Many years ago, some colleagues of mine wrote a story about a religious lockdown facility for wayward girls in rural Indiana, a place called Hephzibah House. As I recall, the place was secretive and uncooperative and didn’t relish the secular media sniffin’ around the yard.
Well, that was many years ago. Now they have a website.
Dorothy wondered, in the comments on the previous post, just who actually wears some of those goony modest-clothing outfits I’ve linked to in the past. Wonder no more. There’s a strain of religious fundamentalism in northeast Indiana that makes much of the so-called Bible Belt look like Hillary for President volunteers.
What a weekend. The perfect weather continues, although it’s now somewhat less than perfect, having crossed into “too dry.” But it’s not too hot, and so I was able to go to the Eastern Market Saturday without too much misery other than the usual — parking, mainly. I love the Eastern Market, having been deprived of the Rich Stew of Humanity for too long at my previous addresses, which offered fairly thin gruel at the stove of humanity. I didn’t actually buy any stew ingredients, unless you count tart cherries, which I will craft into a pie for next week’s dinner party. The season is so short that my best pie cookbook calls it “Once-a-Year Cherry Pie.” It better be good.
So, on to the bloggage:
In all my years in the newspaper business I’ve accumulated many regrets, but none so keen as this: I never had the opportunity to yell “fuck you” to my publisher. (Actually, I had the opportunity many times, but never took it, even though it would have been richly deserved.) Oh, to work in Santa Barbara these days, where resignation letters fill the air like confetti and a couple dozen journalists are accumulating stories they’ll tell for the rest of their careers.
And it’s all there: A petulant movie star, an insane owner, punishment for infractions of non-existent rules and, once again, my favorite part:
Executive Editor Jerry Roberts returned from a vacation in Crete and turned in his resignation about 9 am. He was then escorted out of the News-Press building by Human Resources chief Yolanda Apodaca. On the way out, tearful reporters and editors hugged Roberts and wished him well. As this happened, Travis Armstrong, Roberts’s nemesis at the News-Press, emerged from his office to make sure that Roberts left, reportedly saying something to the effect of, “Roberts you’ve got to go.” According to one report, Armstrong — who appointment as publisher of the News Press last Friday precipitated Roberts’ resignation — clasped his hand around Roberts’ arm to help escort him from the building. This was greeted by a chorus of “Fuck You, Travis!” from the News-Press employees bidding Roberts goodbye. The chorus reportedly continued for some time; one of the louder voices in that choir belonged to Metro Editor Jane Hulse, who likewise had submitted her resignation that day.
I forgot that “vacation in Crete” part. That’s the phrase that’ll kill in barroom retellings: “I recall the editor had just returned from vacation in Crete when…”
Meanwhile, breaking butter-cow news from Ohio, for all fans of butter sculpture. The shocking detail: The butter used in the annual state fair sculpture? Comes from Texas. There’s good detail — the only creamery in Ohio capable of providing the one-ton chunk needed for sculpting only makes salted butter, and the sculpture requires unsalted. The fair director offers this alternative: “In Ohio, we’re No. 1 in Swiss cheese production, but I don’t think it would look real good if we had a holey cow instead of butter,” Strickler said. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
No, it wouldn’t. But it would be interesting.
Make merry in the comments! I have work to do.