by Marc Philips
In the annex to the Editor-in-Chief’s mother’s home sit the headquarters of The Hermann Link, the weekly newspaper for Hermann, Missouri; the state’s capital of sausage production.
In these offices lies Norm Glenwald, the greatest journalist that never was.
“I’m a champion of the industry-A journalist at its finest form — the fourth estate, the people’s protector,” says Glenwald. “Well, at least I was.”
No one dares go within four feet of Glenwald’s cubicle as they know he’ll spin around in that leather chair he claims he got from his good friend, I.F. Stone, pull the notepad from his fedora, light his cigar, and go on and on about his journalistic prowess’s in his past life.
“I’m playing it low key now for a reason. After a lifetime of reporting from crime sites, battle zones and natural disasters, I’m a tired man. There’s only so much time you can spend in the jungles of ‘Nam fraternizing with the Viet-Cong,” says Norm, choking on his cigar as he explains his former self. “I think I might have died right there in that jungle, or I might have been shot by rebels in the Sudan. No … no I think I was blown to bits in the Gulf War by a suicide bomber. Yeah, yeah that’s definitely it. My right arm just blew off. It’s always been a little sorer than the left.”
Glenwald’s coworkers have reported that they are about ready to kill him so he can move onto his next life and out of theirs.
“He got that chair at a garage sale! I know. I was there,” says copy editor Sam Williams. “It was my garage sale!”
As if working for The Hermann Link wasn’t embarrassing enough for just about everyone involved, it gets even worse for whoever happens to get stuck on assignment with Glenwald.
“Different stories, same execution. That’s my motto,” states Glenwald. According to him, it means he’s gone above and beyond to get his stories. Ask anyone else though and they’ll say he really goes above and beyond to make everyone around him cringe in shame.
Hermann North v. Hermann South. Girls´ high school softball: playoffs. Linda Ronson the camerawoman, also known as the art major broke enough to take that job, sighs as Glenwald jumps into the nearest bush behind right field.
“He’s doing it again,” she says. “You should have seen him last week. He dug through Stacy Gleason’s trashcan, the backup catcher. He found two old notebooks, a broken Tomagachi, some silly bands and he called it a conspiracy.¨
Editor-in-Chief Kurt Lawson had few comments when asked about Norm.
¨He’s just lucky that in this life he’s my wife’s nephew, and as long as he works here, I’ll keep getting laid. He’ll have a job for a long as I have a libido, which, if my past life as Casanova says anything, will be for a while.”
Merdina Ljekperic is a junior journalism and politics major who thinks we will all decompose into fertilizer. Email her at mljekpe1[at]ithaca.edu