This Side Up

When the job gets too comfortable…

By John Howell
Posted 4/12/16

I couldn’t believe it was happening, and it seemed like I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

This isn’t the sort of confession a newspaper reporter makes, but then it occurred to me readers …

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This Side Up

When the job gets too comfortable…

Posted

I couldn’t believe it was happening, and it seemed like I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

This isn’t the sort of confession a newspaper reporter makes, but then it occurred to me readers could probably relate to the experience and maybe share a chuckle.

I made the return call to Ward 5 Councilman Ed Ladouceur about 4 p.m. Friday. He was anxious to talk about the work of the Charter Review Commission (see story in today’s issue) and is anxious to drum up public input on how city governance might change. I knew instantly this wouldn’t be a five-minute phone call.

“Where are you now?” I asked. When he told me he was at the office, I said I’d be right over.

For those who haven’t visited it, Ed’s second-floor office on Warwick Avenue is a trip down memory lane. The walls are festooned with framed proclamations, photos, stories and artwork reflective of the Marine Corps and the state. It’s a mix of family, politics, business and stuff he just likes. His office is bright and has an inviting couch.

I settled into the couch while Ed sat across from me at his desk.

He launched immediately into the commission’s work and his plan to limit the scope of its review to three issues. He emphasized he is looking to get more people involved and enhance the dialog. And he made it clear the voters would decide.

The couch was comfortable. I was relaxed and then, regardless of how much I fought it, my thoughts were wandering and the focus blurred. I was being pulled into a place I didn’t want to be and I was reminded of a cross-country trip I made many years ago while a college student.

I was on my way back from a summer job in Wyoming in a Hudson Jet – one of the first compact cars – that I had bought for $250. Despite being smaller than a lot of vehicles on the road, it had a solid and seemingly indestructible quality to it. “Rugged” is the best word. I felt I could take it anywhere, although as I remember, it wasn’t especially powerful or fast – features that worked to my advantage.

I had company on the first leg of the trip to Denver, but I was on my own the rest of the way. For some reason, I was determined to make the trip as quickly as possible, stopping to snooze and then getting back on the road.

The folly of such a plan literally “hit me” when I reached the long and straight roads of the plains states. Some of these roads went for miles and miles without so much as the slightest turn and then abruptly, for no reason than it must have been a county line, made a near 90-degree turn. You would go another mile and then another 90-degree turn would bring you back on course. There was signage, but these were two-lane roads out in the middle of farm country with no lights and small towns every 10 to 20 miles.

It was on one of these straight stretches in the early morning hours that I felt myself drifting off. I opened the windows and searched for a radio station. That helped, but not for too long. I clicked out for a second and then jerked awake. It scared me, however, I failed to heed the signal. For another couple of miles, I was fine. Slowly I was tuning out again, although I refused to believe it.

Suddenly there was a terrific clatter, like golf ball-sized hail hammering the car – only it wasn’t hail. My eyes opened wide. Adrenaline was pumping. Instinctively, I slammed on the bakes. In the glare of the headlights that miraculously still worked there was a wall of green and brown stalks. I had come to one of those 90-degree turns and driven into a cornfield. I backed the Jet up and thought it best that I should get some sleep. That was impossible. I was wide-awake.

That episode came to mind Friday. I looked at my notes. I could read a few words and then a pen line trailed off the page. That line was the rap-rap of cornstalks. I snapped up.

That couch was surely comfortable, just too comfortable.

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