What an enchanting name: Marie Antoinette Dansereau. Dad’s great-uncle Franklin Paul Vayo married her on June 4, 1904. Now before anyone gets all silly with a “let them eat wedding cake” meme, let me point out the phrase was first quoted long before the future bride of Louis XVI had even set her dainty foot on French soil. But as long as we’re talking about eating, it feels like poetic justice that Franklin (henceforth referred to as Frank) made a…
Before beginning this story, I must confess to adding an “i” to the word ordnance the first several times I came upon it at my first job. Maybe no one else at the tiny rural radio statio noticed it. The news gal liked to correct typos, after all. For the record, according to Grammarly.com: An ordinance is an authoritative order or decree, often a rule established by a governmental authority or church. It typically involves legislation or regulation and has a civic…
“Wait! Stop! What’s that?” Comedian Bert Kreischer was riding shotgun in my vehicle. He was shouting with excitement. We’d finished up another day of shooting with the reality-show host and it was time to cool off and go home. But Bert was still revved up. Most of the television personalities I’d dealt with over the years as a publicity liaison turned to stone as soon as the cameras were off. Not Bert Kreischer. He kept chatting, chuckling, and hooting with…
The year was 1987. It was late December, just a few days before Christmas. I was in a smallish airplane, circling over Louisville, Kentucky, on a return flight from Pittsburgh. Not sure I remember why we were circling, but it must have been a matter of scheduling a safe landing. It was spitting ice and snow. Shrug and wait, right? No. Some businessmen on the plane were downright put out by this. The grumbling turned to growling as their complaints…
February 10, 1981: It was a dark and stormy night. George Stuteville and I were seated at the Press Table, half bored out of our skulls. He was the newspaper reporter; I was with the local radio station. We’d each been tasked with covering the regular school board meeting in Tell City, Indiana. There was nothing exciting on the agenda, just paying bills, accepting resignations, negotiating teacher contracts. As the meeting wound to a close, I whispered: “Hey George, are…
Psst! Paula! Come here for a second, will ya? I was new to this job back in 1992 and still not over the fact that Santa Claus was a co-worker. As I stepped toward him, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Oh, boy!” I thought. “Santa secrets!” Not exactly. The jolly man in the white beard had a serious concern. Step a little closer, but don’t let anyone see what you’re doing. And tell me … do I stink?…
It’s February. Every year at this time I remember the most cringy moment of my career. The year was 1987. As detailed in this earlier story, I was editor of Pizza Today magazine. Our publisher, Gerry, bounded into my office one morning. As I swiveled from my computer to face him, I noticed he was bouncing up and down in his chair, smiling broadly. I held my breath. This couldn’t be anything good. And then he burst forth: “Are you…
“Mom! Oh, no! Mom! Bird poop!” Growing up, Mom’s standing rule was for us to change out of our school uniforms just as soon as we got home. I don’t remember why I didn’t obey on this one day in the spring of 1967, but a big bird named Karma took care that I would never forget. We were in the backyard at our home in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. I remember standing near the large tree that shaded our picnic table,…
Who remembers Dan Quayle? (This isn’t a political commentary – promise!) In case you don’t remember him, he was the nation’s 44th Vice President, under President George H.W. Bush. And he was born in Indiana. My first job out of college was in radio news in a little community called Tell City, Indiana. Named for William Tell, there were lots of apples and arrows about town, especially in the logos for local businesses and schools. The first few months I…
It’s “Tell the Truth Day” and, boy, does that trigger a memory! It was the fall of 1968 and I was a 5th grader at Sacred Heart Elementary School in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. There were two fifth grade classes, taught by Mrs. McGill and Sister Helena Maria. On the first day of class, our names were called. My two best friends – Elizabeth Cross and Anne Marie Cuzzone – were thrilled to be in Mrs. McGill’s class. I crossed my fingers…