Bugle-alert
Last night (Friday, December 15) the annual Messenger-Post Christmas-party was held, this time at historic Granger Homestead in Canandaigua.
In the past, the hallowed Messenger-Post Christmas-party was held in the home of the newspaper’s owner, George Ewing (YOU-wing) Sr.
Like Granger, the historic Ewing homestead is a classic showplace, a central foyer with living-rooms on each side.
Out back is a kitchen with more rooms on each side.
One is a den of sorts, and a large poodle would be holding court on a throw-rug. We always talked with the poodle, which had apparently been trained to be a statue.
MPN Christmas-parties were always depicted as a joke. They weren’t heavily attended, although I attended a few.
Tables of nibble-snacks were heaped about, and a bar set up in the den.
The dreaded reporters and editorial-types sprung for the wine (spody-ody), and the press-guys hit the free beer.
Bugles — the tiny bugle-shaped cracker — were arrayed here and there.
The standing-joke was it wasn’t a proper Messenger Christmas-party if there weren’t bugles.
The Ewing-party was a party, but not a meal. The food was essentially snacks, which was okay, but not supper.
Senior is retired, and his good wife died a few years ago.
Which is probably why the MPN Christmas-party was transferred to another venue.
The Granger Homestead is a lot like the Ewing Homestead, though much larger.
More guests can be accommodated — the Ewing-party was always crowded.
The party was catered by a local restaurant (Eric’s Office and Restaurant [Eric’s doesn’t have a web-site]), and had hot meat they were carving: a turkey and roast-beef.
You could actually make a sandwich — supper of sorts — first time at an MPN Christmas-party.
Quite a few more attended — probably a reflection that many thought this would probably be the last MPN Christmas-party; at least the final Ewing-party, since MPN had been sold and is no longer a Ewing-family enterprise.
I met quite a few; e.g. the so-called Hasidic-Jew, the Webmaster, RED (who sewed fear and loathing in the Canandaigua School-District), and the Typist-lady.
I also saw the Executive-Editor (who took me on as an unpaid intern, despite being stroke-addled — “seems fine to me!”), and Joy Daggett, now retired, who also showed incredible moxie by hiring me.
I also saw Marky-Mark (Mark Syverud), an editor who has also retired (but on disability — he’s only 53 — but has Parkinson’s).
Among those there I didn’t see were Queeny and Yo-Meredith. Queeny makes the mighty Mezz fabulously local, and Meredith edits (puts together) the weekly Steppin’ Out magazine.
I also saw the man-hating stringbean, who was thrilled to see me (“Made ya laugh! Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk.....”), and young Vasiliy Baziuk: “Bar none, the best photographer the mighty Mezz ever had.”
“Don’t let Rikki hear you say that,” the Webmaster said. (Rikki Van Camp is the Messenger Chief-Photographer, but more into dramatic scenery shots.)
Vasiliy is an illustrator. Send him out on a nothing shoot and he comes back with fabulous stuff.
“I remember rooting all-over for that stupid Thunderbird picture (the Air Force Thunderbirds at the Rochester Air Show); and your front-page Sports-pik always flew (on the web-site — despite being advised to not fly a Sports-photo) because I couldn’t pass it up.”
Obviously, many miss having me around.
“If you experience death,” I said, “please contact your physician immediately.”
They all began rolling on the floor.
“I’m not there anymore,” I said. “You’ll have to make this stuff up yourselves.”
“With Grady gone, and now Marcy; it’s dead,” someone observed. “Nothing but gloom-and-doom.”
A-J (Anne Johnston), the fabulous Police-Reporter at the mighty Mezz, has been saddled with all the Post-fronts (10 weeklies), and is still backup for Meredith’s Steppin’ Out when Meredith goes on vacation.
This is because A-J learned how to paginate (edit) for the Sunday-paper. Therefore, when Marcy quit, A-J got saddled with all that Marcy did. (“You know how to do it; so you got it, baby!”)
“The newsroom has gotten so thin,” A-J observed; “we echo.”
Among those not there I would have liked to have seen were Nancy Brown (“Nano,” AKA “Yo-Mamma”) and 400-pound Frank Brown, my fabulous boss in paste-up.
Kenny Rush, the best paste-upper of all, died last year of Lou Gehrig's disease. He was my age, and once had a ‘56 Chevy post with a 350 four-speed.
I did see Brett Smith, who replaced Kenny in the dreaded imagesetter room. Now I have to hope the heavy fixer-fumes don’t take him too.
Others I would have liked to have seen were the all-powerful Tim Belknap, like me a car-guy; and K-Man (Kevin Frisch), the Managing-Editor, a one-time hippie longhair.
