The Special Edition by Steve Raap The 91-year-old newspaperman slept in his hammock that was suspended at an angle across his front porch. Newspaper boys shouting “Extra! Extra! Read all about it!” peppered his black and white dreamscape, as headlines screamed “Japs Attack Pearl Harbor” and “Kennedy Assassinated” and “Twin Towers Destroyed.” The news was always bad in Ervin Hamlin’s dreams, but that had always been good for him. Always, that is, until today. For at that moment, in his deepest of slumbers, he was awakened by the blare of fire trucks stopping right in front of his house. In a state of half consciousness, Ervin rolled out of his hammock and on to his hands and knees. Before he could even think about standing up, two burly firefighters were lifting him by the shoulders and escorting him gingerly out of harm’s way, down the front lawn and across the street. “You alright, Mr. Hamlin?” one of the firefighter’s asked with genuine concern. Ervin Hamlin was well known to the city’s protectors in all shades of uniform. For throughout his nearly 70-year career, Ervin had focused his newspaper coverage primarily on the positive aspects of the city’s fire, police, and EMT troops, no matter how dangerous that coverage might have been to himself. “I’m fine, son,” Ervin replied. “Just please try and save my house.” By now, thick smoke was pouring out of each of four broken basement windows. The firefighters had put four hoses into action—each one on full blast and aimed through one of the windows. Ervin shuddered to think what that meant for his collection of newspapers that included every story he ever wrote since he began his newspaper career back in the late 1930’s. So extensive was his collection that the newspapers were piled from floor to ceiling, leaning precariously against each other with only a slight walking path remaining for Ervin to negotiate. Now that collection truly was in jeopardy, as gallons and gallons of water were inflowing from pumper trucks and two nearby hydrants. Ervin could only imagine what his collection would look like once the fire had been extinguished. After what to Ervin seemed like hours of firefighting (but in reality was under 60 minutes), the firemen and women were busy packing up their assorted hoses and gear. Ervin met with Fire Chief Mulrooney on his front porch, to hear the current situation. “Ervin, we’ve nailed plywood over your basement windows,” the chief began. “But there’s a good two feet of standing water down there, and I can’t even say how long your floor drain will take to get rid of that. We caught this fire early enough to limit any structural damage to smoke only. Luckily, your newspapers down there took the brunt of the fire damage.” “Yeah, luckily,” Ervin replied without disguising his sorrow. “Well, anyway,” the chief continued, “I think you can safely remain in your home while you wait for the insurance inspectors to determine the extent of the damage. I just wouldn’t venture downstairs anytime soon. It’s a real mess down there, so there’s just no point in doing so. Most all of your newspaper collection is toast anyway.” “Okay chief, thanks,” Ervin said. He watched as the chief got into his command car. He had always respected this fire chief, the way he and his crew conducted themselves, and the way he made sure he was always the last one to leave an incident. This time was no different. Once the chief left, Ervin went inside. “Not too bad a smoke smell in here,” he thought, sniffing the air. “Nothing I can’t live with if I have to.” He then made a beeline for the basement door. Grabbing his fishing waders off the stairway wall, he slipped them on near the bottom of the stairs. Ervin then ventured forth into now uncharted territory, moving slowly through the floating swamp of newsprint that gave way to his advancing strides and quickly filled in the remaining wake each leg created. At the spot where he remembered the floor drain to be, he bent low to check to make sure its grill was unobstructed. It wasn’t. The next day’s evening newspaper carried the headline: “Legendary news reporter found drowned in basement.” The article went on to say: In a post-fire routine check made by Willowbrook fire chief Jake Mulrooney early today, local retired newspaper reporter Ervin Hamlin was discovered face down in about two feet of water, apparently crushed by a toppled stack of soggy newspapers. Commenting on the bizarre circumstances of the reporter’s death, Chief Murooney said, “I know it’s going to sound strange, but Hamlin always reported the news. Now his newspaper collection helped him make the news. I can’t help but think this is the way he would have wanted to go.”
Posted on: Mon, 09 Sep 2013 02:23:54 +0000
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