The Houston Post — a postscript

I don't remember the occasion, but here's a big group of some of the best people I ever worked with, standing around the Universal Desk in The Houston Post newsroom. That's me in the tan slacks, and standing next to me -- the only guy professional enough to be wearing a tie -- is the Bertmeister, Bert Walter.
I don’t remember the occasion, but here’s a big group of some of the best people I ever worked with, standing around the Universal Desk in The Houston Post newsroom. That’s me in the tan slacks, and standing next to me — the only guy professional enough to be wearing a tie — is the Bertmeister, Bert Walter.

When I started writing this blog, I told myself I wouldn’t write anything over the weekend. But maybe just this once since the timing seems right, and anyway, it’s brief and practically writes itself.

Most mornings I arise very early — around 4 a.m. — and understandably I’m a little foggy until having that first cuppa.

That’s the way it was the morning after I wrote my previous entry about The Houston Post and former colleague Bert “Bertmeister” Walter.

I had just stumbled into the living room where I keep my laptop and was surprised to see some blog comments. This blog is a new venture, and it’s rare to get any comments at all. But to receive some from people other than indulging relatives was a new experience.

One rather surprising comment was from someone named Adrian. I couldn’t remember knowing any Adrians.

After burning my lips on a hastily brewed cup of coffee, I realized I could track the comment through its associated e-mail address, and only then did it dawn on me that Adrian is the Bertmeister’s son.

There seemed to be a bit of confusion at first on his end, too, but after exchanging e-mails, I realized that he had loved my post about his father. He wanted me to share the following with the people who worked with his dad:

Glenn!

I remember you — we met once when I was copy messenger for like, a week.  Amazingness happened in that newsroom.  I was there for the “stop the presses” issued the night Greta Garbo died and you guys chose to run her notice and photo on page 1.

What happened to all the hard-copy photos in the media library?  I still tell people about the pneumatic tubes down to engraving.  Thank you so much for your kind words and fond memories.  I was sweetly blindsided by the flood of emotion — all positive.

It is always so much more of an impact when you hear about someone you loved from someone you don’t know well — but you know they still made such a difference in the lives of others.

Thank you and everyone you may be able to stay in touch with — I would love for you to forward this correspondence to any other interested parties in the Bertmeister’s circle.  I would love to thank them and remind them they and my dad truly have passed something really good forward.

Thank you again, Glenn.

I saw some photos of Adrian, but won’t share them here since I don’t have permission, but he looks a lot like his dad. It was good to see.

Writing that blog entry about The Houston Post made me a little sad, but the responses from all of you — especially Adrian’s — make me feel good. I want to thank Pat McClure (front row, second from the right in the photo above) for making the effort to find Andrian and send him the link to my blog.

For those of us fortunate enough to have worked at The Houston Post, we done good, all of us.

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  1. I can name most, but not all, of those people. One face I don’t see is mine. Really curious about the reason for the photo — not that we needed much of a reason to stop working.

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    • Eckdahl answered that over on Facebook. It was when he was departing for his old haunts in Californy, and I guess he’d given some sort of farewell address. Maybe we had cake. As for where you were, Bill, I’m not sure, but if I had to hazard a guess I’d say you were probably riding the porcelain.

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  2. I can’t believe I’d have missed that. Maybe we were on vacation or something.

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