security access code at the stairway door, and entered the bowels of Channel 6, The City’s Premier News and Information Station. Up one flight of stairs, through the steel fire door, and straight ahead was the newsroom.
“Hey, George.”
George Hayami, assignment editor, waved from the assignment desk, an elevated station everyone passed on their way into the newsroom. From the newsroom floor it resembled a sort of lunch counter, built at chest height, from which George, Ruth Sutton, and Diane Bouvier served up a constantly changing menu of fast information. The Desk, as the staff called it, was in many ways the only window in this windowless room, the station’s electronic, telephone, fax, and print eyes and ears that were open to the outside world. On the left end a bank of radios tuned to police and fire frequencies carried the chatter of dispatchers, fire trucks en route, and cops on capers. In the left back corner a radio and telephone switchboard kept the Desk in touch with reporters in the field via radio, cellular phone, and, when all else failed, public telephone. Just under the back counter all the latest City newspapers, plus the Wall Street Journal , the New York Times , the Los Angeles Times , and the Washington Post , were stacked in wire bins, already divided up, folded over, highlighted, and clipped. On the back wall were large maps of The City proper, The Greater City, the county, and thestate for quick reference by the assignment editors so they could tell reporters where a story was happening and how best to get there. On the desk below the maps were the computerized feeds from the news services—United Press International, Associated Press, and Reuters. At the other end, sifting and selecting, George Hayami and Ruth Sutton sat at computer consoles updating the “24-Hour Outlook,” a multi-paged, computer printout, the day’s menu of what news was happening and where, what stories were being covered and by whom, who was working, who was sick, who was on vacation.
John picked up a copy, updated at noon, and at a glance could see what was happening and what might be news:
M! (M! stood for murder) BROCKVILLE—33-year-old Cora Ann Bayley found dead in home. Friend who found her thinks she was strangled. Cops won’t say how she died.
MURDER PLOT—Three teenagers arrested in Greenport for plotting to kill parents.
B! (B! stood for a body found) DILLON PARK—Woman’s body found in Dillon Park Sunday (not reported Sunday). Reported missing on Friday. Apparent suicide.
C! (C! stood for a plane crash) MANILA—We really need to put Southcott on this today. Benson Dynamics is, of course, issuing the usual meaningless doubletalk. Southcott last year reported on similar engine problems.
F! (F! stood for fire) VARIOUS—Couple of good fires with good flame pictures from Sunday. Yacht in Lake Swayze. Cause? Grandstands at Summerville Raceway burned up in an arson fire.
And so it went. Three pages of it. They wouldn’t all make it on the air, but John always found the wide selection fascinating, especially when compared to the final script for the evening news.
He sat at his desk in the back of the newsroom and clicked on his computer monitor. A small, blinking mailbox in the upper-right corner of the screen meant he had a message in his mailbox. Of course, thisdidn’t mean a physical mailbox, but a message left for him in the computer. He called up his mailbox to retrieve the message.
Well, messages, plural. A lot of them. “We’re thinking of you, John.” “Much sympathy in your time of loss.” “Chin up, sport, and remember, you’re the greatest.” “God bless you, John.” “Condolences to you and yours.”
Oh. And here was a message from Leslie Albright. “John, my sincerest condolences. Please come around to talk. I owe you an explanation and apology for last Friday. Leslie.”
Well, what do you know. He pushed the tears back down, smiled warmly, and typed in a return message for
“Hey, George.”
George Hayami, assignment editor, waved from the assignment desk, an elevated station everyone passed on their way into the newsroom. From the newsroom floor it resembled a sort of lunch counter, built at chest height, from which George, Ruth Sutton, and Diane Bouvier served up a constantly changing menu of fast information. The Desk, as the staff called it, was in many ways the only window in this windowless room, the station’s electronic, telephone, fax, and print eyes and ears that were open to the outside world. On the left end a bank of radios tuned to police and fire frequencies carried the chatter of dispatchers, fire trucks en route, and cops on capers. In the left back corner a radio and telephone switchboard kept the Desk in touch with reporters in the field via radio, cellular phone, and, when all else failed, public telephone. Just under the back counter all the latest City newspapers, plus the Wall Street Journal , the New York Times , the Los Angeles Times , and the Washington Post , were stacked in wire bins, already divided up, folded over, highlighted, and clipped. On the back wall were large maps of The City proper, The Greater City, the county, and thestate for quick reference by the assignment editors so they could tell reporters where a story was happening and how best to get there. On the desk below the maps were the computerized feeds from the news services—United Press International, Associated Press, and Reuters. At the other end, sifting and selecting, George Hayami and Ruth Sutton sat at computer consoles updating the “24-Hour Outlook,” a multi-paged, computer printout, the day’s menu of what news was happening and where, what stories were being covered and by whom, who was working, who was sick, who was on vacation.
John picked up a copy, updated at noon, and at a glance could see what was happening and what might be news:
M! (M! stood for murder) BROCKVILLE—33-year-old Cora Ann Bayley found dead in home. Friend who found her thinks she was strangled. Cops won’t say how she died.
MURDER PLOT—Three teenagers arrested in Greenport for plotting to kill parents.
B! (B! stood for a body found) DILLON PARK—Woman’s body found in Dillon Park Sunday (not reported Sunday). Reported missing on Friday. Apparent suicide.
C! (C! stood for a plane crash) MANILA—We really need to put Southcott on this today. Benson Dynamics is, of course, issuing the usual meaningless doubletalk. Southcott last year reported on similar engine problems.
F! (F! stood for fire) VARIOUS—Couple of good fires with good flame pictures from Sunday. Yacht in Lake Swayze. Cause? Grandstands at Summerville Raceway burned up in an arson fire.
And so it went. Three pages of it. They wouldn’t all make it on the air, but John always found the wide selection fascinating, especially when compared to the final script for the evening news.
He sat at his desk in the back of the newsroom and clicked on his computer monitor. A small, blinking mailbox in the upper-right corner of the screen meant he had a message in his mailbox. Of course, thisdidn’t mean a physical mailbox, but a message left for him in the computer. He called up his mailbox to retrieve the message.
Well, messages, plural. A lot of them. “We’re thinking of you, John.” “Much sympathy in your time of loss.” “Chin up, sport, and remember, you’re the greatest.” “God bless you, John.” “Condolences to you and yours.”
Oh. And here was a message from Leslie Albright. “John, my sincerest condolences. Please come around to talk. I owe you an explanation and apology for last Friday. Leslie.”
Well, what do you know. He pushed the tears back down, smiled warmly, and typed in a return message for
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