Don’t stop the presses just because I got married

Last week was the worst week of my life. It all started on

Saturday. I got married.

No, no, no. I know a bunch of you are thinking, “I could have told

you that.” You’re saying it quietly, so your wife doesn’t hear you.

No, the marriage was actually a good thing, but, we’ll get back to

that in a minute.

What made the week bad was the production of the Daily Pilot and

its sister newspapers that I also manage throughout Southern

California.

It all started that same Saturday. Sitting in Las Vegas at the

Mandalay Bay Resort early that morning, my normal thoughts would have

been on the wedding.

Things like, “gosh, I hope I remember my lines,’’ or “don’t forget

the ring,” or “how does my suit look?” or “is my tie tied correctly?”

But, low and behold, I get a call from our new pressroom that our

Glendale papers are experiencing production problems. So instead of

worrying about my suit, the lines, my tie, etc., I’m worrying about

getting the darn newspaper out. Not much I can do from 200 miles away

except hope and pray.

Neither work.

Well, my thoughts were that we have a new state of the art

printing facility and this has to be only a one-time glitch, right?

WRONG!

Fast forward to the wee hours of Thursday morning. The new bride

and I are off in dreamland when the telephone rings at 3:15 a.m. The

wife, unaccustomed to all this commotion so early in the morning,

jumps out of bed. I, however, know what’s coming. It’s Jose Chavez,

from my circulation department. “Mr. Johnson, the Pilot is not going

to make it.”

Jose says he’ll organize a crew and do his best to get the paper

out separate from the Times. He does.

Just to make sure our readers get the paper, we reprint Thursday’s

edition for Friday distribution inside the Times, too.

Thursday night for Friday. It’s just past 3 a.m. and the phone

rings. The bride again sits up startled. I pick up the phone and

listen.

“Not again!” I replied.

No crew can be mustered this morning and the papers sit on the

docks waiting for a “late” Saturday delivery.

I toss and turn for the next several hours in bed.

At 7 a.m., the alarm goes off. The bride rolls over, smiles and

says, “good morning.” I fake through a “good morning” back.

Her next line almost annuls the marriage. “Is it common for a

newspaper to not go out on the date it’s suppose to?”

I shower, dress and leave.

I go into the office. Our receptionist, Nancy Hopper, glares at me

as I make my first morning rounds through the building. Nancy’s the

one who has to take all of the complaint calls.

Well, Friday ends and I’m off to celebrate my one-week

anniversary. Not exactly with the wife, but with some buddies in the

desert playing golf and shooting dove. I know what the women are

saying. You shouldn’t be out doing that one week into your marriage.

C’mon now, this marriage stuff is tough.

So here I am sleeping in the desert, miles from newspaper land.

Yet, shortly after 3 a.m. the telephone finds me. It has happened for

a third time. Not a good thing, when my shotgun awaits only feet

away.

Jose again promises to rally a crew and get the papers delivered.

As the morning goes on we combine some hunting with breakfast and

calls to the printing plant management. I think I make my point to

them.

Monday and Tuesday are proof in the pudding. The Pilot arrives

like it’s supposed to.

The week from hell is over. Hopefully, it’s back to business as

usual.

I apologize to all of our readers and advertisers. We’ll

definitely get this behind us.

Oh, and by the way, the new bride is Vicki. She arrives here at

our new house in Newport Beach from Henderson, Nev. In tow is a 16

year-old daughter, Victoria.

On to week two of the marriage.

TOM JOHNSON is the publisher. He can be reached at 949-642-4321.