Business time

hyattDon’t ask me what’s up with this blog.  Instead, read a story that I arguably should have written two years ago.

I’m at the Hyatt Hotel in Buckhead. It’s the toney spot where the local Emmys take place every year, last I heard.  The year is 2016. It’s election night.

I’m assigned to cover the Donald Trump victory party in Georgia.

Of course, at that particular moment in time, few thought Trump would win.  (I’m an exception; the weekend before that election, I shocked friends by predicting a Trump victory.  My prediction was based on poll trajectories that showed Trump gaining enough during the last week of the campaign to achieve a statistical tie with Clinton. I also thought Trump’s late “drain the swamp” messaging was brilliant. That final weekend, the news media overwhelmingly maintained a “no way can Trump win” storyline despite that statistical shift.)

Anyway.  I’m among Georgia Republicans, a well-heeled group mostly. The mood is festive yet somewhat fatalistic.  They, too, largely assume Trump will lose, yet seem buoyed by the idea of regaining control of the Republican party post-Trump.

Early in the evening, I see an aide to Sen. David Perdue.  I had established an easy rapport with Perdue covering his 2014 election, but hadn’t seen much of him since. I’m told Perdue is arriving momentarily.

The front door to the hotel is nearby. There’s little to do, so I go to it and wait.  My photog is in the ballroom downstairs. I have no gear except my iPhone.

A woman appears nearby.  I hear her say something softly, but I’m facing away from her. After a moment, I realize she’s talking to me.  She’s barely in her twenties, if that.  She’s lovely, dark-skinned, wearing a white faux fur overcoat.

“Were you talking to me?” I ask her.

“Are you here alone?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

I undoubtedly gave her a quizzical look, then answered honestly.  At that moment, I was solo.  I said yes.

She whispers again.  “Want some company?”

No doubt, my quizzical look returned, followed by the proverbial light bulb going off over my head.  After allowing a moment of self-indulgent flattery, I realized hers was strictly a business proposition.  I was wearing one of my better suits. We were in a nice hotel. I may have looked something like money.

I stammered politely, declining the offer, then turned back toward the entrance.  Feeling a bit sorry for the young woman, I turned back to initiate smalltalk and perhaps learn more about her circumstances.

She had disappeared.

Perdue walked in two minutes later.  We greeted each other, and headed to the ballroom where a long and memorable night was slowly getting underway.

I didn’t write about it two years because the scourge of human trafficking is real. And I didn’t want to imply that this was somehow linked to the politics of the evening.

It’s certainly not typical of my business.  I’ve interviewed people in the sex trade before, and have had occasional klunky encounters with women (and men) soliciting while out in the world.  But I had never experienced this type of commercial inquiry while on the job, nor since.

I’m writing about it now because – well, a friend of mine posted something similar on Facebook. I started to comment on it, and decided to write this instead. It’s a weird story.  This blog was overdue for a new post.  Here it is.  Now you know.

Happy 2019.

Giovanna’s drama

It ain’t right, what happened to Giovanna Drpic. It just ain’t right.

First, the Georgia Senate-credentialed WGCL reporter got sideways with the Georgia Senate press office over an interview she conducted with a state senator, Bert Jones (R-Jackson).

Then the Senate press office requested a meeting with Drpic over the interview. Smelling a rat, WGCL photog Eric Hurst showed up and insisted on documenting the meeting. The Senate folks, seeing the uninvited camera, abruptly cancelled.

Well enough. Both parties should have moved on.

Giovanna Drpic, WGCL

Instead, the Senate press office wrote a letter to Drpic and copied the entire press corps. The writer told Drpic (and the rest of us) that she “reportedly ambushed” an unnamed senator and refused to abide by unspecified conditions set by the press office. The Senate press office hinted at a previous run-in, and threatened to pull her credential if it happened again.

The AJC published a vignette on it. Then my friend Mike Hassinger wrote a hilarious yet exceedingly cruel piece on it, taking the side of the government, and unfairly describing Drpic as “clown.” In it, he gleefully clobbered Drpic, WGCL and local TV news in general.

Local TV stations are always fair game for such stuff.  But he unfairly maligned Drpic.

That night, I spotted Sen. Jones at the Capitol. I asked him: “Did Giovanna ambush you?”

“Oh, gosh no,” Jones answered. “I don’t know how that got so blown out of proportion.”

