I recently received two pieces of news almost simultaneously that left me suffering from something I can only describe as emotional paralysis.
Around noon on Monday, I received an email from our managing editor, Josh Lurie, letting me know that former Eatonton Messenger editor Ron Bridgeman had passed away. I didn’t even know he was ill.
A little bit later, I got a text telling me that Collins Elizabeth Jaynes — my new great-niece — had been born at 1:06 p.m.
One journey ends; another begins.
C’est la vie, I reckon. History will record that Ron Bridgeman hired me as the Regional Sports Editor of the Lake Oconee News and The Eatonton Messenger almost 12 years ago after two relatively informal interviews at Madison restaurants.
I was reluctant to join the staff of another newspaper because I was miserable the last time out.
The absolute nadir of the previous job was when management asked me to dig a hole next to a tree in the parking lot so staff could put good-luck charms in it: knick-knacks, jewelry, assorted nonsense.
When sales and subscriptions apparently declined, they asked me to dig up the magic talismans during a ridiculous ceremony overseen by the boss.
Worse yet, I did it with the requisite solemnness of an undertaker.
But when I interviewed with Ron and his staff, I felt like I was being welcomed into a family.
Most good editors are also good teachers, and Ron was no exception. I can remember how he explained the best ways to organize the thousands of photographs I took during my first weeks on the job, and how patient he was when I struggled with page layout, something I had seldom tried.
But it also seemed to come together, no matter how impossible it looked in the hours close to the deadline. As I got more comfortable, I decided to write a column or two since I had written a few for the Monroe County Reporter in the past.
Ron welcomed the columns and ran them in The Messenger and LON. This act alone restored some of my lost confidence, and I began to enjoy newspaper work again.
But I know I tried the man’s patience at times.
I can be a bit sloppy, and Ron attempted to scold me about it like a boss is supposed to.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” he might say. “Your last story had a dozen errors in it. Did you forget how to use a comma?”
And I might say, “What’s a comma?”
And we would both laugh. I could tell he just wasn’t good at scolding.
Ron has the distinction of being the only human being who read the novel I wrote while working as the bag man for that other paper. I still have the manuscript with the edits he made to it. The book wasn’t very good, but he never said it was bad.
He just did what good editors always do: try to help their writers produce better work.
I wrote another novel during the pandemic that I wanted him to read, but sadly, it’s too late for that now. I even used his last name in that one, but Bridge Man is a good literary name. IYKYK.
Ron and his wife, Karen, left the paper in May of 2015, and I ended up as the associate editor of the Lake Oconee News.
Josh and I kept in touch with Ron and his wife for a while. We met up for dinner a couple of times, the last one at the Chop House in Madison, as I recall. After that, the logistics of dinners became increasingly complex, and everyone sort of moved on, as people often do.
According to Ron’s obituary, he died of progressive supranuclear palsy, which was diagnosed two years ago. I wish I had known. It might have inspired me to visit him.
You never have as much time as you think.
I’ll be seeing Collins Elizabeth Jaynes on Thanksgiving, I imagine. She’ll be just 17 days old. I doubt she will remember me when she grows up.
So, let me say something to her now, just in case I never get the chance.
“It was so nice meeting you. Glad to have you along. I so wish it all might have lasted longer.”
Selah.