Rachel Grundl

Dr. Miles/Creative Writing

3 May 2013
Shoot the Breeze
Bob Sherman with his blue, blue eyes was born on March 2, 1927. At this
moment I find Bob relaxing at a small round table beside the window. At least it
appeared to be small, as it was overflowing with newspapers that his friendly hands were
resting on. A pencil rests in his almost smiling hands as I was seated for our interview.
His fingers especially, caught my attention, as they remained the same throughout the
interviews. Throughout the interviews his wrinkled fingers never strayed, only slowly
traced, or thumped down on the stack of papers. Turning the pencil gently in his fingers,
it was obvious Bob was still well set in his, photographic, newsman, and editorialist
career. He has many memories to share, and honestly cannot think of a favorite because
they all are his favorite.
Its these same memories that he readily talks about; as that is what he did his
whole career. Its only natural. He does it with such perfection, makes it easy. And once
he starts, I recommend getting comfortable as he has a lot to tell. I didnt want to miss
any of it. However, on our first visit it took a moment for him to begin as his hearing
aide was acting up. Nothing to be worried about though, as his wife, Essie, the
sarcastically sweet gourmet cook would repeat anything asked with a roll of her eyes
and sweet smile within an acceptable volume. Almost chiding. This gourmet cook is
actually a psych nurse who Bob says is the, most appropriate person to take care of him,
and according to Essie its helped out along the way. Bob simply says, One nut taking

care of another nut. By this time though I had heard the high pitch beeeeep of his hearing
aide. He did as well, his hands straying away from the newspapers, and clapping together
saying, Are we on? We are! He laughed as his timeless blue eyes lit up even more,
spouting his famous phrase of, Lets shoot the breeze.
Thats what Bob did most of his life. He started his long loved newspaper career
as an office boy for the Post in 1941. He left Boston University in 1942, becoming a
reporter in 1947 working out in life among the people. No regrets. None at all, he just
really loved, loved every second of being a newspaperman. So much so that he cant
decide which memory is his favorite. There are too many to choose from. It could be
about any of the award winning magazines he created and ran himself, his editorial
career, his photography of the Boston Bruins games for his Hockey Times, being at both
Stanley cups the Bruins won in 1970 and 1972, being in a number of magazines and even
about the dairy farmers he used to have dinner with as he worked as a reporter for the
United Farmers of New England. Thats just to name a few.
But I was more interested in what he thought of todays journalism.
Journalism? He laughed. What is that? If you were to come into the office and call
anyone a journalist you would have been laughed out of the buildingjournalism. He
laughed again wiping his eyes behind his gold wire rim glasses. What used to be
journalism has been important in Bobs life, its been important in everyones life. Its
how we get the news. How we learn what is important to each of us, its from people like
Bob that give us our ability to form strongly held opinions.
Today we have too many causes and not enough initiative. Thats what makes
our age different. We lack initiative. That same initiative made Bobs generation so

successful. They were able to survive the Depression, Bob said, he was luckier than most
who went through the Depression as he didnt even feel the effects although he could see
it on others faces. Its those same faces that our generation ignores so easily today, until
an example is made of them, an extreme example. Every time. I figure everything
becomes extreme to make news; nowadays, extreme and depressing is new to so called
journalism. I already know our so-called journalism is not what Bob considered
journalism. He was a newsman, a newspaperman. He got the hard facts. The straight
stories. He delivered no bias at all. His generation was lucky, nowadays all we hear is
bias and we dont have any newsmen or newspapermen anymore, not like Bob. Its sad.
Our news differs in other ways as well; were not only just lazy and biased.
Nope. We dont report many positives whereas in Bobs age the newsmen, the
newspapermen wrote about anything. It was more leveled and equal. Ours is now so
biased that we cant even form our own opinions. We need what his age had, how they
wrote, how they reported and the reasons. Reason, logic, and intelligence is something
Bob obviously has experience in, and not a lot of journalists have anymore. It was
playing behind his gold wired glasses, underneath a layer of humor, and let out in the
most pleasant memorable laugh.
The laugh escalated into an almost raspy guffaw when I asked if he could choose
a favorite memory. His blue, blue eyes lit up, Newspapermen, that was his answer.
Newspapermen. Thats it. I didnt understand how a person or group of people could be
your favorite memory instead of an experience so when I asked Why newspapermen?
his response was with a shrug and a smirk, simply Its a happy job to have. But I
wanted more, and he saw that and began chuckle again, his blue eyes squinting with a

smile, You kidding? Someone said to me that, you must meet the most interesting
people, and I said yes theyre all newspapermen because there are loads of characters at
newspapers. Christ almighty. He was shaking his head with a smile as he continued,
his fingers tapping a number two pencil faster and faster, Booze flowed like Niagara
falls in the newspaper game. He continued on to tell me how the photographers mostly
came in to gather theyre assignments. But by around 1:30 in the afternoon theyre
across the street at the pub drinking booze, eating salami and cheeses before they went
out on their assignments. Newspapermen are my favorite people in all the world theyre
all just great, I loved them all and they all loved me. Theres nothing like it.
Which is true, there is nothing like being a newspaperman today. Bob seems to
have been the last, as he doesnt think hes ever met another newspaperman, a modern
newspaperman anyway. Only these so called journalists that write the news as opinion
pieces. Somebody ought to notice that, the editor, the copy editor, somebody ought to
notice that and change it but they dont. I agreed with Bob as my attention turned to the
newspapers overflowing the small round table. It made sense now; those stacks of
todays already publish papers that he still edits avidly.
Being the closest to what was once considered straight news, Bob considers the
Boston Globe and the Times to be his favorite. However, he also finds himself correcting
and collecting the Bangor Daily News, Ellsworth American Weekly, and the Portland
Telegram, which according to Essie, he can do altogether in about fifteen minutes. Bob
agrees saying that its expected of a retired newspapermen. Hes doing what those
editors, those copy editors should be doing, catching the opinion pieces and correcting
the laziness. Its ordinary, he tells me, But most people just say wow! he

continues as his fingers scan like his blue, blue eyes over the hidden mistakes. I agree
with most people as I looked over the papers that not too many people read anymore.
There is no more straight news, especially not on the television, so Bob doesnt have a
favorite type of journalism. The idea of such makes him laugh, as journalism doesnt
exist anymore. Straight news is what he loves, and is what we need. However, when he
turns to the news, channel five or six he finds that the only thing worth watching is the
weather report, its the most straight forward, as true as the guy can get it. The news,
though, the news sucks.