archbold News item: “Rich Archbold, longtime editor of the Press-Telegram, has been appointed to the new position of Community Liaison Director at the newspaper, new Publisher Linda Lindus has announced.”

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Rich, Rich, Rich—sounds like they’ve given you the traditional Press-Telegram “new-and-improved” title and kicked you downstairs. Well, buddy, I feel bad for that treatment.  I’m not here to write about you as an editor; I’ll leave that to those with their experience.

I’m here to talk about someone who is my friend, since the day I walked into his office for my interview for the newsroom secretary position in April 1979. I worked that job at the P-T from 1979 to 1980, then from 1984 to 1994. I feel like I got the golden years of newspapering, just before the sales crashes, staff decimation and union-busting misery that has followed.

 I wanted that job more than anything. I’d been a newspaper reader since forever, and the Press-Telegram and Independent were the only ones we subscribed to. I felt I knew the writers. I couldn’t wait to actually meet the writers whose bylines I knew, especially George Robeson, the columnist with his sometimes snarky, but always honest, views of what was going on in Long Beach. It was even OK to answer what are now illegal personal interview questions, such as what were my childcare arrangements.  I got the job, and on the first day carted my chicken-pocked child to my mother’s house for emergency care so I wouldn’t have to admit to childcare issues in my first week.

Sitting at that desk in that nook, at the doorway to the newsroom, felt like I was really somebody. I had about three or four phones on my desk and answered all the reporter calls and took their messages. I ran the length of the newsroom a million times a day to the glassed-in “Lou Grant” managing editor’s office.  Rich would come in about 9:30 every morning, and I knew it would be a doozy when he’d say “Gird your loins” as he passed by. 

Those were great times. Learning about what reporters used to be like, hearing their stories of the wild old days, the Jack Daniels in the second drawer, smoking like chimneys and wild adventures chasing (literally) a story.

The morning editors gave me a hazing at first. Later I realized the gruff “Colonel” Shelton (“Are we here to talk to her or put out a newspaper?”) was a kind man who grew the best tomatoes in the world. The obligatory bear hug from rewrite man Stan Leppard was a treat, not politically incorrect.

For the first time in my working career, my boss stood up for me. A reporter-applicant had been rude to me when he came in to wait nearby for his interview.  I told Rich and he evidently blasted the guy, who apologized to me as he left the newsroom (forever).

My personal life blew up beyond belief, and Rich was there to understand when I was too devastated to come in for four days—no questions asked, no pay docked. I had a difficult situation with my daughter, and a couple years later when she was going to return home from being at a school in Fresno, he came over and wall papered her room to cheer her return.

He gave me a life-changing opportunity to write some freelance pieces for the features department—everything from a food page cover, to book reviews, to a “places to dance” cover.  He made me feel I was greater than I gave myself credit for, even once saying “you’re the smartest underachiever I ever met.”

I was his Girl Friday. I zipped him into a Sam the Eagle costume for the 1984 Olympic party, I scooped ice cream at his side for a staff treat, I helped with his Halloween costumes, I sat on my front room floor and made dozens of paper antlers for the traditional newsroom Christmas party at the old Acapulco. And I answered to his nickname, “Wheezie.”  Do to this day.

The ultimate challenge to our relationship came during my last year at the Press-Telegram, when I married the editor who was the union representative. I know it stuck in his throat every time he had to introduce me and say my last name. But he knew this, too, would pass, as did the marriage.

Rich always stayed in touch, never missed sending a birthday card (mostly belated, but always personal), always a Christmas card, and just last week a post card from The Andes, where he was on vacation. 

This is a love note, I know.  But Rich has taken a beating from some people, as has the Press-Telegram, and there needs to be a face put to this man beyond a title.  This is personal view that many people don’t share of this man.

I hope this new change for him will turn out well. He has an upbeat view of life that will make that happen. He is a terrific family man and a truly good person. I’ll always remember my years working for him, even though my friends are sick to death of my endless stories that begin “One time at the paper…..”