Along the Juniata

 

Gerri Wakefield worked as a secretary for the ‘Huntingdon Daily News’ for more than 20 years before my by-line appeared in the paper. She was the real editor-in-chief of the place. The front office was her domain. It was a time when women still fetched cups of coffee for the guys. When she wasn’t running to the corner store to buy more milk for the break room, she collected money from those placing classified advertisements, answered the phone and did the payroll. It was obvious to everyone who worked at the “Daily News” that Gerri loved her job and co-workers. Her bright cotton dresses were often seen floating past monitors where staff writers were busy assembling articles and trying to meet deadlines. She bathed in Jean Nate body wash and wore gallons of Charlie perfume. She loved flowers and her apparel reflected the country girl’s zest for life and sincere desire to make everyone in the newsroom feel like life was a front page story. 

Management appreciated her work ethics too. Joseph Biddle III treated all the support staff with dignity and respect. His secretaries were just as important as his writers. He knew that those on the front lines are the ones that make a daily newspaper worth reading. They are the link between what goes down in black and white and the eyes that read religiously. The girls in the front office were the reason why residents of the
South-Central Pennsylvania county trusted what was published in the daily paper with a circulation of more than 20,000. The office girls were extremely polite when subscribers called to report on news or to complain that their paperboy had thrown their newspaper on a porch roof—“Good morning, Daily News, How may I help you?” was how Geri and her co-workers answered the calls.  

Josephine Biddle-McMeen was Joseph Billdle III’s great aunt and the power-player behind the pages. She was Huntingdon County’s first and only celebrity. The newspaper heiress attended every ground breaking ceremony in the county. She was at every ribbon-cutting ceremony with her favorite photographer, Jimmy Smith, in an effort to promote economic development in the stagnant business climate of the Protestant farming community comprised of 92.8% lower to middle class Caucasians. Josephine often appeared on the front page of her own family’s paper, holding shovels while wearing expensive pairs of silk gloves. Readers looked up to the Biddles, especially Josephine, as the only upper-class members of their community. With the exception of the exposure Josephine brought to new businesses at ground-breaking ceremonies, ‘Jo’, as she preferred to be called by common folk, had nothing to do with the news stories. However, as a face that everyone knew, Jo’s appearance in front page photographs guaranteed successful grand openings for the few business ventures taking off in the former farming village. The “Daily News’ was started by Joseph Biddle, Sr., Josephine’s father. He left his newspaper to his only son, but guaranteed Jo her own column—‘Along the Juniata’ for as long as the paper ever remained in circulation.  

The column still runs to this day. It’s often found on page seven next to the Church Social Page, but guest writers often overflow its banks with gossip-like adjectives. Jo’s over 100 now. I have written for Jo and her column several times since I retired from the paper as a paid intern, back in the summer of ’88. Despite the fact that everyone in the office adored Gerri Wakefield, Jo could not stand her. Perhaps it was Gerri’s natural ability to be the most popular girl around. She was at least 50 years old, Jo had no reason to be jealous of the ‘younger woman’, although at the time, Jo was in her late ‘80s and Gerri’s lingering sensuality may have been the reason why the two old news hens didn’t get along after working side-by-side for decades. 

Josephine gave me the internship at the Daily News. I knew her for more than four years as a reporter for my high school. In addition to her column, Jo also sponsored a “School News Page” for the seven local area high schools. I became Jo’s favorite reporter and the old woman insisted that I was blessed with the gift of a talented writer. I couldn’t stand working at Burger King along the Pennsylvania Turnpike following my discharge from the U.S. Army, so I called Jo and begged for an office job. She came through for me. Not only that, she used her influence to have me transferred from Penn State’s Altoona campus to the State College branch where I was accepted into the School of Journalism despite my combined SAT score of 850. Gerri was my water-cooler girlfriend during the summer of my internship. What a fag hag she was! She taught me the ins and outs of the place, who was sleeping with whom, the real power-players of the news, how to manipulate the punch-in time clock and where to make long distance phone calls from without getting caught.  

Gerri and Josephine were both like my mother. I didn’t like being caught between their feuding affection for my pen. The only thing more destructive than a privately owned newspaper are two divas in search of a gay understudy. “I’m giving Charlie Taylor the Managing Editor’s office,” Jo announced to Polly McMullen, Lynn Streightiff and the other staff writers who had written for the paper for decades, yet remained behind cubicals.  

They sucked their teeth and looked over their monitors at me, furious that Jo and her nephew had yet to make a final decision on who was going to be promoted to the editorial board.  Jo had on one of her infamous hats that day—a bright pink one that glowed far brighter than the summer dress that Gerri was wearing. Gerri was way at the back of the newsroom, near to the door where the copy editors work to capture run-on sentences, missed periods and improper usage of past-participles.  

Gerri listened closely and watched as Jo rubbed my fresh out of boot camp, Clark Kent physic in their thesauruses. Gerri smiled at me as I lit up, learning that I was given the largest office in the newsroom. I suspected that Gerri was envious of the power that Jo had over the staff at the ‘Daily News’. She must have adored the way the writers bowed down to the old woman when Jo played games with their minds and professionalism by giving me my own private office with a door that slammed.  

Continued here…

http://charlestaylor.wordpress.com/2007/05/28/along-the-juniata-3/