In the past, the hallowed Messenger-Post Christmas-party was held in the home of the newspaper’s owner, George Ewing (YOU-wing) Sr.
Like Granger, the historic Ewing homestead is a classic showplace, a central foyer with living-rooms on each side.
Out back is a kitchen with more rooms on each side.
One is a den of sorts, and a large poodle would be holding court on a throw-rug. We always talked with the poodle, which had apparently been trained to be a statue.
MPN Christmas-parties were always depicted as a joke. They weren’t heavily attended, although I attended a few.
Tables of nibble-snacks were heaped about, and a bar set up in the den.
The dreaded reporters and editorial-types sprung for the wine (spody-ody), and the press-guys hit the free beer.
Bugles — the tiny bugle-shaped cracker — were arrayed here and there.
The standing-joke was it wasn’t a proper Messenger Christmas-party if there weren’t bugles.
The Ewing-party was a party, but not a meal. The food was essentially snacks, which was okay, but not supper.
Senior is retired, and his good wife died a few years ago.
Which is probably why the MPN Christmas-party was transferred to another venue.
The Granger Homestead is a lot like the Ewing Homestead, though much larger.
More guests can be accommodated — the Ewing-party was always crowded.
The party was catered by a local restaurant (Eric’s Office and Restaurant [Eric’s doesn’t have a web-site]), and had hot meat they were carving: a turkey and roast-beef.
You could actually make a sandwich — supper of sorts — first time at an MPN Christmas-party.
Quite a few more attended — probably a reflection that many thought this would probably be the last MPN Christmas-party; at least the final Ewing-party, since MPN had been sold and is no longer a Ewing-family enterprise.
I met quite a few; e.g. the so-called Hasidic-Jew, the Webmaster, RED (who sewed fear and loathing in the Canandaigua School-District), and the Typist-lady.
I also saw the Executive-Editor (who took me on as an unpaid intern, despite being stroke-addled — “seems fine to me!”), and Joy Daggett, now retired, who also showed incredible moxie by hiring me.
I also saw Marky-Mark (Mark Syverud), an editor who has also retired (but on disability — he’s only 53 — but has Parkinson’s).
Among those there I didn’t see were Queeny and Yo-Meredith. Queeny makes the mighty Mezz fabulously local, and Meredith edits (puts together) the weekly Steppin’ Out magazine.
I also saw the man-hating stringbean, who was thrilled to see me (“Made ya laugh! Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk.....”), and young Vasiliy Baziuk: “Bar none, the best photographer the mighty Mezz ever had.”
“Don’t let Rikki hear you say that,” the Webmaster said. (Rikki Van Camp is the Messenger Chief-Photographer, but more into dramatic scenery shots.)
Vasiliy is an illustrator. Send him out on a nothing shoot and he comes back with fabulous stuff.
“I remember rooting all-over for that stupid Thunderbird picture (the Air Force Thunderbirds at the Rochester Air Show); and your front-page Sports-pik always flew (on the web-site — despite being advised to not fly a Sports-photo) because I couldn’t pass it up.”
Obviously, many miss having me around.
“If you experience death,” I said, “please contact your physician immediately.”
They all began rolling on the floor.
“I’m not there anymore,” I said. “You’ll have to make this stuff up yourselves.”
“With Grady gone, and now Marcy; it’s dead,” someone observed. “Nothing but gloom-and-doom.”
A-J (Anne Johnston), the fabulous Police-Reporter at the mighty Mezz, has been saddled with all the Post-fronts (10 weeklies), and is still backup for Meredith’s Steppin’ Out when Meredith goes on vacation.
This is because A-J learned how to paginate (edit) for the Sunday-paper. Therefore, when Marcy quit, A-J got saddled with all that Marcy did. (“You know how to do it; so you got it, baby!”)
“The newsroom has gotten so thin,” A-J observed; “we echo.”
Among those not there I would have liked to have seen were Nancy Brown (“Nano,” AKA “Yo-Mamma”) and 400-pound Frank Brown, my fabulous boss in paste-up.
Kenny Rush, the best paste-upper of all, died last year of Lou Gehrig's disease. He was my age, and once had a ‘56 Chevy post with a 350 four-speed.
I did see Brett Smith, who replaced Kenny in the dreaded imagesetter room. Now I have to hope the heavy fixer-fumes don’t take him too.
Others I would have liked to have seen were the all-powerful Tim Belknap, like me a car-guy; and K-Man (Kevin Frisch), the Managing-Editor, a one-time hippie longhair.
posted by BobbaLew at 10:08 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home