That first summer

I remember well that first summer I launched by journalism career. I was 17 and counting the days until graduation. When the dismissal bell rang on a sunny afternoon in mid-May of 1947, I left Central High School to keep an appointment I had set up with the managing editor of the Southeast Missourian. My goal was to land a summer job in a newsroom.

My credentials besides determination included top grades in English classes, enviable typing skills and a half-dozen or so articles I had published in the Central Tiger. So, with all the confidence I could gather and a fast-beating heart, I entered Mr. Juel Mosley’s office to explain my desire to be a reporter. This kind gentleman heard me out and asked a few questions but made no promises about a job other than to say, “I may call you in a few weeks.”

Those next two weeks seemed especially long ones. Then, his call came for a follow-up visit. How elated I was to get hired for the summer ­­— a teen job that turned into 16 years with my hometown paper. That first summer was a learn-by-doing experience. Each week a different reporter took a vacation. I would work with the person the week prior to observe and learn his duties; then I would occupy that desk to fill in. From 8 to 4 I answered the phone, took notes of social events, wrote obituaries, typed locals and personals and handled whatever came my way. I gave that old Underwood manual typewriter a real workout.

Several weeks I did proofreading, challenging my English and spelling skills and convincing myself that the dictionary is the writer’s best friend. My years in the newsroom were educational and enjoyable. Actually, this practical, on-the-job training improved my interviewing and writing skills more than the college courses that followed.

The newsroom then was located on the second floor, large windows overlooking Broadway. The linotype machines and composition room was just steps away on the same floor. Teletype machines were being introduced and the operators shared a room with two proofreaders.

I recall dozens of friends who turned out page after page of news and ad copy in those days. A partial roster includes my boss, Mr. Mosley, Aven Kinder, Emmett Kelly, Gladys Lesem, Cecelia “Skeets” Sonderman, Richard Renfrow, Grace Wedekind, Henry Hohler, Jean Girard, Ruben Schade, Alvin Macke, Silas Neal, John Blue, Judith Crow and Melva Rose Lewis.

And then there was Garland D. Fronabarger! Actually, his name popping up in the news several weeks ago prompted me to write this column. His dedication to his career as a reporter and photographer has won him a place in the Missouri Photojournalism Hall of Fame. I agree with Sally Owen, who worked with “One Shot Frony” and recommended him for the award: “There is no better recipient for this honor than Garland Fronabarger.”

With a nose for news and an eye for a great picture, Frony was quite a colorful fellow. We teamed up in the 1950s for dozens of photo features. One of my beats was the Saturday youth page. The youngsters in a photo lineup didn’t always know how to take him — his gruff voice giving orders: “Stand up straight, young man. Get those shoulders up!” Or, “You there in the top row, tuck your shirt in. We’re making a picture here.”

Yes, he was a man in a hurry. No fooling around. Most of the time he would take a single pose, earning him the nickname “One Shot Frony.”

One particular assignment stands out ­— an April day in 1952 when we visited the Beard triplets on their first birthday. Frony captured a great show of Gloria Mae, Gladys Fay and Gilbert Ray in their farm home at Scopus. The trio made the front page the previous year with their arrival at Southeast Missouri Hospital, the first set of triplets born there in its 24-year history.

Tagging along with Mr. Fronabarger on multiple assignments, including the SEMO District Fair each September, were special days in my earliest journalism experiences.