my anchor babe and the unfairness doctrine

8/7/2019 My Anchor Babe and the Unfairness Doctrine

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Introduction

Hello, everyone. I'mpublishing a novel. It is theadventures of anambitious woman with asecret father in adesperate race to find acure for a disease thatthreatens her secret son.

Along the way she battlesthe Great Recession,investigates mysterious

national events, andsuffers the collapse of herprofession. She getsunexpected help from ateam of college studentswho track down the truthsbehind the unfairness inlife.

My goal is to publish anew chapter every weekwith episodes inspired byreal events.

I invite you, the reader, to

help by contributing any ofthe following:

Real stories ofunfairness to fictionalizein episodes.

Images, video and audioto illustrate the fiction

Proofreading, factchecking and fill in theblanks.

--author

The Sucker PunchThe worst day of a young life.Why did this happen?Not everything is black and white


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Chapter One: "You're Fired!A balding head pokes out the ofce door. Bland expression.

Typical drone.

"Mizz Grant, will you please come to the ofce ?"

A couple of folks glance up from their cubicles just in time

to see the target -- a mop of brunette hair framing

impossibly large hazel eyes that peer from behind a desktop

computer.

"... be with you in a sec, Mike ... finishing up some fact

checking."

Surprisingly, that seems to annoy him a bit, so Mike Milanosteps further into the corridor.

"Sharee, I really need to speak to you right now ... that other

stucan wait."

More heads turn. A handful of producers and

correspondents become curious. Rarely do they hear Milano

raise his voice. He is not called Mono Mike without reason ...

generally keeping his monotone personality parked behind a

cluttered desk.

Sharee stands up ... and up ... and up. Her tousled mane

doesn't really match the custom-tailored gray cardiganthatwraps snuggly up her six-foot height.

Make that six-feet-three as she slips her narrow foot into

stylish heels.

One of the gawkers, the news show's recently promoted

female commentator, takes envious notice of her new rival's

outfit. Her mind checks othe price tags. Gray cashmere

cardigan cut long and cinched with a silk braided belt--$400.

Underneath, a charcoal black, fitted skirt and tunic with a

faux turtle neck--$500. The skirt slightly above the knees

and hosed in black.This ensemble plus accessories must

have cost $3000.

"Are those Jimmy Choo heels," she thinks, "That's a-

thousand dollars there at least."


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It's an Armani original for sure Probably purchased fromNordstroms at Providence Place.

The news stahad begun looking at Sharee with new eyes

ever since that episode with the Brazilian Bomber several

months ago when his Entourage swept into the newsroom,

beefy bodyguards first, eete hangers-on next, then the

Heavyweight Champion of the World himself.

The Daily Investigative News top producer had gotten an

insider scoop about the Champ's personal life and had

convinced the most well-known athlete in the world to come

to the studio to answer some questions.

Everything was set up for D-I-N's new star in the chilly main

studio. As Roberto Silva paraded into the newsroom he did a

kind of radar sweep, then spotted the blonde almost hidden

behind the back desk.

"I'll do your damn interview," he growled, "...but only with

that girl !"

The producer and the news director argued with the Champ's

yes men.

"Sharee is too new and she really doesn't know the whole

story" they begged, "Michelle has already been briefed and

she is our top news personality."

Roberto had settled on the then-blond Sharee. A new look

for her that was having spectacular results.

"I don't give a damn if she is the Queen of Sheba, If you guys

are going to rip me apart at least I am gonna choose

someone I can feast my eyes on !"

Sharee was rushed to the set. But first she made an

important pit stop to the Dressing Room ... to powder her

nose and, more importantly, to make a quick call to her old

college news director.


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Back on the set, the producer whispered some tips into her

ear and shoved a list of talking points into her hands.

Sharee took a brief return cell phone call ... listening intently

while the make-up girl primped the champ. He was ...to put

it bluntly ... eye candy for every woman in the world.

The interview went very well. Sharee wasn't nearly as bitchy

as Michelle ... but still managed to make Roberto squirm.

Finally the interview came to an end and as Sharee made her

thank yous, The Champ looked her in the eye ... and uttered

this non sequiter,

"Ahh ! _______________, you are not as dumb as you look !"

Sharee clearly oended, snapped back, "No _____________ ?"

and a few other choice words in a language no one in the

newsroom had ever heard of.

The Entourage and the Champ shued out of the building

but not before Roberto stopped and pivoted back to talk

quietly in a corner to Sharee

Needless to say, the producer, the news director and the

sports-spurned female commentator badgered Sharee to

learn what he had said.

"Well he apologized to me, and to make up for it...he invited

me and a D-I-N camera crew to spend three weeks at histraining camp outside New Bedford. AND he will pick up the

whole tab !"

Memorably, Sharee wheeled around and sauntered back to

her cubicle as if nothing had happened. She had already

made a couple of enemies in her new job ... no need to rub it

in.


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There is always a hush whenever Sharee moves around the

newsroom, broken only by the clip clop of heels as she

makes her wayto the news directors ofce ... looking

occasionally back to her desk ... as if she forgot to include a

fact or two in her story.

Sharee tries to guess what this is all about. Maybe it's a big

thank you for the mini-series on the Champ who was as

good as his word. Flying her and Julio, D-I-N's best

videographer and Puerto Rican. I guess the news bosses

felt Puerto Rican was close enough to Portuguese ... as the

producer said flippantly, "Same shit dierent bucket."

The champ paid for everything, even settling them in a motel

near his training camp for the entire time. The rustic, you

might say, spartan digs, were near the site of the upcoming

Bay State World Invitational track meet ... on the campus of

UMass Dartmouth. The champ liked to joke he could get

much needed speed work done there.

But back to the moment...back to the news directors ofce.

The boss "welcomes" Sharee, his eyes downcast, normal

posture in her presence. His star staer and top recruit has

been on the job for only a short time yet this has become a

familiar behavior.

There are two other people in the cramped room ... barely

able to fit around the large desk. Sharee recognizes the

Human Resources Director and gets introduced to his

assistant, a small older woman.

Mike refuses to look up.. studying every detail of his shoe

tips shuing awkwardly. It is the Human Resources Director

who...intones,

"Mizz Grant. You have been on probation for six months

now. We thank you for your service.Unfortunately we have

decided to go in another direction with our stafng. We

cannot oer you employment here at D-I-N !"


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Chapter two--Red Flags

Let's step back a second from the drama of this mini-

tragedy. Back to the weeks that were wonderful ... the weeks

when Sharee's star still shone brightly... but back also when

the whiof something ominous was in the air ... when the

show honchos poured over the ratings and decided major

changes were needed.

Michelle Clark moved up to Main Anchor/Host. Before that,

she was just one of several occasional commentators. Now

she was the opening act,

"Anger ! The story of our times. Unfairness and

unemployment are its handmaidens. The jobless rate hoversabove ten per cent ...ripping the guts out of consumer

confidence ! ...and we have the President to blame !"

Michelle read the teleprompter ... but then departed from

script ... looking occasionally down at a sheet of talking

points on her desk. She was in full ad-lib .... looking

confidently .... directly... into the studio camera... to a

bemused, amused America.

It was the first time that a Point of View led the broadcast.

Michelle took full advantage, yanking position points from

her recently unsuccessful campaign for Congress. It waslittle more than a stump speech snaked with snarkieness.

"Unemployment is unfair ... folks with masters degrees are

pounding the streets. Unemployment compensation is

running out ...running out after several politically motivated

extensions ! The deficit is soaring. Foreclosure rates

rising ... and housing prices tanking. It simply isn't fair !"

Michelle suddenly stood up and paraded around to the front

of the anchor desk ...then sat on the desk, lissome legs

provocatively posed.


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The producers watching the monitors sensed immediately

that the show was changing directions in a way that couldbecome a direct threat to many of their jobs.

Why pay for a reporter, field producer, fact checker audio

man, videographer, remote truck and crew, for a scripted

show, when you can pay just one person--the anchor

babe--to rant on the air for fifteen minutes.

Of course not just anyone could pull this o. This tour de

force took the right, almost mystical, mojo. The talisman--

the recently dyed ravishing red hair --eye candy for high

definition--the bust line, legs AND the partisan resume.

She was the only one of the stable of talkers who had

readily strayed from objective news analyst to subjective

opinion maker. Only a handful knew the bean counters in

the background would eventually put financial pressure on

the unsustainable expenses of a news-gathering operation.