State Sen. Burt Jones (R-Jackson)

He went on to say that yes, he agreed to the interview and there was nothing untoward about Drpic’s approach.

I had halfway-observed this drama in real time days earlier. (We TV types work in close quarters in a designated space in the Capitol.)  I’d overheard Drpic speak of the interview with Sen. Jones and the out-of-proportion reaction of the Senate press office. I observed (but didn’t closely watch or hear) the unedited video of the interview with Jones. It shows Jones walking toward the camera, allowing a lavalier microphone to get pinned to his lapel, followed by him standing and apparently answering all of Drpic’s questions.

It was not (as Jones confirmed) an “ambush,” which undercuts the whole premise of the Senate threat to pull Drpic’s credential, and Hassinger’s ugly write-up (did you really have to make fun of Drpic’s name, Mike? Her nationality? C’mon!)

The “ambush” interview is a time-honored and dramatic way to get reluctant newsmakers to talk about stuff they’d rather not talk about. There have been ambush interviews conducted at the Capitol. I last did it five years ago.  Lori Geary, ex-WSB reporter has done it. It’s not ideal. Newsmakers should always talk to the news media willingly, and preferably at times that are convenient to us and our deadlines. That’s right. I said “always.”

Sometimes legislators are hard to reach, even when you know they’re in session at the Capitol. Some are press-shy. Some just disappear quickly from their respective legislative chambers, cloaked by crowds of lobbyists, schoolchildren and other observers in hallways. On rare occasions, I’ll enlist the help of the Senate press office to reach senators. But mostly, I just find them and ask them for interviews myself. And if you can’t find them in a hallway, you can hunt them down at committee meetings.

Sen. Jones is not what you would call a publicity seeker — but he’s not press-shy either. Drpic found Jones at a committee meeting, outside of which he agreeably chatted with her in a hallway.

The drama should have ended there.

I emailed Steve Tippins, the man who wrote the letter, to define “ambush” and to otherwise provide input for this post. “In my mind at least – everything is settled (for now) and I don’t have any comment,” he wrote back. “Unacceptable and undignified  behavior (just plain old obnoxiousness) was not tolerated; and until I’m met with similar behavior, I would think it equally as undignified of me to elaborate.”

You can take issue with Drpic and Hurst’s decision to take a camera into their meeting with the Senate press office folks. I don’t think I would have done that; but if I was suspicious of their intentions, I might well have.

But it never should have gotten that far. And Drpic shouldn’t have gotten smeared for interviewing an agreeable state senator in a hallway.

Too young

“What’s it like getting old?”

My grown daughter, Leigh, had framed the question more artfully and meant it sincerely.  It was about 1am, a late-night chat in my kitchen.  Leigh was making a rare visit from her new-ish home on the west coast.

The question was legit. In the previous year, I had become the patient of a cardiologist.  A condition called atrial fibrillation had struck me in July, causing my heart to beat irregularly.  The biggest danger of “afib” is stroke. (In November, I had a procedure that appears to have fixed the heartbeat – fingers crossed.)

Around the time Leigh asked me that question, I saw an alert on my phone announcing the untimely death of my former coworker, Amanda Davis.

Amanda Davis. Photo by Eddie Cortes

Davis was 62 according to the AJC, a mere three years my senior.  The AJC said she’d suffered “a massive stroke.”

I answered Leigh by saying that, apart from the irregular heartbeat and the fatigue afib had created, I feel like I’m the same person who inhabited this body thirty years ago.

Three decades ago, I was a fresh hire at WAGA-TV.  Amanda Davis was the news anchor / reporter hired a few weeks after me.  I remember our news director, Jack Frazier, talking her up after we’d watched her do a live shot at Grady Hospital on our noon newscast on (what I remember as) her first day at work.  She was a lot of things I wasn’t — confident on the air, fluid and natural, and easy on the eyes.  She was hitting her stride as a smart and appealing big-city TV news pro.   Frazier had hired her away from WSB-TV.  He looked very, very pleased with himself.

Amanda was barely thirty years old.

She would go on to become the on-air face of WAGA’s new morning newscast, Good Day Atlanta, then succeed Brenda Wood as the station’s evening news anchor.

