Thunderstorms have caused me to abandon Plan A for today, which was to dead-head the hydrangeas and pull up the limp, brown reeds of last year’s irises. Instead, I have begun Plan B, which is to unpack the boxes holding my publishing memories. This one has a very, very sad aspect, and I was on the fence about writing about it. But I just got a LinkedIn request from a long-ago Rand McNally colleague, which of course, is a sign.
In 1980, I got an interview with Rand McNally because my grandfather had been the boyhood dentist of the Vice President of Personnel, Donald Helm. And my college work-study job was to relieve Mrs. Ruby Helm of her switchboard duties every day at lunchtime, at 3:00 on Wednesdays for her standing hair appointment, and at 4:30 every evening so she could go home. Mrs. Helm, of course, was Donald’s mother. So not only did Donald’s mother tell him to hire me, so did his dentist.
Mr. Helm could only interview me and recommend me, but without an available position, he couldn’t actually hire me. So we met and talked, and I crossed my fingers that a spot in editorial would come available. And I went to work as the receptionist at Mitsubishi International Corporation. And that is a story for another day.
A terrible thing happened in May 1979. And because of it, I was eventually offered a job as Editorial Secretary in Trade Books at Rand McNally. On May 25, 1979, American Airlines flight 191 to Los Angeles had just taken off from O’Hare, when it lost an engine and crashed on the runway. All passengers and crew members were killed.
The American Booksellers Association (ABA) was in LA that coming weekend, and on the plane were more than a few publishing people. Rand McNally executive Don Eldridge missed his flight because of traffic. But Managing Editor, Steve Sutton, Trade Books, was on that flight with his wife and children. He was rolling his business trip into a California vacation.
It was a while before Rand McNally could think of finding a new Managing Editor. But eventually, Elliott McCleary took the position, the office, and the desk. Steve’s secretary had left by then, out of sorrow, I was told. So Elliott needed a secretary, and Donald suggested me.
To my interview with Elliott in the spring of 1981, I wore a parrot-green linen skirt (knee length), a cheerful yellow polka-dotted cotton blouse, Pappagallo flats, and wore my ponytail tied with a crisp grosgrain ribbon. I carried a Bermuda bag, covered in a complementary pink linen. Monogrammed, of course.
Because I couldn’t type more than 25 words a minute without error, I know Elliott hired me because of my possibilities. And he later chuckled and admitted that he was charmed that I had included Sweetheart of Delta Kappa Epsilon and Spring Carnival Queen on my professional resume, under Awards and Affiliations.
While I was settling myself into my desk as Editorial Secretary, Elliott was doing the same, as Managing Editor. He popped his head out of his office door and held up this old pencil cup. “Want it? I don’t. I’d prefer to start fresh.”
Sure, I took it. I loved (still do) Dagwood and Blondie, Beetle, Henry, and Popeye.
Turns out that this pencil cup was, of course, Steve Sutton’s.
I did not know him, but I promised myself that I’d keep it safe for him, and honor his memory by loving it.
It has been on my desk, every day since. And it is now on my kitchen table, where I am writing my next chapter.
ginnygram 