The real risk of course was whether the audience would

accept the format changes and more importantly ... accept

Michelle, red-hair and all.

Mike Milano also knew that this was a game changer. No one

noticed that he had retreated, turned ohis ofce light,

shuttered the windows and begun furiously shooting out

emails.

"Hello, everybody. Well it's time to send out the escape

tapes. The madness has hit us ! We are at the bottom of the

slippery slope. Remember, I warned everyone. Once they

dropped the Fairness Doctrine and scaled back Equal Time in

the 80's ... we would be on our way to oblivion. Well oblivion

has arrived !"

Milano buried his head in his hands and teared up. Yes,

cried. This is a man who never cried. He wept quietly, no

one heard him ... but he really didn't care.


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His entire worldview flipped. He predicted what would

happen next. He would challenge the changes, of course,

but his arguments would fall on deaf ears. His bosses would

roll their eyes, the marketing and programming people would

pooh pooh his concerns, the correspondents and producers

would not back him up because they were too busy to see

the threat. The public would not really care because they felt

journalists were elitist snobs anyway and laced with liberal

bias. Truth would be called a lie ! A new mishmash of

consultants and accountants would celebrate cost-benefit,

cheap citizen journalists, and ignore the Amateurization of

America.

Milano cringed when management brought in that

professor--the naif with, for the nonce, news experience--

to consult--or was it to expound-- on the use of Public

Journalism. Then it was that program director out of

Washington, who preached that daily journalism was

dead...that news should be more analytical and that

reporter-intensive coverage strategies were boring and way

too expensive... and, though incorrect, more damning ...

...doesn't build audience...doesnt attract revenue.

Milano would not tell family, not even his wife, to avoid

needless worry or to know that he was worried sick. He

would quietly send out his resume and begin networking,But Milano knew it would be much tougher to find something

at his age and he would be lucky to get a news jobs at half

what he is making now.

The first round of downsizing was bound to begin very

soon ... maybe in less than a year, Milano had already heard

about the slide in advertising revenue in virtually every

medium. He had long ago looked on with concern as internet

change swept, first the music business with Napster, then

commercial radio with the shock jocks, the catastrophe that

infected the newspaper industry as Clear Channel-clones


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gobbled up and spit out hallowed newsrooms while Craigslist

continued to burrow through the bedrock of the business

model.

Milano reporters had always lived with the luxury of

obliviousness, their professional belief in the separation of

marketing and media had blinded them to the importance of

the business side which was, in fact, the underpinning of

everything they could do in journalism. The journalists

model of the separation of church and state, i.e., keeping

business separate from news, had already begun to erode

with the disturbing changes in the worlds best newsrooms

at the Los Angeles Times, New York Times, the Wall Street

Journal, and the even worse events at the Chicago Tribune.

Milano could even forecast the struggle of journalism

schools as jobs in the industry vanished. The wire services

would shrink. Aggregators armed with algorithms would

take the place of original human sources, and lead to the

kind of reliance on digital information gathering which one

old FBI hand had said created the national security holes that

sank the World Trade Center on 9/11.

But perhaps what was most stunning to this old marine was

the direct threat to the democracy he fought for as a soldier

in the first Iraq war, and supported his work as a field

producer during the second Iraq war.

Now that the the shouters and doubters replaced the

scientific approach to news gathering ... where would voters

get credible information? Or would this new breed of

balloters even care?

The accuracy of information was under siege and histrionics

had taken its place. The Shock Jocking of television

broadcasting became so profitable, that the mainstream

news media shifted its core...like tectonic plates rearranging

the continents.


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Mike Milano had pleaded with his professional associations

to lobby for regulatory sanity over the internet so that it

matched to the rules which radio, television, and newspapers

had to labor under. Where were the libel laws, and the

copyright protections that escorted intellectual property in

every other medium? Now under a misreading of freedom of

speech, people were allowed to yell fire in a theater... or even

worse, build bombs on the internet, or incite attacks on the

innocent.

Milano labored under the weight of all this for fifteen

minutes, then struggled to get himself together emotionally.

Maybe it's time to consider retirement and let a younger

breed rediscover sanity .... maybe even find a way toRefinance the First Amendment.

Now back to the moment.

Sharee can hear her God chuckling at all her public and even

private plans...stuno one at D-I-N knew about. Like the

eort it took to relocate her secret son, find medical care,

track down her wayward father, ferret out discrete addict

support groups, haul all her stuto the condo. It had taken

all her savings, to buy the clothes she needed for the job, to

pay for the trips to hospitals in Providence, Boston and

Atlanta.

It took even more emotional capital to reconnect with

Mom.

Professionally, Sharee also siphoned a lot of money out of

her personal account to build a team of confidants. The

blind mother in Providence who monitored emergency

scanners, the grad students at Palisades College who did

everything from fact-checking, to research, a stable of

sources and informants-- out-of-pocket old school

journalism was very expensive.

All her planning, scheming and juggling... now coming to an

abrupt halt !


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Chapter Three--The Sucker Punch.

Sharee had heard of the Sucker Punch before. Actually saw it

in action in her first job out of college. But she never thought

it would happen to her, Nor did she know it could take your

breath away like a shot to the kidneys or that it could recast

the real world in a starkly pukish pallor. She didn't know, as

the H.R. flack prattles on, that the spoken word can

become--suddenly-- abstruse.

Time splits, diverges, veers away.As if the three who know

what has just happened are in a dierent dimension from the

people outside in the newsroom --- who have no idea thattheir new star has just been fired.

"This can't be happening... wha..." Her mind mues her

mouth.

Sharee quizzes the company reps, all variations of "why",

with answers that bounce back curtly, that never vary from

some predetermined script designed to dodge, evade ... and

what's that big word, oh yeah, obfuscate..

This simply can't be happening ! I was doing so well !

What was it Michaels told her when she got the original call

from the network to come up as an August sub for a

correspondent on vacation?

"Be ready, you might be on the Jane Pauley fast track," her old

college news director alerted her. (Whenever one of his male

former students seemed to be moving up the ladder he would

use Peter Jennings as the example. Both made their big

network splash in their twenties.)


13/51

Sharee certainly thought her career was taking o...

especially when she remembered moving up to the anchorjob a month ago. Was it just a month ago? Her mind

continues to wander back.

Milano had phoned her to come to his ofce back then. He

was used to the brains and brilliance of everyone talented

enough to make it to the network level, but still he was

frequently ill-at-ease whenever he had to chat directly with

Sharee Grant.

"Whew, what a day. What a Daayy !" Hestretched. He always

started with small talk, as if discussing his own managerial

problems helped bolster his rank over subordinates,

"... had to demote Ted. Took him oweekend anchor and

reassigned him to cover consumer safety stories. I told him

over and over to get rid of that part in the middle of his

head.

...with his pitch black hair, his white skin, looks like a bolt

of lightning on the screen whenever he looks down at his

copy to read !"

Sharee froze. Did he just make a funny? Was he serious?

Why was he telling her this? Next came the kicker.

"You interested in the job?"

Of course Sharee accepted, knowing this would invite more

back-biting from the peanut gallery. Summer subs simply

don't move up to any full time news position this quickly let

alone to an anchor job on a nationally syndicated show. She

had endured this before in Kansas City, when she moved up

from floor director to main anchor in one year. That was

unheard of in a major market let alone in a career just one

year out of college.


14/51

She was certainly doing well for the first four months at the

network. Several of her stories made the A block of

D-I-N...three even got picked up by the nightly news shows.

Yeah, they had been great gets--bona-fide scoops. She had

used her old college journalism training to create her own

beats. Beats were frowned upon in this shop. So on her own

time, she would drive over to her three beats, including the

federal courthouse in Providence, during the lunch hours on

Tuesdays.

It was during one of those stops that she happened to sit

next to a young woman sitting on a bench outside courtroom

2A. She was an ordinary looking but physically fit bottle

blond wearing casual but classy _________ blouse and slacks. Sharee knew from her modeling days that this modest

looking outfit was made of expensive material that must

have placed it in the 500-hundred-dollar range.

They chatted about fashion, hair dyeing and even exchanged

phone numbers. Sharee heard from her a few days later and

agreed to meet at Cafe Nordstrom at Providence Place for

lunch and maybe a little window shopping.