Amanda and Doug circa 1997

Sweet and professional but rather guarded personally, my encounters with Amanda at work were upbeat and often humorous, but mostly fleeting.  My longest conversations with her were prior to my appearances alongside her in the studio, where I would deliver stories on the evening news.  My favorite memory of her was when she showed up at a 2003 party my wife threw at our home after photog Eddie Cortes and I returned from a stint covering the invasion of Iraq.  My starstruck mother- and father-in-law had collared her in the kitchen, and Amanda graciously lingered with them to chat.

Unlike the hostess’ husband, Amanda retained her sobriety that night.  Her drinking “problem” was news to me when her DUI arrests became public.

The last time we spoke was after Amanda’s forced departure from WAGA.  She showed up in the press room of the Georgia House of Representatives on the first day of the legislative session.  She was seated, alone, in the room overlooking the House chamber, where a friend of hers was being sworn in as a member.  I walked in.  We embraced.  I asked her how she was doing.  She said she was OK. The hurt look on her face said otherwise. As we parted company, I felt terrible for her.

I give WGCL a lot of credit for hiring her, then sticking with her following another DUI arrest a few weeks after her hiring.  I don’t know how the struggles of the famous impact those experiencing similar issues.  I want to believe that Amanda Davis’ public effort to purge alcohol from her life inspired at least a few people to do the same thing.  If so, perhaps WGCL saved some people some heartache by putting her back on TV.

No doubt, WGCL had plenty of applications from smart and attractive thirty year olds willing to do the same job for a fraction of the salary Amanda hopefully commanded in her sixties.

She was on a roll, hitting her stride yet again as a smart, appealing and experienced big-city TV news pro.

Getting old ain’t so bad.  Amanda Davis should have gotten a chance to enjoy it longer.

 

 

The early exit, and the “ambush”

I have spent years refraining from getting into public spats with the publicists of politicians and government entities.  They can be extraordinarily petty, unhelpful, deceptive or just useless.  A few aren’t. They are professional and even-tempered, even under trying circumstances.  I don’t bash the bad ones because I have a naive hope they can flip into joining the ranks of the good ones.

So I have hope for Nadgey Louis-Charles, the publicist for US Rep. Jody Hice (R-Georgia).  According to her Facebook page, she’s a 2014 grad of the University of Georgia. Perhaps her experience with me last week will add something useful to her experience in a job I know can be challenging.

Friday, Nadgey Louis-Charles wrote a piece attacking me and a story I produced Thursday.  She posted it to Hice’s Facebook page late Friday.  (Find it here.) She helpfully tagged me, so I saw it more-or-less immediately.

I wrote a quick response on Hice’s page, but am moved to tell the full story here.  It’s a cautionary tale of dealing with the hyper-sensitive youngsters who surround Members of Congress, who are apparently schooled to “push back” whenever words appear in news stories that may be out of sync with the press releases they send out with deadening regularity.

A producer in our newsroom, Ric Garni, had been researching the public activities of Members of Congress during their recent recess.  Such open-to-the-public events are few and far between, although the press secretaries of congressmen will insist that they meet with the public all the time — just not in public settings.

Such public settings can expose GOP congressmen to a room full of left-leaning folks angry about President Trump and the repeal of Obamacare.

Ric spotted a bona-fide public appearance  on the website of Rep. Hice.  It was in Warren County, not quite two hours east of Atlanta.  It wasn’t a “town hall.” It was billed as “coffee and conversation” with Rep. Hice, with an emphasis on health care and Alzheimer’s.

hice invite

Screen grab from Rep. Hice’s website

The site indicated it was open to the public and that “registration is not required.” We decided the night before to check it out and observe his interactions with the public. Hice had voted the previous week to replace Obamacare with a Republican substitute. Though Warren County had voted solidly for Hillary Clinton in November, we’d had no inkling any troublemakers had planned to attend.

After I posted my story about the event online, I got a voice mail and text from Nadgey Louis-Charles.

She wasn’t at the Warrenton event, but two other Hice staffers were there in addition to the Congressman.  They seemed surprised to see me. Because the event was open to the public, I’d made no pre-arrangements.

In the voicemail, Louis-Charles said she wanted to discuss “the headline you ran and the story which was completely deceptive and false.” She went on the describe my interaction with Hice as “kind of an ambush.”

Here’s what actually happened.

