Ah, We're Finally Back
I instinctively began to make the long walk this morning down the parking garage en route to the dusty, gritty makeshift offices that we've used since Hurricane Rita gave our third-floor newsroom a sloppy wet kiss almost seven months ago.
But then I remembered: We're back, returned to the newsroom, one with new floors, paint, ceiling and floor tiles, furniture and a host of other decorative bells and whistles.
So I turned around an made my way up instead of down, to the doorway where I stood Sept. 24, 2005, and watched Rita blow off the roof.
The third-floor move came last night, with a switchover to the new phones and a Hail Mary scramble to move computers, personnel and some of the personal junk we'd toted downstairs, from coffee cups and pencil holders to dictionaries, AP stylebooks and piles of notebooks.
Since Sept. 24, 2005, we have been the Battlestar Galactica of news staffs, a rag-tag team of displaced journalists making due with the uncontrollable circumstances handed to us.
It's bittersweet sitting here alone in my refurbished office, where Rita's rains soaked through the roof, caused the ceiling to collapse and left stinking, bloody-red pools of insulation-filtrated water standing ankle-deep.
On one hand, I'll miss sitting elbow-to-elbow with Assistant Managing Editor Pete Churton and discussing topics ranging from music to sports. I'll miss mingling with the non-journalists who beat a pathway through the personnel office. I'll miss burning 5 to 10 calories while ascending or descending the parking garage.
Strangely, I'll miss working in less-than-desirable conditions, because there is something about shouldering adversity that builds character, bolsters pride and makes us tougher, better people.
We certainly had our fill of that in Rita's long, tense, soupy aftermath.
But it was time to get back to our professional digs, enabling me to have private conversations with reporters - and my wife - without numerous pairs of ears tuning in. After all, we're all storytellers here, and we love to hear a good story, even if it's about one of our news brothers and sisters. Gossip is like crack to some journalists.
Some see the move back to the newsroom as one of the last steps toward healing, of being whole again, of being one staff rather than many scattered throughout the building, in places such as circulation, classifieds and advertising.
The move back will not patch all the wounds, but it certainly will give us a familiar foundation upon which we can complete the rebuilding process and move forward.
After all, the next hurricane season, one predicted to be as bad as its predecessor, is fewer than two months away.
But then I remembered: We're back, returned to the newsroom, one with new floors, paint, ceiling and floor tiles, furniture and a host of other decorative bells and whistles.
So I turned around an made my way up instead of down, to the doorway where I stood Sept. 24, 2005, and watched Rita blow off the roof.
The third-floor move came last night, with a switchover to the new phones and a Hail Mary scramble to move computers, personnel and some of the personal junk we'd toted downstairs, from coffee cups and pencil holders to dictionaries, AP stylebooks and piles of notebooks.
Since Sept. 24, 2005, we have been the Battlestar Galactica of news staffs, a rag-tag team of displaced journalists making due with the uncontrollable circumstances handed to us.
It's bittersweet sitting here alone in my refurbished office, where Rita's rains soaked through the roof, caused the ceiling to collapse and left stinking, bloody-red pools of insulation-filtrated water standing ankle-deep.
On one hand, I'll miss sitting elbow-to-elbow with Assistant Managing Editor Pete Churton and discussing topics ranging from music to sports. I'll miss mingling with the non-journalists who beat a pathway through the personnel office. I'll miss burning 5 to 10 calories while ascending or descending the parking garage.
Strangely, I'll miss working in less-than-desirable conditions, because there is something about shouldering adversity that builds character, bolsters pride and makes us tougher, better people.
We certainly had our fill of that in Rita's long, tense, soupy aftermath.
But it was time to get back to our professional digs, enabling me to have private conversations with reporters - and my wife - without numerous pairs of ears tuning in. After all, we're all storytellers here, and we love to hear a good story, even if it's about one of our news brothers and sisters. Gossip is like crack to some journalists.
Some see the move back to the newsroom as one of the last steps toward healing, of being whole again, of being one staff rather than many scattered throughout the building, in places such as circulation, classifieds and advertising.
The move back will not patch all the wounds, but it certainly will give us a familiar foundation upon which we can complete the rebuilding process and move forward.
After all, the next hurricane season, one predicted to be as bad as its predecessor, is fewer than two months away.
posted by Brian Pearson at 10:24 AM
1 Comments:
Glad you guys are back where you belong.. I wish my house was!
My contractor isnt doing his end like he was suppose to and has dissappeared so now I have to find a new contractor and start over at square one with sending forms to the finance company and everything to get them to release the money to fix my house.. 7 months.. its a bit ridiculous..
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