"Yeah, I think I am going to grow my hair back to its natural

color," Sharee toyed over a salad at the crowded eatery while

omitting the real reasons ... wouldnt everyone be surprised

if they really knew who she was.

"I only went blonde because I thought it might get me a full

time job at Daily Investigative News. Then I stopped by

Nordstroms to buy a couple of outfits for the new job ... I

cleared out my savings and spent $5000."

"My God !" said Cindy, "What if you didn't get the full time

gig? I don't spend that kind of money on clothes in three

years! I'm always telling Frank not to buy me expensive

stu.


15/51

He's always trying to get me jewelry. Hey, I'm not that kind

of girl."

"Neither am I," Sharee looked away as a couple of suits have

taken notice of her ... recognizing her from somewhere that

they can't quite place.

Of course she rarely drops by this time of day. She always

marvels at how well-known people seemed to pop in every

now and then.

Clearly Sharee was becoming part of that club, the faces,

after rocketing from fill-in to probationer to weekend

network anchor. Not only that, but she is reconnecting with

her father for the first time since she was a kid. He lives in acondo about 30 miles east, in New Bedford.

Mr. Gomes had left the family long ago and settled back in

the area while he had gone back to graduate school. It's

also where a large community of Cape Verdeans lived. He

finally felt at home after stops in the Cape Verde islands,

Sierra Leone, London and Florida where he lived with

Sharee's mom.

Sharee was feeling as good about the latest developments in

her private and public life as Cindy felt bad about hers.

"They are forcing me to testify against Frank" Cindywhispered. Frank was her boyfriend, Frank Rocco, the much

older cousin ofNick "Bones" Bonaro, the reputed head of

one of the last of Federal Hill's crime families. That morning

a federal grand jury had indicted Frank on ten counts of

Medicare fraud.

Cindy must have had reason to fear for her life. She was a

vibrant 26 year old when Sharee had chatted with her

before ... now she was mush, visibly aging from the stress.


16/51

For some reason, she began spilling the beans to a reporter

whom she'd just met... all about her love aair with the same

guy she would have to testify against if she wanted to avoid ahandful of fraud charges as an accomplice. Cindy is a

licensed mental health therapist, who started her own

practice when she had gotten tired of working her butt o

for someone else, for little or nothing.

It was around that time that she was introduced to an elderly

businessman named Frankie, who had dealings with the

Medicare system. He oered to finance her dreams while she

managed the business side. Seemed there was a potentially

lucrative government push to incentivize women to own

small businesses.

They met over dinner several times during the next three

months. He was, despite his age, a very charming fellow. At

close to 70 he was still a very vigorous man and flush with

money. After dinner he would always have an after party at

his condo. A dozen or so people over to play cards, or sit

around yak-king about how to save the world.

At any given point he would talk about the adventures of his

past life ... his many travels ... his fears during military

service and combat ... his time in Hollywood and the stars he

brushed elbows with.

Once he reminisced about a dinner with five film stars of the

one movie he had ever had a financial interest in. They were

nibbling at a fancy restaurant in Italy. He ticked othe

names of the stars sitting around the table ... each one of

them in the process of becoming a legend.

Frank told stories in that august gathering in his typical

expansive ways ... his arms flailing about ...inevitably leading

to a clever, even thrilling, climax. One was so stirring ... that

he had to jump up ....his napkin detached and dropped from

under his chin ... both arms


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18/51

At this point in Cindy's story, the distressed young woman

gave Sharee a disk.

"Please hold on to this. It's the only thing I didn't hand over

to the federal prosecutors." She whispered,"It's an o-the-

books record that we began to keep, detailing our actual

costs in providing mental health therapies, and the changes

we made to requests for Medicare reimbursements for drugs,

and physician care."

Cindy then admitted that she had become so overwhelmed

with the explosive growth of their business, that she had

begun to take shortcuts to handle the massive load of

paperwork, signing oon patients to whom the practice had

given little or no medical care. Some were referrals of peopleso mentally debilitated, that it wasn't possible for them to

understand what a therapist was talking about.

Next week, Cindy was dead ... from "natural causes"

Needless to say, she didn't have to testify and eventually the

case against Frank was dismissed, as other elements in the

case collapsed.

Sharee had enough stufrom Cindy to piece together an

exclusive! Actually, that was only one of fifty stories Sharee

was working on when Mono Mike called her to his ofce to

oer her the weekend anchor position. That, and the anchor

job, convinced everyone in the newsroom that her career was

on the fastest of tracks.

Oddly enough, many of the stories had to do with the hiring

and firing practices of major companies. How the public

made that leap from the Rocco story was beyond her, but she

became fascinated with the under-covered angle of

discrimination in the work place.


19/51

But neither Mike nor the rest of the staknew about the

other major story she was working on. The one generated

from an innocuous conversation at the Shawmut Diner. The

story that led to the White House and the War.

As for Sharee's own job prospects, as good as things seemed

to be going, there were certainly red flags. For example that

day when Mono Mike called her into the ofce a few weeks

ago.

"Human Resources wants to talk to you about something.

Get on down there and get back for the daily news meeting"

The Human Resources ofce was on another floor, down

where the business of

ce and sales departments were.

Sharee got lost several times trekking through the warren.

"We were wondering why you applied to go to the National

Black Journalist Convention in Detroit. We have a couple of

other folks who wanted to go, but we can only aord to send

two.

The Human Resources Director was more than curious. Why

was this young and attractive, yet obviously white, reporter

wanting to go to this type ofmeeting. The executive sized

her up. Tall, stylish, professionally dressed.Paler than

snow, with muted red lipstick and bright blonde hair. Maybe

she wants to cover the event for a story, he thought.

Sharee stared back for several uncomfortable moments,then

reached into her purse and pulled out a photo. She looked

at the HR director again then dropped her professional

demeanor and smiled sheepishly...saying quietly"

"This is my father," she said haltingly, "My biological father"

The network executive registered a look of silent

astonishment !


20/51

"His name is Galen. Dr. G.A.E.T Gomes to be exact. PhD in

Nuclear Physics.

He was born in Sierra Leone but grew up in the Cape Verde

islands"

All the executive saw was the dark face ... he blanched. He

could not reconcile the black face in the photo with the

image of the very white-looking young reporter standing

there in front of him.

The session ended. He said he would give her application

due consideration. Later that week, Sharee decided to go

back to her natural hair color ... as if it was important to

return to her "roots."

So here's the replay: three weeks later Sharee is summoned

to the news director's ofce. Photos of Mono Mikes family,

posed shots with big shots, ornate certificates, littered on the

one shelf above his cluttered desk.Surprisingly Mono Mike is

there, but so are two other people. The director of Human

Resources and his assistant, an older woman who never

speaks. Just nods and listens.

"Ms. Grant you have completed your six month probationaryperiod. Unfortunately, we have decided not to oer you full

time employment here"


21/51

Chapter Four --Secrets

By Roberta Douglas

Judith Gomes, nee Levinson, had only one child a girl she and

her husband Galen decided to name Sharee, a version of theHebrew name, Sharon, which means a rose, and is a bow to her

strict Orthodox Jewish upbringing.Sharee was a lovely child. She was tall for her age, with a pale

porcelain complexion and a lush mane of dark brown hair. She

was quite shy, and it was an accomplishment to coax a smile fromher, but it was worth the effort, because it was a wide, dazzling

smile which lit up her whole face and showed off her beautifulwhite teeth. Her dad always knew exactly how to get not only that

smile, but also a real giggle.As Judith was admiring her teen-age daughter one day, she

reflected on Sharees impressive height, which was just about amatch for her own six-foot stature. That brought Judith back to herown adolescence, which was made uncomfortable by the reaction

of people to her uncommonly tall figure. She vowed to let Shareeknow one day about her many trials on that account, not that

Sharee didnt have her own tales of embarrassment regardingHows the weather up there? remarks from strangers.

Marrying out of her faith had cost Judith dearly. Her parents,according to Jewish law, were obliged to disown her and mournher passing. Not only had she married a non-Jew, but he was Cape

Verdean, a man of color. The split with her family would hauntJudith forever, but this felt like the right path for her to be

following.While Sharee was growing and coming into her own, Judith

promised herself to be as supportive of her daughter as shepossibly could, but she knew in her heart that an attractive girl,who had finally overcome her shyness, could easily get into

trouble without half trying. (Perhaps she was remembering herown not so discrete years). So, she became a strict disciplinarian.