IMG_2952

Rep. Jody Hice works a room, wears our mic

Upon arrival, I had spotted Hice working a cafeteria-sized room at a place described as a senior center.  I approached sans camera — photog Dan Reilly was still in the parking lot  — and I said hello.  Hice, who I first interviewed in 2012, has always been agreeable and pleasant. I asked him if I could chat with him on camera after the event.  He said yes, of course.

I also asked him if he would wear a lapel mic during his remarks to the room.  He agreed.

That was the “ambush.”  (I’m not above “ambushing” reluctant newsmakers in public settings. But it didn’t happen here.)

Hice had spoken with folks individually before the program started.  Using a PA system, a staffer introduced Hice.  Hice spoke for a few minutes about Alzheimer’s, which had killed his mother 18 months prior (and my dad more than a decade ago).  He spoke briefly about the health care bill the House passed.  He took no questions, and passed the mic to a woman with the Alzheimers Association.

Hice had told me he would be hurrying to another event afterward. I’d promised to keep my post-event questioning brief.

Warrenton is a town that has seen better days. Except for the Warren County Courthouse and a restaurant across the street, most of its downtown buildings appear to be vacant. Attendees seemed mostly flattered to have the attention of their local congressman, and treated him gently.  There were about fifty people in the room. Most of them were elderly.

Hice sat and listened.  As the woman with the Alzheimers Association spoke, a staffer approached him. I watched them exit a side door into another room. I assumed he was coming back. The program was ten minutes away from the conclusion time posted on his web site.

As he stayed gone, I walked toward the main exit.  I spotted Hice and a staffer outside.  He stopped for the agreed-upon interview.  While Reilly set up, a woman poked her head out the door. “You’re not going to take any questions?” she asked. She was slightly incredulous but not angry. It was a moment we did not record on camera. Hice answered by saying it wasn’t “that kind of an event.”  The disappointed woman, who had driven there from Athens, walked back into the building, and Hice answered my questions in an interview.

After Hice had driven out of the parking lot, I looked at the time again. It was 11:30.

As Reilly drove us back toward Atlanta, I wrote the TV piece that would air at 5. The headline and story mentioned Hice’s early departure. The story also mentioned that his reception was mostly friendly, and explained that his departure was due to another event on his schedule.  It included a quote from the Athens woman, who said she “just wanted to have a civil discussion” about the health care bill.

After she left the voicemail that night, I returned Louis-Charles’s call.  She ranted about the “ambush” of Hice, which I shut down pretty quickly.  Then she complained that the headline and mention about Hice’s early exit falsified and / or distorted what actually happened.

I told her it didn’t. Thankfully, our chat was brief.

Her post appeared the following day, starting with “#fakenewsalert” and a cute reference to my employer as “11 A Lie News.” Once again, she didn’t dispute any actual facts in my piece.

I linked to it. As of Sunday, my reply within his post had 55 comments.  (Social media is the death of blogs.)

Louis-Charles was perfectly within her right to question the facts I put in the story.  She’s within her rights to gripe that I emphasized elements of the event that she wouldn’t have emphasized when writing a press release. She can even say I distorted the importance of his early departure. I disagree. It’s unquestionably part of what made the story interesting.

And she can even make it public. Given that the story was pretty evenhanded, it doesn’t take much to make a congressional publicist go off the rails.

I wouldn’t have done it.  But I’m also grateful I’m not a publicist for a congressman.

One lousy word

I can’t remember ever using the n-word in text or conversation with a newsmaker.  But more times than I can count, I’ve done what my colleague Valerie Hoff did earlier this month. Unfortunately, Valerie tiptoed across a line of acceptable language, and it cost her the job she’d had at WXIA for 18 years.

header-banner-women

Valerie Hoff

Valerie was trying to make contact with a man who’d shot a newsworthy video that had gone viral.  The man had a Twitter handle, and Valerie private messaged him. It was a competitive situation — other news organizations were trying to do the same thing — and Valerie didn’t want to see it anywhere else before she had it.

The African American man had tweeted something about “news n—-z” trying to reach him.  Valerie, a white woman, tried to humorously use the same language in an effort to pitch an interview.  Instead of finding it funny, the man chose to re-tweet and further racialize her text.  Valerie resigned Friday.

Valerie is easy to underestimate: blonde, fit, well-dressed and disarming, it’s a facade concealing a tenacious competitor.  When I worked at WAGA, Valerie was the 11Alive field reporter I feared most. I still smart from the bruising she gave me on the “mansion madame” story in the mid aughts. When I competed with her on a story, I knew I had to be very thorough or I’d end up hearing about a story element she had that I lacked.

