![]() But that was perfectly OK with little sister and I - it was more fun to run around the big building raising hell than doing so in the limited confines of home. Some of these stop-ins were designed to “give mom a break,” I would later learn. ![]() It’s true that I was quite young when I first started setting foot in the smoky, noisy grotto that passed for an editorial department, having accompanied Pop as he stopped in off-hours to check the teletypes, finish a story or process a couple sheets or rolls of film so he could print a few photos for the next day’s paper. The kinder respondents may suggest I must have started working here before I could walk, which of course conjures an amusing image of a mini-me strapped in my stroller reaching for the keys of the standard-issue Royal. “So, when do you think … “ or “you must be ready to … “ are typical of the questions I seem to be fielding on a regular basis these days, especially when I answer the inevitable question, “so, how long you been at the Telegraph, anyway?”įor quite awhile now I’ve rather enjoyed being tossed that question, because my response is almost always met with wide eyes, fallen jaws and an involuntary “what?” or “really?” I, meanwhile, continue to bang the keys on my dusty but dependable Dell, which also serves me well as a safe haven for crumbs shed from years worth of sandwiches and Fritos. One of the things Marcia and I do not have in common is our respective tenures: Marcia, according to a story a Daily Dispatch colleague wrote at the time, retired in 2012 after 39 years, seven months and four days. I like to joke that I had to take a cut in pay to join the Telegraph staff: I’d been hauling in $2.28 per hour mowing lawns, raking leaves, shoveling snow and, well, burying people up at Edgewood Cemetery. The “two cents” part? My starting pay - I still recall quite clearly my first boss, the late then-managing editor John Stylianos, scribbling something on a piece of paper and holding it up for me to read – was $2.00 per hour. 29, 1972 happened to be a Friday, and while Marcia was no doubt filling out paperwork, meeting co-workers and learning where the restrooms were, I was doing the same (although I did know where the restrooms were and already knew my co-workers) over at 60 Main St., the then-home of our predecessor in name, The Nashua Telegraph. 29, 1972 (that’s two common threads) and her starting pay was $1.98 per hour (that’s two cents shy of three common threads). ![]() It turns out, I discovered by chance, that we have at least a couple of things in common.įor instance, Marcia, who became a career newspaper person (that’s one common thread), began that newspaper career at the Oneida Daily Dispatch on Sept. ![]()
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