Sharee was allowed very little freedom growing up, and, ashappens in such cases, she had a strong desire to break free and do

her own thing.It was terribly difficult for Judith to compromise as much as she

found that she had to in her marriage. Her husband had his own

traditions, and his own scientific beliefs, and she had hers. She

had more than a little metaphysical leaning, and the two constantlylocked horns about philosophy.

Judith believed that things are perfect just as they are that

things have to run their course in order to bring about the desiredresult and that there are no short cuts to a happy ending.

Cecil Hickman Jan 9, 11:08 AM


22/51

Galens approach was to force situations to fit a mold whichwould then produce the desired result. He was disciplined and

focused on the bottom line. That was his happy ending.During Sharees teen years, when she proved to have an inner

wild child, this bickering became constant.

It escalated exponentially when Sharee was in her first year ofcollege. She brought her boyfriend Melvin home one evening and

asked her folks to Sit down for a minute. We want to tell yousomething.

Both Galen and Judith sat down on the sofa, expecting to hear

the announcement of an engagement. Melvin stood quietly bySharees side when she said, Mom, you and dad are going to be

grandparents. The air in the room was alive with shock, and therewas a moment of stunned silence. Judith was first to regain

composure, and asked, How far along are you?About three months Sharee replied.Do you intend to continue this pregnancy? Are you

considering keeping the baby and raising it? Do you two plan tomarry? Judiths rapid-fire interrogation threw Sharee and Melvin

for a loop. They really didnt have any idea what kind of receptiontheir news would elicit, but they werent prepared for what they

got.Mom, of course we are going to have this baby and raise it.

Arent you happy to know youre almost a grandmother?

Judith ignored the question and instead reiterated her own. Doyou plan to marry and give this child a stable home?

Melvin answered that one. To tell the truth, we havent

discussed it yet. Weve been so caught up with the fact of thebaby, that we arent clear yet on the future.Well, dont you think the future should have been considered

before you started a baby? asked Judith.After an uncomfortable half hour of this sort of back-and-forth

discussion, Sharee and Melvin went for a long walk, leaving the

older couple to come to terms with the news. Judith was veryvocal about her feelings, but Galen just sat. He seemed almost

indifferent as though it didnt have anything to do with him. Hedidnt have any reason to talk about it, and absolutely refused to

get involved.Their different styles of coping with that situation ultimately

proved to be more insurmountable to her folks than their racial

difference, and in less than a year, their marriage broke up. PoorJudith was left to manage Sharees situation on her own.


23/51

Although Sharee and Melvin did not marry, they took a smallapartment and started a life together. They tried their best, but

when their little son Butchie Boy began to show signs of beingsick, Melvin took off for parts unknown. How could a youngwoman with a little boy take care of herself? She appealed to her

mother, who, of course, took them in.You can stay here, and Ill help as much as I can, as long as you

go to school and make something of yourself. You cant just sithere all day and expect to be taken care of. Sharee got the

message, and accepted the terms.With her moms help, Sharee managed to finish college and get a

degree in journalism. She landed a job which took her to Kansas

City, so she entrusted the raising of little Butchie Boy to Judith,and moved out.

Sharee didnt keep in close touch with her mother and her son,but she was well aware of what was happening in their lives. She

was on the computer every day, looking for ways to help ButchieBoy, and she was happy to be getting occasional e-notes fromJudith.

During this time, Butchie Boy was becoming more and moresickly. His attacks escalated to a level that kept Judith in a

constant state of worry and agitation. She didnt have legalcustody of her grandchild, so permission for various treatments and

procedures was hard to come by. Judith found herself constantlymaking excuses for the absence of his parents, and going aboveand beyond to seek care for him.

Judith began to lament her old way of life. How did she ever

allow herself to get so far away from her core beliefs? She reallyneeded to go within and access all her inner resources to stay on aneven keel. Touching again upon her knowledge that Spirit was

within her and all around her began to calm the outer storm.Judith knew in her heart of hearts that everything happens for a

reason, that each of us contracts with Source for a lifetime of

experiences. She needed to keep in mind that this is just thelearning she signed up for. Even little Butchie Boy was part of this

learning. Whether she was the teacher or the student wassomething that her soul knew, even if her human self did not.

Her estranged husband Galen was baffled by these beliefs ofhers. He was a scientist, a realist. If he couldnt see it or prove it,it just didnt exist. No wonder they couldnt live together.

The one thing they always had in common, however, was afervent love of family and home. Deep down inside, Judith kept

his love close, and hoped that one day they might again connect.That hope was the one thing which kept her from trying to

reconcile with her Jewish family. She knew that, given theopportunity to again be with Galen, she would do it.


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Aware that southern New England is a mecca for health care,Judith packed up her little compact car, and drove from Florida to

Corinth, Rhode Island, in order to be closer to the facilities whichwere so important to Butchie Boys well-being.

Galen had made sure that, in spite of their break-up, Judith still

could access the money they had managed to save during theirmarriage, and he also sent her a small check each month an

unofficial alimony payment so she was able to comfortablyrelocate.

The house she found was a typical New England Cape. It had afireplaced living room, a dining room, a half bath and the kitchenon the first floor, with three bedrooms and a full bath upstairs. It

was a very comfortable family home with a nice back yard whichwas just right for a growing boy, and a one car garage.

Butchie Boy constantly assured his grandmother that he wasfine, but his health kept him from fully participating in all the

activities which are so dear to a little boys heart. Sure, he couldwatch sports and games, but thats not really what either of themwanted.

Judith often asked him, What would make you happy? Whatwould you like to do to have some fun?

Most of the time, his answer was, I like watching the other kids.I just want to be with them even if I cant do everything they can

do.Meditation was Judiths only escape from the reality of dealing

with her grandsons problem. But, even during those times, she

was seeking an inner solution to this heartbreaking situation, so it

wasnt a true escape at all. If only she could come up with someinsight, something nobody else had thought of. If only Shareewould involve herself in his life. What a relief it would be to know

that an answer was in sight, a light at the end of this interminabletunnel. Instead, she had to be constantly on guard in order toprotect him from injury.

Meanwhile, Sharee found out where her mother and son hadmoved to, and she campaigned mightily until she landed a job

right in Corinth. It was a job tailor-made for her, and it waswonderful the way it put her back in Butchie Boys life. Now she

and Judith could finally be friends and allies, instead ofdisciplinarian and rebel.

Judiths phone rang. Mom, its me. Im here in Rhode Island

and I want to come see you. Please, may I?Of course, come!. I love you and Ive missed you, and if

youve grown up and think youre ready to be a proper mother, wecan band together to take care of this precious son of yours.

replied Judith.


25/51

Sharee rang the bell, and was let in. They sat at the table over acup of tea and Sharee began to talk. Im so sorry, mom. I was

young, and I know I behaved irresponsibly. After being on myown for a while, I finally realize how important it is to have family,and to take care of the ones you love. Believe me, I wont ever

leave again, she tearfully promised.After they had a long sob session, and promised each other to

make up for lost time, Judith dished up a steaming bowl ofhomemade chicken soup and they got down to the business of

being family again.Pretty soon, Sharee pulled a much folded piece of paper out of

her purse and showed it to Judith. See, Ive kept a lot of the notes

you emailed me. They helped show me that family is forever, andnot just when youre in front of each other. This one is my

favorite. You know, when you told me how tough it was to be thetallest one in school, even taller than the boys. How did you know

what I was going through? I never said anything about it.Judith laughed and said, Do you think you have the patent on

feeling out of place? We all have our little trials. Read it to me,

honey.OK.

Height - everyone has it, to one degree or another. Your height

has a lot to do with how people see you. Are you short? Are youextra tall? Maybe you are VERY tall. Some folks are evenconsidered of average height. Well, it could never be said that Iwas average. I began as an over 9 pound baby. As early as

kindergarten, I became aware of my tall stature. Someinsensitive people even went so far as to ask me if I had beenkept back in school - at age 5! Don't think I wasn't aware of thatas a very sore spot.

All through elementary and junior high, I was the tallest studentin class, even taller than the boys. Wasn't THAT fun! I was lastin line for everything. I was in the back row for assemblies. I wasin the back row for class pictures - with those boys who wereapproaching my height.

