tell her someone was barking incessantly. Helen didn't believe her but promised to give me a call."
"You have got to be kidding," the Dayton cops reporter said. "Let me see that."
"When I mentioned it at the paper, one of the staff had heard it too. It turned into a great story. Look at those quotes. The police chief actually says, `I had told them before they could not bark on the radio."'
Everyone laughed.
"It's like I never left," I told Marti when our friends cleared out. "I honestly think I could walk in tomorrow, sit down at the city desk and people would think I had been on vacation for a few days."
Marti and her new boyfriend, Gary, took me out to eat. I liked the guy in spite of myself. He was funny, loved to read, and seemed to be a deep thinker without being pompous. He "felt the call to be a minister" in his late twenties, after a few years as an engineer.
"I kept thinking about spending the rest of my life in an office and how I wanted to use my time and energy," he said. "It was like something was nibbling at my soul, just wouldn't leave me alone. Then I took some kids to youth camp. I watched them learn about Christ. It's hard to describe, but something tugged at my heart. I knew I had to learn more and do something with it. Eventually I realized God was calling me to be a pastor."
He reached out and grabbed Marti's hand, held onto it. "But don't get me wrong; I sure don't think God wants everyone to be a preacher. I mean, if we were all preachers, who would we preach to?"
"Good point," I said, toasting him with my water glass.
"I really like the work Marti does," he said, squeezing her hand. "I think everybody has these fantastic gifts, and they're supposed to use them in ways that make them happy and that help the world be a better place. Like Marti. You, too, Lois. That's a big deal what you do. Telling stories. Keeping people informed."
He stopped and laughed again. "I'm preaching, aren't I? And I promised Marti I wouldn't do that."
Marti was crazy about him, and I figured I'd be back in Dayton within a year for a wedding. "You're probably not going to make our Mediterranean cruise when we turn forty, are you?" I asked her. "You'd better start using some of that new prayer power to help me find a man. Make up for abandoning me."
"Will do, sister. Will do."
As my visit wound down, I debated whether to go into the Post newsroom. "Most of the people who matter to me were at your party," I told Marti. "But I might work there again one day and need to stay connected."
"Go with your gut," she said.
In the end, the pull was too great. I stopped by late in the morning, right before people headed to lunch and before things got too hectic. I signed in at the front counter and stepped in the door to the sound of ringing phones and the police radio. One of the many TV sets blared. A scorched smell immediately told me the coffee pot was empty but no one had bothered to turn it off. The commotion momentarily overcame me.
The first person I saw was managing editor Diane, sitting in Ed's office. She jumped up and ran out to shake my hand. "Lois, how in the world are you? How's life down South?"
"Hey, Diane, good to see you. Things are good. How about with you?"
"Oh, busy as always. You know the drill. When you coming back to straighten out that city desk?"
A pang of regret ran straight through me. I could be sitting in her office. I could be running this newsroom. I pasted a smile on my face.
"Not sure, but don't forget about me," I said, wandering off while she was still talking.
Just when I was about to scoot out, Zach caught my eye and asked me if I had time for him to buy me a bite to eat. "I heard you were in town, and I need to talk to you."
I almost turned him down, but was curious and still had a little of that feeling that he was the boss. "You buying? Then, sure I have time for lunch," I said, wondering why I had come by the paper at all.
Predictably, we walked down the street to Buddy's and had a plate lunch. I did not feel nearly as nostalgic as I expected, and, after living in North Louisiana for nearly a year, the food didn't taste as good either. Near the end of the meal, Zach laid his napkin on the table and leaned over toward me, propped up on his elbows. "So, you've just about done your time down in Lose-iana, haven't you?" he asked, emphasizing the first syllable, as though making a joke.
"Yep, can't believe it. Been there almost a year. Time has gone so fast."
"You ready to come back to a real newspaper?"
"Well, last time I checked, my staff thought The News-Item was a real newspaper," I said, the veins in my forehead feeling as though they might explode. "It's actually a very real newspaper, and we're making money, too." Immediately I wished I did not sound so defensive.
He put up his hands, as though holding me back. "No offense intended. I'm sure it's a great little paper. But the company has a job they want you to consider, the top editor's job down in Asheville. The guy who's there is being promoted, and they're hoping you're ready to come back into the fold."
I was caught totally off guard. Asheville was a great city, and the Asheville Advertiser had done terrific work in the past couple of years, including being named one of the best small dailies in the country. This was one of those jobs that people who played the corporate-move game always put on their lists.
"I thought you were mad at me for leaving," I said. My move to Green had not pleased the powers that be.
Ed used to joke that this was a company that did not like breakups. "They can be ready to fire you," he said, "and they're still mad if you leave." I focused my attention back on Zach.
"Oh, we all hated to see you go," he said, "but everyone knew that Ed had left you in a real pickle. What were you going to do? But now the year's almost over, and we want you back. This is a good job, Lois, a great opportunity."
I could not immediately say no to this, any more than I could turn Zach down for lunch. "Let me think about it," I said. "What kind of timetable are we looking at?"
