The Storm

by calling me “Zach” and sometimes “Kid”, or when he’s in a real good mood, “Son . ”

The place was always buzzing with phones ringing and typists clicking away and the sounds of phone conversations, mixed with the muffled roar of the two huge, roll - fed presses in the printing room next door. It was a symphony of sorts, and we all got used to it. It was necessary to get used to it! I recall that I was called on an assignment that launched my recognition within the office. I was sent to Somalia to report on the children warriors that were stolen from their families to fight in the war. When I interviewed the veteran children, I asked them about the noise and the fog of war. I specifically asked how they dealt with the gunfire, to which, almost to the child, they responded, “It's like music to our ears!” And that's the way the press room was to me with all of its hustle and bustle, “music to my ears.” Arriving this morning was no different. Walking through the door to the noise of business, Jeff, the assistant editor, leaned out of his cubicle to say, “The boss wants to see you, Zachary.” “Wow, what did I do now? ” I thought. “Don’t look so worried man, it’s just an assignment." Jeff had caught my worried look and immediately put me at ease. Lately, I had hit a dry spell and I wasn’t looking forward to a pep talk or a pink slip. Mr Fessmyer pushed open the frosted glass door to his office and hollered out, “Zach. front and center, Son. I’ve got an assignment for you.” His voice carried over the drone of the office buzz loud enough for everyone to hear. As I stepped into

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