Remodel forces move, yields journalistic treasures
It’s been a time of archaeological discovery here at The Spokesman-Review.
Forced to pack up and flee from our fourth-floor lair because of an extreme newsroom makeover, we reporters have been unearthing treasures hidden under years of accumulated desk clutter.
A bag of toxic river sludge. A can of bomb shelter water. A hate letter from God. …
These fascinating relics and more were exhumed from our workstations much the way Egyptian tombs were dug out of the sand.
We journalists can’t help our packrat ways. We hang on to old files the way winos cling to Mad Dog bottles. We hoard used notebooks, court transcripts, political papers and yellowed news clippings.
The mess gradually engulfs our work areas like the Blob in the old movie. Sadly, this is why so many retired journalists wind up living in homes crammed floor-to-ceiling with old magazines, food-encrusted cookware and 40 cats.
But the important thing is that I found my 1963 Doug Clark and the Hot Nuts record album.
The Hot Nuts, whose late leader shared my name, were a ribald band popular with toga-partying college kids. I can’t remember where it came from, but the keepsake mysteriously disappeared from my desktop sometime during Clinton’s first term.
Until the other day, when I found it wedged behind my desk along with paperclips and an Elvis refrigerator magnet.
Similar joyous reunions were being held all over the newsroom.
Now temporarily warehoused in a third-floor boiler room, I have been cataloging some of our newsroom finds in case the museum wants to host a Jurassic Journalism Junk exhibit.
From the Bill Morlin collection …
“An Aryan Nations patch with a “Made in Taiwan” sticker on the back. The neo-Nutsies of North Idaho were apparently willing to suspend their “whites only” blather when it came to getting a deal on uniform gear.
From the Jim Camden collection …
“A can of 1950s emergency drinking water from Spokane County’s bomb shelter. Camden wimped out when I challenged him to chug it.
“A genuine plastic-wrapped MRE (meal, ready to eat) from the first Gulf War. It supposedly contains chicken stew along with “Accessory Packet B,” whatever that is.
Camden accepted my challenge to eat it – so long as I join him. We both wimped out.
From the Mike Prager collection …
“A 1980s-era “Have You Hugged Your (bleep) Today?” button from Ms. Kitty’s, a local porn shop. Prager swears he obtained the item while engaging in legitimate journalism.
Sure, Mike. We believe you.
From the Thomas Clouse collection …
“A photograph of a scary-looking Idaho felon, amusingly displayed in a bejeweled heart-shaped frame. The frame, says Clouse, was provided by a colleague who wanted to unload an unwanted wedding gift.
From the Karen Dorn Steele collection …
“A baggie filled with dark Canadian smelter slag that Dorn Steele scooped from the Columbia River for testing. And what’s in our precious water?
Cadmium, lead and zinc – oh, my!
From my own collection …
“A yellow sign warning away prostitutes, dope dealers and drunks from a grime-infected neighborhood.
Hey, that sounds like the Spokane City Council’s new ethics policy.
“A statue of a former reporter covered with garish entries for one of my old ugly tie contests. A thoughtful reader gave me the statue, which he made out of wood and a photograph that appeared in the newspaper.
Washing my car would have been a better gift.
“”We will always go forward and weed out atheistic bastards like you, Mr. Clark.”
That sentence is part of a 1988 letter from an Ohio man who claimed he was God. For decades, the guy deluged newspapers with letters proclaiming his divinity.
When I wrote him back once to tell him he was full of beans, he responded with the above condemnation.
Then one year the letters just stopped coming. I made a phone call, and a woman who said she was the holy man’s sister confirmed my fears.
God was dead.