Fourteen year old girls, who were 5'8" back in the '50's, werenot popular with the male sex. Not only was I too tall, but also, Iwore glasses. (Boys really DIDN'T make passes at me who woreglasses.) No boy wanted to date a girl who was taller than hewas. As a matter of fact, I didn't want a boy who was shorter than

me anyway. I was so self-conscious.In those days, young boys were not six feet tall, as they are

today. I don't know what's in the food these days, but it's notunusual to find a 15 year old boy who is over 6'.


26/51

My mother constantly told me to stand up straight. I was going tolook even taller if I slouched. So, I now have really good posture

(I guess that's a good thing). One day, on the beach, when I wasabout 30, a man stopped me and said that he just HAD to tell mewhat wonderful posture I had. That was not the compliment I washoping for, but I guess you take what you can get.

As I matured (yes, I am), I began to appreciate my height. Irealized that I could wear clothes well, and I began to hope thatwhen I had kids, they would be tall. Well, you are tall.

My main advantage now, is that I am tall enough to reach thetop shelf in the supermarket for all those cute little old ladies, whoare jealous of my height!

I am tall enough to carry all the big bling I love to wear. So Iwear a lot of it! And I'm getting old enough to say almost anythingI want to say, so I say it!

Ain't life grand?Mom I just love this note. You have no idea how many times

Ive read it. It brought you close to me when I was at my loneliest.It always made me homesick for you. Sharee was in tears again at

this point, and needed her mom to soother her. That did both ofthem a world of good.

Even when they are getting along well, mothers and daughtershave an undercurrent of dissention. The adjustment period for

Judith and Sharee was tough, but no worse than anyone else.Butchie Boys needs made quick work of cementing the twowomen together, and between them, they found the right hospitals,

and the doctors who could do him the most good,

As the two women bonded, Judith began to tell her daughterabout her life with Galen before Sharee was born.

We travelled a lot. I think the best trip we had was on our

honeymoon. We went to Israel. I never realized how much redtape is involved in over-seas travel.

First, we had to be vaccinated against smallpox again. Then

there was a tetanus shot. Of course, the smallpox vaccine gives astrong re-action. That hit me right in the middle of trying on

clothes for the trip. What a fever I had!Then, passports had to be dealt with. Smile for the birdie!. I

really believe that those customs people enjoy producingunflattering photos. They must be jealous of all the places peoplego, while theyre stuck in one spot.

The trip was one of those packages which allowed us to choosewhich locations to visit, and put us in a different group for each

arm of the trip.First, we boarded our plane, El Al Airline, of course, and settled

in for a really long flight. It was an overnight, and veryuncomfortable for sleeping.


27/51

There were so many people in each row, that we felt guilty every

time we had to get up for the rest room. The food was pretty good,kosher, naturally.

The airport wasnt as big as the ones we have here now, but it

certainly was busy, people of all nationalities, speaking so manydifferent languages. It was a real potpourri, but nothing compared

to what we would encounter at the various stops along our way.We stayed at a hostel on our first night. We had a very austere

room, with a common bathroom for the entire second floor at the

end of the hall. We had a clawfoot tub, and an overhead watercloset with a pull-chain. I remember that the toilet paper was so

hard that I wrote a letter home on it. At that point, I realized why Iwas advised to bring with me any paper goods I would need for the

trip. A few days later, in Jerusalem, we went into the King DavidHotel, and I confiscated a roll of real toilet paper from the publicrest room.

Our plan allowed for one night in a kibbutz, you know, acommune. That is how the early Jewish pilgrims lived when the

State of Israel was new. They did that so they could rely on thetalents of each of them to help build the new country without

worry about necessities of living. It seemed to work for them, butI cant see myself not having personal property, and only seeingmy kids at dinner. It was, in my view, a tough way to go.

Sight-seeing was like having all my Hebrew School lessonscome to life. King Solomons Mine was so impressive! We saw it

from a valley, so that the mountain seemed even taller than it was.

We could see all the different colors of the sandstone, in layers,everywhere mining had taken place.One of the things that left a big impression, was a small plane

that took us over the Negev desert to Eilat on the Dead Sea. Ourcameras were taken away for the flight, because there weremilitary installations in the desert, which were covert.

Unfortunately, while we were in Israel, there were militaryskirmishes here and there. In the windows of all the tall buildings,

there were sand bags visible, with rifles poking out between them.Also, we saw a lot of signs posted on buildings and kiosks, which

warned of pick-pockets and other things, in three languages Hebrew, French, and English.

We ate falafel in the street, and went to a real flea market. Thats

where I found that amber necklace you like so much. It was somuch fun to shop, because nobody expects you to pay the asking

price. Its almost mandatory to dicker. We loved it!


28/51

After we left Israel by ship (it was half cargo, half passengers), wesailed on the Mediterranean to Pompeii, Italy, to see the ruins.

There were tiny mummies, under glass, of children and babies, stillin the positions they were caught in by the eruption. There were alot of signs here, too. It was forbidden to pick up any pebbles or

other material and remove it from the site.Also in Italy, we visited a cameo factory. Rows and rows of old

men were sitting along benches, each with a flat-topped post infront of him. They would mount a piece of sea shell on their post,

lean it against the bench, and with a cutting tool, carved away bitsof the shell to leave the cameo design. They told us that the designwas already in the shell, they just needed to let it out. They got the

inspiration for the picture from the piece they were working.The next stop was Barcelona, Spain. We were told to stay

together and not to speak loud, or touch anything. Those peopledidnt like strangers. While we were there, I bought those soft

calfskin gloves you like. They were fitted to me as a dress wouldbe. They placed my elbow in a brace-like apparatus, powdered myhand, and pretty much forced a glove onto it. That way, it was a

custom fit. There was no time to eat before getting back on theship.

Then, we approached the Straits of Gibraltar. The water wasstarting to get rough, and I didnt feel too well. It was a relief to

disembark in Ponta del Gada, in the Azores. Your dad loved itthere, happy to be where his family had settled after leaving the

Cape Verde Islands.We saw, on top of a small mountain, twin lakes. One was green

and one was blue. They told us that was a natural phenomenon. Itwas really beautiful.

When we got back on the ship to cross the Atlantic, I had a

foresight of how the trip was going to be. I was right. I wasseasick all the way home. There was a storm in the Atlantic, and it

was so rough that the Captains Dinner, on the last night out, wascancelled.

Seeing the Statue of Liberty at the mouth of the harbor was

wonderful. I had no idea it would affect me so. I actually wept.A lot of people cheered, and I saw other folks with tears running

down their face.Well, it was time to get back to reality. Going through Customs

was easy. They opened all our bags, and did a perfunctory

inspection. All we had to do was to say we had nothing to declare,and they let us in.

The worst part of any trip is unpacking and doing laundry, andthis was no exception. But, it only took a couple of day to get

back to normal. Im really glad we went. Thats one of myfavorite memories of your dad.


29/51

Chapter Five: The Backstory

Corinth, Rhode Island. It's not easy to get to. Sharee first traveled

down Interstate 195 from T.F. Green airport south of Providence. Shemaneuvered her compact car to the correct exit to Highway 24.

According to Google Maps on her Blackberry, she would travel a few

miles further to get to Corinth.

"Why on earth would they headquarter a network show in this God-

forsaken place !" Sharee had long ago learned to check her potty

mouth at the door whenever she was in the vicinity of a studio. Mark

Michaels used to drill into his students that you never know when a

mike is hot. Probably a bit of overkill but it made the point.

She had little time to pursue that thought. Between peering through

rain-soaked windshield, glancing down at her handwritten directionsand handling her Blackberry ... she had a lot of distractions and focu

to deal with.

The soon-to-be network correspondent made several wrong turns

before following a winding road adjacent to a railroad track through

rural area that suddenly turned into a relatively modest complex of

warehouses. The parking lots were packed.

The sign was nondescript, and it was only at the bottom ofshort lis

other companies that a visitor would see "Daily Investigative News".

Wouldn't the world be surprised that the national show many watche

in prime time was actually buried in a cluster of buildings, stuck inbackwater suburb of a medium-sized city, in the smallest state in the

Union.

Sharee got her first glance of her new boss. Mike was in the doorway

talking to a guy in a parking attendant suit. When he locked eyes on

his new hire, he immediately averted his eyes down to his shoes. He

had the presence of mind to extend a handshake and guide her insid

to her new world.

