Chapter 32
The Uproar!
On Thursday of that week, I printed father’s editorial (under my byline, of course), and at his suggestion, I sent copies to all news outlets in the state of Kansas. The uproar was greater than anything we expected.
The following Monday, our phone lines rang constantly. Subscribers called with great enthusiasm to renew their subscriptions, or to buy subscriptions for their children who had grown and moved out of state. We also received more postal mail than we had in the past year, many writing to express their support with renewed subscriptions and calls for more hard-hitting editorials. Then, our email inbox exploded with much of the same. Local businesses and advertisers stopped in the office to buy more ad space from Mabs, or to extend their yearly ad buy. Our little office resembled the scene from the Christmas movie, It’s A Wonderful Life, when the townspeople rallied with donations to replace the missing money from George Bailey’s building and loan. Smiles grew contagious across the faces of Standard’s citizens.
By Wednesday of that week, the news media had awaken to a story they couldn’t avoid. How could any newspaper or TV station ignore the delicious headlines of a town’s missing sheriff, and a spate of unsolved or suspicious murders. The media arrived in hordes. TV satellite trucks parked on the lawn of city hall, along with other vans and vehicles. The once serene park around our government center took on the appearance of a summer campground. Except these tourists had an agenda. They weren’t seeking rest and relaxation. They wanted the truth, or blood, or maybe a little of both. After all, blood sells more news than truth.
I was interviewed non-stop for a couple of days and asked to shed more light on the happenings in Standard. Needless to say, I had quickly become Public Enemy #1 in the eyes of city hall and the sheriff’s office. Then a rumor surfaced about our “town fool,” a man who was once the town’s respected newspaper publisher. The media conjecture was that father had lost his mental faculties when his wife died mysteriously. All the reporters wanted to interview father. And the hunt was on to find him. Fortunately, with Mabs’s ingenuity, we kept him hidden at either my house, at Mabs’s place, or through the kindness of Doctor Tom Cavendish, who sported father away in the bed of his truck and the safety of his home on the outskirts of town.
But Alexander Federov, CEO of Grain/Ag, did not share in the frivolity and new-found courage of Standard, Kansas to right our listing ship of state. No, Federov was mad as a racoon with rabies.
By the end of that week, on a Friday morning, when clouds threatened to gather into an afternoon storm, Federov stormed into my office with a slick Chicago attorney. They demanded a retraction and an apology, or else. “Or else, what?” I asked.
“Or else, I will sue this newspaper and burn it to the ground for defamation,.” Federov said.
“Burn it to the ground? That sounds like a serious threat, Mr. Federov. Should I call the KBI?” I looked past their shoulders. Reporters and TV cameras were stacked up outside our office, sensing blood in the water.
His shark suited attorney with slicked back salt-and-pepper hair, stepped forward and handed me his card. “Miss Eggers. Pleased to meet you. I’m Anthony Colosimo, attorney-at-law. I represent the interests of Grain/Ag.” His smile was disingenuous and his cologne reminded me of wood floor cleaner.
Federov pointed a finger at my chest, “You better listen to him, Miss Eggers. Anthony’s had more brains for breakfast than you will have in a lifetime.”
The lawyer pushed Federov’s finger down. “Easy. Alex. I’ll take it from here. Miss Eggers, there’s no need to get our hackles up over a minor dispute. We believe you and your newspaper have published false information about Grain/Ag and have done so with malice knowing your information was false, and that you acted with reckless discard for the truth when you published said stories and editorials. All we ask is for you to retract your previous statements, admit the error, and apologize in print. A simple request.”
The threat of being sued, I had to admit, made me nervous. I was pretty sure we were on solid ground, but I needed to respond with more confidence and relied on my scant knowledge of The First Amendment. I only hoped I could back it up. “Mr. Colosimo, as you well know, The First Amendment protects statements of pure opinion and cannot be legally defamatory.”
Federov leaped on my comment. “Fuck your First Amendment. Apologize or I’ll put you out of business. I will own you, Miss Eggers.”
“I think our meeting is over, gentlemen.”
Colosimo tried to shake my hand, but I refused. “Think it over, Miss Eggers. You have twenty-four hours. Tick-tock.”
I escorted them to the door. Reporters began shouting questions at me and at Federov. But Federov and his Chicago shark raised their hands in protest and said, “No comment.” They rushed off to a chauffeured Lincoln Continental parked nearby. I remained at the door and said, “I’d like to make a comment.” Reporters stood ready with notepads in hand, and camera men poked microphones in my direction.
I laid it on thick. “The CEO of Grain/Ag, Alexander Federov, and his hired attorney from Chicago, just threatened our newspaper with a lawsuit claiming defamation toward Grain/Ag. I told them in no uncertain terms we stand by our reporting and editorials, all based in fact, supported by trusted sources, and our neutral reporting of newsworthy and timely information. We will not back down and are prepared to protect our First Amendment rights. The Standard Weekly Standard is the reporting record of this town and county and our citizens have the right to read the truth. That’s all I can say at this time. I’m happy to share more when I can.” I closed the door.
Before the day was over, news out of Standard, Kansas had spread beyond the state. I fielded calls from The New York Times, Associated Press, ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox. In the blink of an eye, we were on the national map.
Late that afternoon, Mabs rushed into my office. “Uh, oh. Here she comes.”
I looked out our large window and down main street. Aunt George, the mayor I had called “feckless” in my editorial, careened our way on unsteady heels. The sky behind her at the far end of main street had grown an eery dark green. The wind had died down, as if the proverbial calm before the storm surrounded us. Aunt George’s red Versace dress made her standout against the brewing storm like a red apple in a green apple orchard.
“She looks like she’s loaded for bear,” Mabs said.
“Better put on some fresh coffee, Mabs. I’m going to need a jolt of lightning to survive the storm headed our way.”
loving this! So exciting!
Can't wait to see what happens next!