When I started work at WXIA in 2009, she was assigned to a franchise called “Ways to Save,” and was anchoring weekends. It sounds like a dream assignment for a reporter coasting toward retirement; yet she worked her tail off producing fresh consumer material that seemed to air seven days a week.  When that gig ended, as all such gigs seem to do, she re-engaged general assignment reporting with her old fervor.  Her stories were often weeks ahead of our competitors. She was a mainstay in the A-block of our newscasts.  And she did it while undergoing a public struggle with breast cancer.

Every reporter tries to find ways to get a potential newsmaker to play ball. If the newsmaker is a civilian new to our world, then the reporter wants to seem likable and trustworthy.  Your competitors are doing the same thing.

Valerie did that better than most of the rest of us.  Knowing her 18 years, I’m absolutely sure there’s not a racially insensitive bone in her body.  I know she regrets using the language in that particular pitch. It turns out quoting back somebody else’s use of a variation of the n-word is perilous territory.

I frequently attempt to use humor or empathy to pitch interviews with perfect strangers under such circumstances.  I also try to be mindful, especially in written messages, that such stuff can surface publicly.  Sometimes I hit “send” too quickly, because typically, time’s a-wastin’. There’s a deadline a few hours away, and there’s a competitor or three breathing down my neck.

So far, it’s never come back to haunt me.

Twinsies

“Indistinguishable,” thy name is two old white guys.

In the news business — one dominated by youthful folk with hair abundant and appealingly tinted — old white guys populate the space reserved for colorless throwbacks.  It’s a space I know well.

Ergo, there’s a certain amount of confusion.  I am constantly called “Richard” or “Dale” or “Clark” or any number of names not mine, but belonging to other old white guys in the Atlanta TV market.

elliott, richards

Richard Elliott is the gent on the left

Yet the proverbial light bulb finally went off over my head when I saw the above photo of myself and Richard Elliot, a reporter at WSB-TV.  The bulb light blinked a message:  No wonder they’re confused!

Mr. Elliott and I covered the legislative session this year.  I’d plotted the photo after a moment of misunderstanding early in the proceedings.

One morning, I’d cornered Rep. Betty Price in the House anteroom and asked her for an interview.  Rep. Price is the wife of Tom Price, the new Secretary of Health and Human Services.  He’d resigned from Congress.  His 6th district seat was up for grabs in a special election.  Rumor was that Betty Price was among those considering a run for the seat.

Rep. Price politely yet firmly declined my interview request, then did a double take and asked:  Didn’t we already have this conversation?  No ma’am, I assured her.  I stalked off to the press room, where I spotted Mr. Elliott.

Did you ask Betty Price for an interview this morning?  I asked him, adding that I had just done so.  I sure did, Mr. Elliott answered.  Just a few minutes ago. She turned me down, too.

Thus began a 40-day joke (Georgia’s legislature meets for 40 days) about mistaken identity.

Mr. Elliott is one of the hardest working general assignment reporters in the Atlanta market, seemingly WSB’s go-to on everything from mayhem to natural disasters to jurisprudence.  When Lori Geary, WSB’s longtime political reporter, was absent in previous years, the station sent Mr. Elliott.  When she fled WSB to start her own business in December 2016, he replaced her at the Capitol. lori

Had the blonde coiffed Ms. Geary stayed, there might have ensued another type of confusion altogether.  This year, WGCL regularly sent Atlanta newcomer Giovanna Drpic to cover the legislature.  She joined WAGA’s Claire Sims, who made Capitol appearances on those special occasions when she had successfully sweet-talked the station out of assigning her to stories about mistreated house pets or disrespectful treatment of Old Glory.

In fact, when I got Ms Drpic and Ms Sims to pose for the below photo, the former — speaking of Mr. Elliott and me — whispered Yes! I thought it was strange how similar you two looked.

IMG_2502

Giovanna Drpic WGCL and Claire Sims, WAGA

I’m quite sure Mr. Elliott, who also happens to be the nicest guy in the whole friggin’ world, is a decade or so younger than me.  He has always told me that I look like his father.

So there’s that.