The news director was frankly surprised at Sharee's appearance. The

tapes she had sent showed her as a brunette. She is now a bleached

blonde. The video rarely showed her full length ... she was

surprisingly tall. She was not the skinny minny he normally

expected ... she looked the same weight as she did in the video ... th

10 pound inflation didn't seem to aect her at all.

Daily Investigative News

10509 Slippery Slope Lane

Corinth, Rhode Island


30/51

Mike Milano escorted her through security, getting her a bar-coded

name tag. He introduced Sharee to the news sta, production crew

and even the front ofce where she signed a few papers that shebarely read.

Later that day, the program director, the executive director and the

woman who actually created the show insisted on joining the news

director to give Sharee a tour of Corinth and Providence. Sharee had

no idea that this was unusual, that Ted whom they hired the day

before was given a perfunctory tour of the operation and put

immediately to work.

They showed her the mansions that burst with opulence near

Newport. Dripping-rich summer homes down hidden lanes. (detail

description of Corinth based on Tiverton written by Kathy?)

Gail Swensen, executive producer and co-creater of Daily

Investigative News, was the chatty travel guide and name tosser.

Sharee would learn later that Gail had parlayed her background as a

web designer and refugee from the now defunct Prodigy company,

once owned by IBM, to come up with the idea of the Daily

Investigative News syndicated show now airing in top media markets.

One month after she was hired, Sharee discovered a quiet little coee

house, next to a public pier, that seemed to be a convenient mee

place for many of the folks who lived year round in Corinth. The

tourists seemed not to be particularly attracted but the natives loved

it.

She decided to make this the base of her personal journalistic

operation. The idea came up after one of her nightly phones calls to

her old college news director. Mark Michaels was an old-school radio

journalist who believed in shoe-leather, beats, and sources. He was

completely mystified by the algorithms of modern news aggregators,

the very stuthat Sharee was studying in her new job.

"Get yourself a beat !" Mark had urged. "Where you can hang out with

news makers, develop sources, get tips. You need to become an

expert so your news director has to come to you for information.

That will make you valuable to the organization !"

That was Mark ... old school to the core. A dinosaur who could not

comprehend that for women like Sharee ... make-up, lipstick, and a

bottle of blond peroxide were just as important in this day and age of

modern broadcasting.


31/51

Still, Sharee had to spend the early days getting a handle on New

Media.She had no problem writing newspaper style for the show's

website ... or editing audio for D-I-N on blogtalkradio.com.

Sharee could even take passable photo's with her Kodak mini-camera

or her Canon EOS5D. Video of course was still handled by

professional shooters.... but in a pinch Sharee would grab some B-Rol

or set up a tripod for an impromptu interview. This one-man-band

skill endeared her to the show producers, but angered the unions.

The toughest thing was dealing with the cyber world of algorithms

that Gail introduced to the program, a groundbreaking application

that transformed the entire news operation, allowing them to select

stories dierently than aggregators like Hufngton Post, Google, or

AssociatedContent.

The trick of course was to meet old-fashioned daily deadlines. The

system plugged into a series of video provided by robot and monitor

video cameras, located four hours away at the Capitol in Washington

D.C. Also a network of feeds was established at every state capital

press room in the country.

Gail and her partner had come up with an ingenious system that was

cost eective ... reaching the holy grail of making news content

economically sustainable.

Her direct competitor became ProPublica, the grant-funded

investigative team with deep pockets. There were also the sites like

Politifact.com and Factcheck.org that were starting to make an impact

But to separate themselves from the straight-news competition, D-I

N had started to put opinion in the mix. Ofcially called a news

analyst, the company had hired Michelle Clark to add a little liberal

point-of view to spice up the mix. The ratings started to climb, an

that emboldened Michelle to ever more cutting-edge comments.

Every week ... sometimes every night... Sharee would call her old news

director to chat about what she had learned that day. Mark Michaels

would always listen politely but would always end by reminding her of

the basics she learned in school.

"Observe! Question! Report!"

Accuracy ! Accuracy ! Accuracy !


32/51

Chapter Six -- What happened

Sharee gathers her stu... pulls files from her locked drawer ...

downloads computer files to her flash drive ... and sleepwalks

through the start of her unemployment nightmare.

I was just fired ! She repeats it... like a litany... as if repetition

would make what happened more ... comprehensible.

She looks around at the others...faces register surprise... as it

dawns on them that their new star is clearing out her desk.

Sharee drowns in her own thoughts.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Why are they letting me go? What did I do? Did

I step on somebodys toes? I tried my damnedest to stay under

the radar ... to stay out of the way !

Was it one of my stories? There had to have been a dozen or

so that were so controversial that someone could have gotten

pissed oand put pressure on management to get rid of her.

Maybe it was that federal probe story, or the mob story ...

or ...or ...

Shit. Did management find out about my undercover story?

That must be it!

The tip she had started to work on had been one of the reasons

she had dropped the blond dye job.

Shit. shit. shit.

Or maybe it was the baby. Did they find out about my baby?

Or was it my race? That got me into trouble before!

Fast forward to the condo in New Bedford. Sharee opens the

door and flips on a sidelight... drags a couple of hastily packed

boxes and her iPad case. Of course, no one is home in the

middle of the day. Dad is gone and the kid is at moms home,

probably still in daycare. Instinctively she turns on her police

scanner sets the squelch and pots it down low.

Sharee's movements are robotic ... her mind wanders.

"Why am I turning this damn scanner on anyway. I don't have a

job, even if I did run out to cover the story. No place to air the

piece. Stupid. Stupid. I'm not a reporter anymore!"


33/51

Her mind wanders, back to another time, when she was a grad

student at Palisades College in Florida. Another time when thescanner blared in the background of the busy student newsroom.

Mark Michaels, her faculty advisor had set up the newsroom old-

school. For students, it forced them to learn to tolerate the

annoying rapid fire racket from the emergency scanner sitting on

a high shelf.

"We have a 10-50 J4 near the intersection of Prospect and Euclid.

Caller reports multiple-injuries, fire and ambulance enroute. ETA

15 minutes. Heavy trafc flow o the interstate."

"___________ please respond. Disturbance in a parking lot at the

PC Track Stadium. Male track student smashed into another

vehicle ... need escort to hospital. Medical emergency. Three

year old non responsive."

Sharee Gomes, that was her name then, had tuned out everything

except that last transmission. A sickening realization washed

over her as she turned up the volume, tweaked the squelch, and

locked the scanner on that particular frequency.

"___________ do you copy?. 10-50J4. Medical emergency.

Domestic disturbance, non-injury accident and medical escort to

St. Thecla Hospital. Three year old needs medical assistance.

Maybe epileptic seizure."

Sharee gasps. and starts barking orders. She not in charge of

anyone but she still is barking out orders.

"It's my baby !!! Someone has to do my newscast. I don't give a

shit who. But I am out of here !"

Sharee sprints out of the newsroom, bounds down three flights of

stairs, and out the exit into the back parking lot. Hops into her

___________ and weaves her way the seven miles to the university

hospital.

Sharee pulls up just as the ambulance arrives and the paramedic

swings open the door, and her son is wheels out ... his face ashenin a panic ...eyes darting from face to face until he spots Sharee,

who trails the gurney through automated doors then follows a

couple of registered nurses into a dark hallway which brightens

up as everyone's eyes adjust to the change of light.


34/51

Suddenly her son eyes go blank, and he begins to flail about

violently, his arms straining the restraints, his body jerks from

side to side and his head pitches backwards again with such

force that it surprises and frightens everyone bedside.

"Oh my god! Oh my God !!!!"

Sharee hears the shout it again, this time from behind her. It's

her boyfriend, Melvin, who has slipped in next to her,

breathless from a dead run.

"Goddammit , Melvin, what did you do!, Sharee yells at him.

Melvin dumfounded can't seem to summon a reply, stuck on

stutter by the withering rant of Sharee's verbal attack.

But their attention returns to Butchie Boy...sweet little Butchie

Boy, Who has calmed a little now, entranced In some kind of

stupor.

Sharee returns to the present. It is hard to believe but that

moment was the beginning of the end for her and Melvin.

Unfairly, she never forgave him, but he never forgave himself.

That was four years ago. Sharee didn't know then she would

begin her desperate search to fined out what triggered the

seizures...a search that would evenutally lead back to her

divorced parents...and account for the urgency and secrecy that

characterized Sharee's career.