"They want to get someone in there within the next sixty days or so," he said. "Let's get you down there for an interview."
We walked back to the paper, talking logistics, and shook hands. Somehow our conversation had moved from my saying I would think about the job to planning to call Zach before I left Dayton to give him possible interview dates.
"I'll set things in motion," he said, "and get the publisher in Asheville to call you, follow up with a corporate call, get you some copies of the paper. You know the drill."
Maybe this was the sign I needed. My time in Green was wrapping up, and this would be a good job, a place that clearly said I was moving up in the chain. Marti and I had visited Asheville on vacation several years ago, and it was a beautiful town in a booming area. People bought vacation homes there, for heaven's sake, so it must be a good place to live. Things were falling into place. I would know the next step in my life when I left Green.
Marti, though, wasn't as excited about the job as I thought she would be. "It would be a good place to live," she said, "and the paper's good. But you know how corporate works. Do you really want that?"
"Marti, you know I have to do something. Plus, I'm getting tired of a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. You know we'd have fun if I were in North Carolina."
My preliminary talk with the publisher the next day went well. "I'll overnight you some papers and get my secretary to get you some flight options. I look forward to sitting down face-to-face," he said. "We know you've been running your own show down there in Louisiana. We'll keep that in mind as we work up your compensation package."
Marti and I both cried when I headed back to Green.
"You think long and hard before you jump back into this world," she said. "You seem happier than I've seen you in a long time. Something is going on with you. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something's definitely happening."
"Oh, you've been hanging out with the preacher too much," I said, trying to make light of the moment. We gave each other another long, hard hug, and I headed back to Green.
Everyone was so happy to see me when I returned that I felt ashamed.
"Welcome home," they all said, most giving me the standard hug. "We sure missed you. How were things up north?" Tammy asked.
Fairly quickly I went to my desk and set up a meeting at the bank with Duke. By the end of the next afternoon, he had lined me up with Jim Mills, a business broker in Shreveport, a nice man with experience in media properties and eager to help.
"I handled the sale for the McCullers," he said. "I was sorry to hear about your friend. I'm sure this has been a terrible strain on you this past year."
His observation was wrong.
"Thanks, but it's worked out okay," I said. "This year has strangely enough been a good one. Lots of nice people, some interesting situations. It's not a bad little town."
I didn't mention that I liked myself better than I had a year ago.
"How long do you think this sale might take?" I asked. "Can we keep it super confidential?"
"No problem with keeping it quiet," he said. "And it should come together quickly. No guarantees, of course, but this should be a strong property. Sit back and wait. Just sit back and wait."
During the next few days, the Asheville job kept me tied up in knots. I knew The News-Item sale would work out. Some of Rose's optimism must have rubbed off on me. I was less sure about the path that lay beyond that.
A call from Marti brought it all pouring out. "The timing on all of this stinks," I said. "I want a job precisely at the end of the year. But if I walk away from Asheville, I'll probably be out of the company for good. Unless I'm willing to work night cops in Danville or Midland or something like that."
"You'll know," Marti said. "You always do."
When the package arrived with the copies of the Advertiser, I left early and took them home. As I looked through them, I found myself comparing what The News-Item had done, ideas we executed better than this much bigger staff. T
he paper was full of wire copy and did not give me a feel for the people who lived there. I knew I was looking for things to dislike, but I kept thinking, "This is one of the best little papers in the country?"
I went to wash the ink off my hands when I heard someone tapping lightly on my front door. "Lois, it's jean, jean Hours from the church up the road."
Her visit surprised me. She had not dropped by once since I had moved in, and she apologized for doing so tonight.
"I know people hate preachers who come calling at all hours of the day and night, interrupting, acting pushy." She laughed. "But I was headed into town to pick up some groceries, and I asked God to show me someone I could help ... and you popped into my mind. I decided to drive down here and see if you were home."
She fidgeted with her car keys. "Am I crazy or incredibly intuitive?"
I sat down slowly in an old oak rocker and laughed sheepishly.
"I would say you've probably got intuition covered at the moment. I am struggling with a big decision. I guess God knew I needed some help."
15
"Neighbors out in the Pelican Place community are concerned about a remodeling project on the south side of town, converting the old Sears mail order center into Bud's Beer Barn. I hope you'll join me in complaining to Mr. Bud and seeing if we can't stop this before it goes too far."
-The Green News-Item
Katy was right.
Talking to Pastor Jean helped immensely.
"What next step feels best to you?" she asked. "What would you most like to do with your life?" She was a good listener, one of those people who let you finish a thought before they jump in. She didn't throw out a lot of advice, but asked several questions that made me think in new ways. Mostly she encouraged me to believe in myself, to trust that I would make the right decision.
"It's tough sometimes to do what you're supposed to do. I know it's tough." She paused. "I'll admit it was plenty hard to give up my life as a teacher and a good retirement plan and go to seminary. And coming here was a bit of a shock."
"So," I asked. "Why did you really do it? Why not just keep your comfortable life in Baton Rouge?"
Gone to Green Page 12