Watson and Wood

Some dear friends, a couple who live near me, regularly watch 11Alive News. Best I can tell, it’s mostly because they admire the work of Jaye Watson.

Jennifer "Jaye" Watson, plus an admirer / friend

Jennifer “Jaye” Watson, plus an admirer / friend

Jennifer “Jaye” Watson is a seventeen year reporter at 11Alive.  In her earliest days there, a news director ordered her to assume the on-air name of “Jaye.” As the years passed, she evolved into a backup anchor. Under news director Ellen Crooke, she deservedly became a storytelling specialist.  As such, she won a trove of writing and storytelling awards.

Her “moments” on TV typically involved wrenching stories of adversity / triumph of the human spirit, elegantly written and produced collaboratively with 11Alive’s best photographers.

She leaves WXIA Friday January 13th for a job at Emory University.

Our industry loses good people every day.  It’s so commonplace that I have trouble even acknowledging them, much less writing about them.

The losses this coming month are glaring. Watson will blaze a trail for the exit, followed closely by Brenda Wood, Atlanta’s best news anchor. Brenda leaves February 7.

As good and as credible as Brenda is on-air, she is, like Watson, a force majeur when writing and producing stories.  It’s a talent folks rarely get to see in Brenda.  Major market news anchors are more consumed than you might think simply anchoring the news.  Reporting and producing stories becomes secondary.

brendaIt shone when Brenda covered the Olympics in Beijing in 2008.  She also produced top-notch segments in various documentaries, including the retrospective we made last year about the 1996 Atlanta Olympics.

And while I’ve known Brenda since she first landed in 1989 at WAGA, Watson has been my day-to-day cubicle buddy — and family friend —  for the last seven years.

Although she’s brilliant and gifted, Watson is also endearingly abrupt and unpredictable, a well-coiffed, walking non-sequitor in sensible shoes. She’s almost laughably warmhearted, passionate about politics, and has a lovely twisted streak. We are dissimilar enough to make the friendship very interesting.

Watson accepts a national Murrow award for TV writing in 2014.

Watson accepts a national Murrow award for TV writing in 2014.

She’s also extraordinarily humble. She has zero awards displayed at her house, though she and her husband Kenny Hamilton, WXIA’s former chief photographer, have probably won fifty Emmys between them, maybe more. When she wins an Emmy, she often gives the statue to the subject of the story.

Weirdly, some of my proudest professional moments have been when Watson has erupted in her cubicle, agitated and searching for a word or phrase in a story she’s writing, and insists upon my help.  On a handful of occasions, she’s sent me a script she didn’t quite like, and asked me to fix it.  Whenever it happened, and I could actually help, I found myself endlessly flattered.  But to be clear: She very rarely needed my help.

Before I got to know her, during my 2008 TV news hiatus, I wrote a piece in this blog about Watson’s writing skills, putting side-by-side her coverage of some garden-variety mayhem against the earnest yet underwhelming coverage of a former WGCL reporter.  The comparison showed there was no comparison.

I probably won’t see her this week.  I’ll be ensconced at the Capitol. She will be, undoubtedly, receiving well-deserved accolades at work — just as Brenda will as February 7 nears. Although Watson is expected to retain an occasional on-air storytelling presence at WXIA, they will be irregular at best.

I could write a whole ‘nother post about how on-air women navigating middle age justifiably fear for their futures in TV news, regardless of their talent.  As a greybeard TV news male, I’m keenly aware of a double standard. The recent abrupt exits of talented, veteran female anchors at a competing local station are all the evidence you need. To its credit, WXIA tried to keep Watson and Wood.

Lea-Anne Jackson conquers eyeware

Lea-Anne Jackson conquers eyeware

January 13 will be a rough day.  Watson leaves, and so does promotions chica Lea-Anne Jackson, whom I’ve known since she was an 80s-era intern at WAGA. She is one of the most quick-witted people in the building; she memorably and adorably photobombed a live shot I did on St. Patrick’s Day a generation ago. One of my greatest pleasures in alighting at WXIA in 2009 was unexpectedly seeing Lea-Anne in a hallway and resuming our friendship.  She is also pals with Watson; their hushed tete-a-tetes at Watson’s adjacent cube frequently led to imagined conspiracies against me.

There may be a public sendoff.  Perhaps I’ll tip off my friends in the neighborhood.

To see Jennifer Watson’s take on her departure, click here.