Back in the condo that she occasionally shared with the father

that few knew about, with thoughts of the son at Moms

apartment, that no one knew was hers, Sharee began to grasp

the terror of her situation.

"What am I going to do now? I no longer have a job. Where am I

going to get the medical insurance I need?


35/51

Chapter Seven or Rugged Individualist versus Socialists--snicker.

Despite her rapid advancement there were plenty more red flags.Sharee was not just an enigma to the news director ... she was a

mystery to most of the news sta. Although her fashion sense was

almost come-hither ... she was very guarded about her thoughts and

her private life. She didn't meet with the gang after work to share a

drink. She didn't join in the locker room kind of talk about their

bosses or about famous folks in stories they were working on.

Rarely would she huddle around the cooler during a work break ... and

whenever she did, she had an uncanny sense of deflecting the

conversation away from herself.

No one saw her on the cocktail circuit that the other correspondents

were always invited to, nor would she join, the frequent weekend

shopping trips the others took to New York, or even Washington D.C.

Yet somehow she was breaking a large number of national stories.

What were her sources ... how did she do it?

Sharee was certainly aware of the wall she put up around herself. She

really didn't want the others to know her business. She tried being

open in Kansas City, with disastrous eects. It was clear that the three

main secrets she harbored would not play well at the network,

regardless how progressive these journalists claim to be.

The rest of the stawould be shocked at how much Sharee resented

the cursing--or cussing as they said in K.C.--the jokes about blacks,

Jews and even Polish people freely bandied about. Even the constant

drinking and some cases drugging that seemed to adorn every

gathering.

It wasn't that Sharee was a prude ... it's just that she had done all that

before ... again with disastrous eect. Yet another secret she would

not ever willingly reveal.

Yes Sharee harbored secrets in a room full of professional secret

seekers.

Then there was the professional wall. Mark had drummed into her the

need for a separation between church and state in journalism. Yet

Michelle Clark and management were clearly beginning to blur the line.

Sharee wanted none of it. She might look the modern newswoman but

when it came to news she was Old School.


36/51

Wouldn't the stabe surprised to know that Sharee's drive to

succeed was grounded in desperation in her personal life,the ever present need for income to sustain commitments

she could tell no one about.

Wouldn't the nosiest be shocked to learn that she took the

job in Kansas City, not because she was ambitious, but

because that's where her biological mother lived ... or that

she had applied for the network opportunity because her

biological father lived a half hour away. Nor would they really

understand why finding her real parents was of critical

importance.

Only Mark Michaels knew the whole story about

Sharee...even how her confidence was a carapace that hid a

profound sense of self doubt and immaturity.

The mystery of Sharee included the fact that she would

never let the bastards see her sweat. (although she would

never say "bastards").


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Chapter Eight : Cape Verdean Student Detectives

A brother and sister who personified their news director's rant.

Twins. We find the brother-- outside of course-- at the track at

Palisades-by-the-Sea in Florida.

He is taking part in an intense workout. Their track coach--the

legendary Mr. Roscoe--had driven the team to exhaustion.

Melvin Libramento still considered Mr. Roscoe his coach

although technically Melvin had completed his NCAA eligibly a

few months ago after the Summer Olympics. Still Melvin would

workout with he team during the o-season. After all, he had

to stay in shape to run with the Italia Track Club.

That club paid handsomely on the European circuit. He

remembered being shocked at the oer.

"200,000 _______ which translated into __________ in U.S.

dollars". The recruiter revealed ... and that was every year.

Now all Melvin had to do was finish up his last year in the

journalism program. His minor was in computer-assisted

journalism. Life couldn't be better. He could mentor his twin

sister, Antoinette Libramento who was prepping for the World

games and therefore had a year to go before getting her degree

in telecommunications. Not only was she still eligible under

NCAA rules but she also worked this semester in the same

student newsroom as his brother.

His sister came dashing across the field and they both headed to

the showers. Although practice was intense it was short since it

was the weekend. Time to head over to the student newsroom

and watch the weekend Nightly Investigative News. They and

the news director had become hooked once they learned that

one of their own had starting anchoring the show.

They snuck into the empty storeroom of WPAL. News Director

as sitting on a storage box...chit chatting with a couple of grad

students and a stylishly dressed unknown who seemed starkly

out-of-place with the group that was there.

"I hope Sharee does better than she did last week," Michael

mused. "I don't know what came over her. It was like a Jessica

Savitch meltdown on air!"


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"Yep, she certainly seemed messed up about something." The

"suit" responded. Whoever she was, this unknown person talked

like a young exec of some type.

"...and why did she suddenly change her hair color from blonde

to brown?

"Yeah, Sami, but I've got problems of my own. Pierre contacted

the director of student services last week, then the president of

the College and then talked directly to the governor of the state.

I don't know how an undergrad from Portugal has contacts like

that."

"Yep. Actually, Mark that's why I dropped by. My boss got from

the administration to have the College counselor's ofce to look

into all this. They assigned me."

But the young attorney had lost the attention of the news

director.

"Where's Sharee !?. What's happening?"

Everyone turned to the flat screen. Surprised and mystified.

They saw the guy whom she had replaced back in his old anchor

spot. He made no reference to Sharee ... no comment about

maybe she was on assignment or was ill. Nothing.

There was an undercurrent of grumbling. Something was

obviously wrong. The meeting quickly broke up. Lack of

interest. Only a handful stayed behind. That's when one of the

computers began chirping...The unmistakable sound of an

incoming Skype call.

Ever the techie, Melvin popped it up from the computer monitor

to the flat screen.

It was Sharee. Her face sodden, obviously a recent crying jag,

her eyes a sickly red beneath the glasses she rarely wore.


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Chapter 9: Idealism versus Realism.

Melvin liked wide shots. The establishing shots. The way the

videocamera pulled back to see, in this case, the whole campus.

Palisades College . You can almost hear the voice-over.

"Palisades College is located on the east coast of Florida about

five miles inland from the Atlantic Ocean. It is a private Catholic

college with a small student body of 10,000. The campus is

noted for its intensely green landscaping (better description

needed here) and iconic Portuguese and Spanish-style

architecture."

If Melvin ran the video-camera he would have done an

amateurish zoom-in to the the largest building on campus--theschool of telecommunications and media content. He would

dissolve to an interior short of the student commercial radio

newsroom of WPAL ... then a close-up of their little group. They

were bunched around a 60-inch flatscreen television, a table

and chairs haphazardly arrange in the small back room.

Mark Michaels would do a little postmortem about the

newscasts that aired during the week.

Today he was talking about the "emeritus" virus that seemed to

infect the newsroom. Thats emeritus pronounced like hepatitis.

"I first heard it on the morning newscasts. I called in a

correction and continued my trip in from Jacksonville. Then a

mile in I heard our noon anchor say ".....em-mer-EYE-

tus....again"

So I get back to the station and flip on the afternoon drive

newscast and there it was again-em-mer-EYE-tus. Before I call

in another correction .... my cell pone rings ....and it's the dean

with a complaint ...Dammit !"


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Chapter 10: "No African-american, Hispanic, New York,

or Cracker accents !"

Michaels was already in trouble this week. The "emeritus'

gaes that aired all day Wednesday did do him no good.

Add this comedy of errors to the "accents" disaster and it

made it appear that Michaels was not in control of his

own operation -- not that he was on the best of days !

The accent issue started out harmlessly enough. He had

promoted a foreign student reporter from England to

afternoon anchor. She had a mature sound, and was a

brilliant reporter with a compelling writing style good

enough that two of her features made it to make the

network.

Student voices never make the network rundown ... so

Elaine was certainly special.

But yes, she had a pronounced English accent!

So perhaps Michaels should not have been surprised to

see a note in his ofce mailbox from the general

manager. It was sent to all the program and news

directors at the college. That included television,

commercial radio, public radio and even the magazine

show producers.

The first sentence all-caps:

'WE HAVE AN OBLIGATION TO THE AUDIENCES WE SERVE

TO MAINTAIN THE HIGHEST STANDARDS OF ON-AIR

PERFORMANCE. HENCEFORTH, I ORDER THAT NO

AFRICAN-AMERICAN, HISPANIC, NEW YORK OR CRACKER

ACCENTS WILL BE ALLOWED ON ANY OF OUR STATIONS."


