MEMORIES

All the President’s Pizzas

Remembrance of election nights past

The woman in the picture was my city editor during the election of Nov. 4, 2014. She’s holding my credit card, because I empowered her with the sacred duty of ordering election-night pizza. It ended up being my last election-night hurrah. She’s still working in a newsroom in another state. (Photo by Michelle Teheux)

I plan to order a pizza tonight, even though I don’t eat pizza anymore, in hopes of repeating the experience Proust got when he bit into that madeleine.

This is a hard time for those of us who used to work in a newsroom and don’t anymore. I was in a newsroom when the Challenger blew up and I was in one on 9/11 and on many other important occasions; it hurts not to be in one tonight.

If you’re reading this, I’m sure you’re one of the people who knows exactly what is at stake.

I remember the old-time election nights

We were an afternoon paper back in the day, so after everyone else went home after writing stories and taking pictures, I’d work alone through the night collecting and processing all the information. In the wee hours of the morning, the rest of the staff would return and we’d put the paper to bed about 11:30 a.m. so the downtown crowd could read it over lunch.

Our main concern was the local races. People would get the results of the national races from TV, but they would need to read our paper to learn about local contests.

When the rumble of the press began, I’d make my way to the pressroom and grab a damp copy…