No. 199: Blonde Ambition: Wilma Smith

Wilma Smith by Tom Wills, May 2013

A venture: Something, such as money or cargo, at hazard in a risky enterprise.

“Delivering a big chunk of art this morning, several miles away, in a parking lot. To a woman with a runny nose.”

 

This is Wilma Smith, who this week ends a 35-year Cleveland television career.

The delivery of her farewell portrait to a Fox 8 staffer was a minor venture.

The first attempt was sidelined by the rescue in May of three girls who had been kidnapped in Cleveland a decade ago.  Reporter Peggy Sinkovich and Fox 8 News are all over that story, and she was working 14-hour days.

 

 

The second attempt was nearly scratched by Peggy's walking pneumonia.

But we met in the parking lot of Welshfield Inn in Troy Township, before 9 a.m. on May 18, and did the deed.

We were very efficient.

She had a fever. 

It couldn’t wait any longer!

I stashed Wilma in the back seat of Peggy’s SUV.

Her retirement bash was in only three days.

It took 12 minutes because we talked a lot, reminiscing about Peggy’s days at The Vindicator newspaper (where I remain),  and catching her up on old friends still there.

Old bosses never retire. They just keep saying goodbye.

Insider’s joke: I now know where the BB holes behind the map came from.

But back to Cleveland and the goodbye bash …

Peggy says Wilma’s for real. A nice person, very helpful, and a hell of a whistler.  A symphonic whistler, in fact.  “She whistles Beethoven.”

Wilma  has won 10 local Emmy awards."For a girl from Garfield Heights, it was a dream come true. But you just don't want to stay at the party too long," she told The Plain Dealer in March. 

http://www.cleveland.com/tv-blog/index.ssf/2013/03/wilma_smith_announces_she_is_retiring_ending_her_35-year_cleveland_broadcast_career.html

She grew up in Garfield Heights, attending Garfield Heights High School and Bowling Green State University. She was an undergraduate double major in speech and English, also earning a master's in broadcast journalism.
 

So she’s beautiful and smart. And married: living in Geauga County with her husband, Tom Gerber. They want to spend more time together, and with family.  Good for them.  Because journalism is not a family-friendly enterprise, and the longer the career the more difficult it gets.

Smith began her Cleveland broadcasting career on July 17, 1977, at WEWS Channel 5. She was the co-host of "Afternoon Exchange" and "Live On 5.” After 17 years at the Cleveland ABC affiliate, she moved to Channel 8 in 1994. From 1995 until 2005, she anchored the 6 and 10 p.m. In 2005, Smith cut back, doing only the 6 p.m. news.

I remember my mother watching Afternoon Exchange when I’d get home from high school. I’m pretty sure that’s when my dad’s Wilma love began, too.

“I was just wondering if you had it done yet,” he asked.

In fact, he called me twice to ask.

This is the first time my dad has asked to come over and see one of my drawings.

He loved it.

Peggy tells me Wilma was moved to tears when she gave it to her.

She didn’t want the picture to get lost in all of the retirement party hoopla, so she gave it to Wilma a day early -- in the TV station’s parking lot.

Somehow, I knew that would happen.

What was going on in that parking lot? The Amish want to know.

No. 201: The Guardian

"The Guardian" by Tom Wills, May 2013

There are a lot of contrasts here.
Hard and soft. Big and small. Rough and smooth. Dark and light.
Beast and babe.
For those reasons and others, I was greatly concerned that a moment such as this would never happen.

Corleone the German Shepherd is three years old and is a locomotive of love, charging through the house and making noise at anything that goes by the door. He's too big, too fast and plays too rough.
Anthony, my grandson, is now six months old.  He's wide-eyed and curious but still helpless -- not quite sitting up, rolling around but not crawling. He eats and sleeps and makes assorted messes in between.

When Anthony arrived last November, Corly was confused.
Perhaps he thought the crying pink thing was some wounded animal.  He would bark incessantly, to the point where he had to go to the basement when the baby came around. Corly would circle, growl, and poke his big snout into the baby.
Extra caution was mandatory.

And then, after about four months, something happened.
Corly realized that Anthony was important to his humans.
He also likely realized the kid isn't going anywhere.
So, his pokes became licks. His barking stopped.  He quit trying to paw the baby.

Sensing that I still loved him as I love that child, Corly began to shadow us.
Where grandpa and grandson are, Corly is.
He became a guardian, making sure everyone is safe and sound.
I have taken dozens of photos of this phenomenon. You will see Corly sprawled out, always about three feet from the baby.

 

The photo that led to this drawing was taken by Kara, my daughter -- Anthony's mother -- on my bed.
I had no idea that the moment was even happening.
This tells me I need not worry anymore. I can trust him when the baby is around.

I do so hope they become fast friends.  I think it's likely.
I'm sure Anthony's first words will be "Momma" or "Daddy."
But Corly and I will be listening for "Doggie."

No. 200: Sweeter Than Cake

"41" by Tom Wills, May 2013

I rolled around inside of my head what No. 200 should be. Another milestone, I wanted it to be especially significant.
First, I thought, a picture of my late mother would be nice.  But I have no decent late-years photos of her, and my brother also couldn't produce one.
So No. 195 became Nos. 196, 7, 8 and 9 and ...
No. 200 was up.

And then, this happened:
http://www.vindy.com/news/2013/may/05/a-labor-of-love-ends-after--great-years/

Dennis Mangan decided to retire after 41 years at The Vindicator, where I have been for nearly 30.  He was the assistant city editor when I came aboard and, like me, cut his teeth as a reporter in Trumbull County. He goes out swinging as editorial page editor.
I learned on the Friday before my vacation that Dennis would be leaving, and went over to shake his hand. "Good luck," I said. "Sorry I'll miss your cake."

On the drive home, I thought, "That was shitty."
People who have left the place after far less commitment have gone out the door with a picture in hand.
So, I drew a Corvette for Dennis, who actually has a 2004, like the picture.
Delivered it, and he hung it -- for three more days -- on his cubicle.
(The license plate reads "41." Damn cool.)

I love cake, mind you. But a slice of life is much sweeter.
Now, No. 200 means something to two people.
Enjoy your retirement, Dennis, and don't check the rear view mirror too often.
Look forward.