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Chapter 11-- The Bay State

Relays in New Bedford


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Chapter 12 -- Mom and Dad and

the baby !


43/51

chapter 13--The Theory of

Information


44/51

Chapter 14--The Shawmut Diner

in New Bedford.


45/51

Chapter 15: The WRPCA convention in Boston.

The Writers Reporters Producers Content Association ! This was to be amonumental aair. The heads of the Federal Communications Commission

and the Federal Trade Commission were to be the headliners. All the top

network executives and online executives planned to attend a packed

auditorium to discuss Refinancing the First Amendment.

The Exhibit Hall was packed with eye-popping technology displays. Local

and national news organizations sent their best "talent" to the biggest aair

of the decade. The awards banquet was packed.

But probably the most important activity took place in the evenings. Major

media companies set up receptions in suites at the various feeder hotels

around the convention center. It was here that the students from Palisades

College skittered hoping to bump elbows with the top names in the

business.

The students from the University of Missouri School of Journalism, the

University of Florida School of Telecommunications, and Northwestern

University's Graduate schools of Journalism were there en masse along with

their gilded faculty and stued resumes.

This is also where the Twins headed to look for jobs and to track down

rumors about the shakeups at Daily Investigative News.

The Twins also knew that the Communications Director at the White House

planned to attend and maybe they could get a line on the national securitystory that Sharee was also working on when she was fired.

So imagine Antoinette's shock when she is attacked from behind ! It

happened as she walked down the hotel hallway looking for Sharee. Her

room is around the next corner ... when she is grabbed

"It's Jerry, I know it's him !" She thinks while struggling furiously. "I

recognize his scent !"

Antoinette can't see her attacker but she knows it is Sharee's new boyfriend.

She can't scream because he has his big hand over her mouth. She can look

down where her shoes have left the ground and see his big feet firmly

planted.

"Why is Jerry attacking me?" She would have thought if she had time to

think.

Then the Man becomes a Menace.


46/51

"Alright you little midget, why are you snooping around Frank's

stu? What are you up to? You've got five seconds to talk!"

His hands move into position to snap her neck. Antoinette is

convinced she has seconds left to live.

Strangely this actually feels familiar. It's like when the

weightlifters grabbed her during track practices. Surprised

her.... then grabbed her from behind.,,,and guawed like idiots.

"Aww, little Tonette, feet can't touch the ground ... how you

gonna run" they would taunt.

Once Melvin came to her rescue but there were several times

when he wasn't there ... especially when he went overseas to

train with Track Portugal. She had to figure a way out of thischokehold on her own or she would have to stop practicing with

the Mens Team. .

Antoinette suddenly relaxes ... becomes dead weight ... the

move seems to surprise her attacker. She forces her chin down

into the crook of his arm...in the process relieving pressure on

her neck. The move also sets her up for a break-away move.

She clamps down on his index finger .... uses her sprinters

crunch to lift up her legs ... and somehow aims rapid fire kicks

to his groin. Her sprinter training kicks in so-to- speak. Mr.

Roscoes exercise chants echo every stroke ... the power in herbunched lower limbs is fueled by fear and adrenaline.

He groans and she screams as she lands ... one heel on his

instep ... the other spikes his shin.

Antoinette grabs something ... anything .... turns out to be

_____________ and swings at his bulging neck. He slumps to

the ground ... cradling his midsection.

Antoinette bolts toward the sliding glass door. No time to try to

reach and unlock the rooms front door. He would certainly

recover and recapture her. Her only chance is the open sliding

glass door.

__________


47/51

In the other hotel ... at another reception ... her twin shifts

uneasily in an uncomfortable chair.

The anchor babe seems to be flirting with him. Twice she has

made eye contact and even stood next to him at the buet

table.

Melvin is alway uncomfortable around tall women and this lady

towers over him. He moves away and joins a group of online

executives who seem to be talking about the craziness going on

over at DIN. Maybe he can get a line on what's going on.

"I understand you are a friend of Sharee's," the whisper shocks

him. Somehow the anchor babe had snuck behind him and to

comment into his ear.

'Uhh ! yeah. We went to school together," Melvin stammers ...

aware of the close quarters and extremely aware of the

perfume.

"That's so cool. We were so surprised when she left the job ...

she seemed to have a bright, very bright future, ahead of her".

She cooed. Yes, she actually coos when she talks.

The anchor lady told him her name ... the only time she

sounded like an anchor lady.

"I'm Michelle Clark, Daily Investigative News."

Melvin was mesmerized. This women is really into him. Making

small talk about Sharee and their days in college. She seemed

to be very interested in Melvin's computer assisted journalism

training. She invited him to her table and insisted that he join

her for drink at the bar downstairs.

She seemed to want to convince Melvin to take an internship

with DIN and was disappointed briefly when she heard that he

would be running track in Europe for the next year.

"Actually, that's perfect now that I think about it! I overheardmy programming bosses say they need to fill a minority

assistant producer slot to cover the World Games. I bet you

would be perfect for it."


48/51

The statuesque white woman and the short but muscular black man

would attract looks from time to time ... add that to the wine and it

seemed logical to finish the conversation in her apartment ... it was

Michelle's idea.

Mel as she began calling him started to feel a little woozy as they

entered the hotel room.

Ms. Clark guided him by the hand and he followed like a little

puppy.

"So tell me, we heard a rumor that Sharee is not who we thought

she was. That her father is black. Not that I care but did you ever

meet her father in college?"

Mel begins slurring his words, "Naw. never met her old man. Theonly thing I know is she changed her name and dyed her hair blond

when she left school. Her last name used to be Gomes so I figured

she was Portuguese."

That's the last thing Melvin would remember about his "date" with

the anchor babe. The next thing was the meaty slap across the face

that snapped him awake.

"Why have you been hacking into the station's computer?" Another

slamming blow. "Who are you working for?"

As far as Melvin could see there was no Michele in the room. Just

some big guy slapping him across the face. His hands are bound

behind him but he is too weak to struggle.

Why is this guy slapping me around... who is he?. Why does he

keep staring me in the face? Whoever he is he doesn't betray any

emotions. Whoever he is ... he certainly is tall.... Maybe a foot and

a half taller then Melvin.

For some reason, Melvin seems calm. The haze is lifting and he can

feel his hands working their way out of the bonds. For some

reason he thinks back to his college boss talking about the

infamous fight between NBA stars Calvin Murphy and Sidney Wicks.

The modern version of David and Goliath. This memory becamethe basis of Melvin's strategy for counter attack.


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Next Story--Obligatory chase scene--with track stars.

Melvin's roundhouse kick lands flush ... in his assailants face. A high

arc of a blow ... and the larger man staggers. It's the opening that the

sprinter needs to barrel though the mesh screen of the open sliding

glass door.

He measures the jump. Looks back to see how soon it will take the

groggy man in the room to stagger to his feet and come after him.

"Six feet," he mumbles, "...not much leg room."

Everything hinges on the spring in his legs. He crouches, and stands

up ... crouches again, and springs up .... crouches again ....and leaps.

Barely Melvin clutches ...it so dark ...what is it? Must be the lower

railing. He had aimed for the top railing but at this point he will take

what he can get.

Now it's crunch time ... his midsection begins to work ... lifting his lower

extremities up ... slowly up ....up and over ... over the lower ...then the

middle and next ... swinging the right leg over the top railing.

"What's that click ?" Melvin's stupid question, He knows exactly what that

sound is. It's a ___________ handgun just like he had first heard on the

streets of his hometown after late night parties. That fool he escaped

from is coming after him with a gun. That fear propels Melvin's body

over the balcony ...lurches onto the patio ... and desperation guides his

hands to the opposite railing ...blind.

When moments later ... Melvin opens his eyes ... he is dangling from the

opposite side of the balcony ....at least the balcony is between him and

the gunman. That gives him a second to get his bearings ... to find the

next segment of his impossible escape .

The downspout won't handle weight ... there are no available handholds.

Melvin jams his chin into his chest and looks down to the balcony below

and the four others below that.

"Poomp.!"

"Splang !" A bullet splits the metal railing.

Then a second bullet whistles ... actually whistles above his head.

Melvin releases his grasp and falls ... falls ... too fast to catch the first


50/51

No time ... must release again ... close your eyes... and fall into oblivion

for a second ... open your eyes in time ...

my anchor babe and the unfairness doctrine

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