-----Original Message-----
From: b <rrdd3939@aol.com>
To: yellowfeverlime101@googlegroups.com
Sent: Tue, Apr 26, 2011 2:04 am
Subject: Fwd: TRAVELING REPORTER
From: b <rrdd3939@aol.com>
To: yellowfeverlime101@googlegroups.com
Sent: Tue, Apr 26, 2011 2:04 am
Subject: Fwd: TRAVELING REPORTER
-----Original Message-----
From: b <rrdd3939@aol.com>
To: rrdd3939@aol.com
Sent: Mon, Apr 25, 2011 12:04 pm
Subject: TRAVELING REPORTER
From: b <rrdd3939@aol.com>
To: rrdd3939@aol.com
Sent: Mon, Apr 25, 2011 12:04 pm
Subject: TRAVELING REPORTER
TRAVELING REPORTER
by Richard J. DePersio
(rickcmtsite's sister sites: YouTube: Rickaddsite and groups.
google.com/group/yellowfeverlime101; Flagship site: groups.google.
com/group/rickcosmos-eclectic; EM & PT-type Copyright, U.S.-pending)
(Editor's Note: Citizen Journalist approved: Citizen Storyteller. R.D. composed this
short story on his 21th birthday. Back then, he used 'J' for John in his name as
his middle name. Actually, it was his Catholic Confirmation Name from when he
had still been a Catholic; now, moral traditionalist? He selected John to honor his
father. Shortly thereafter, he dropped 'J' and John because he wondered if it
was technically legal to use a confirmation name for a middle name. He uses 'J'
here in honor of and dedicates story to the late/great John Daniel DePersio.
Now for something different from R.J.D.).
Sam Nelson; people call him Sniff. He earned this nickname from his peers because of
his uncanny ability to sniff out the news. News: that is something that he didn't write about
for weeks. The publisher told the editor, "He lost his sense of smell - he is through!" The
editor is not only Sniff's boss, but a close friend - few were friends of this moody
character; he felt that his friend and drinking buddy deserved one more chance - on top of
the other recent one more chances.
"So that's the story - either you come up with a story by the end of the week or your
career will be at an end," said Jim, the editor, who had an interesting way of putting thoughts
into phrases.
"I've been working on one," he retorted.
"Yes, that is what you have been saying for weeks. The publisher just won't buy that
story any longer," he then momentarily paused. "He is the one who pays the salaries - if
you don't produce, you don't get paid; it's as simple as that. Maverick kept saying "I'm
working on it" and he was; you can't feed yourself on an empty: 'I've been working on it.'"
"Your coming over loud and clear," was the reply. Sniff then reached into his jacket;
his hand emerged with a tin bottle for Sniff was a journalist of the old school, of bygone
days. "Want a sip," he inquired.
"Now listen: I want to be able to read what you write," the editor stated forcefully.
"Remember: I said, one week!"
Sniff returned the cheap whiskey to his pocket. "What kind of a story do you want?"
"A good one - a story that is entertaining and unusual," ordered the editor.
Sniff mused over his instructions; he came up with nothing! Funny how age and drink slowly
rob a guy of his ability to think. On Tuesday, he drank; on Wednesday, he drank; on
Thursday, he drank. On Friday, he decided: after this hangover, I will get to work. He
came to the conclusion that he would start off with a man-on-the-street type of thing.
Yes, he would interview people on the street; hopefully, he would come up with enough
material for a story that was entertaining and unusual.
It took him many hours and many cups of coffee to get his rusty brain started.
Success did not come easily. He asked all kinds of questions on a wide range of
subjects, but - nothing. Nothing - until he decided on a good question. Jim does not
mind scientific stories as long as they aren't too deep. He decided to ask men and
women, "Would you, if you had the opportunity, be willing to be the first person to
communicate with an alien - the legal variety from space - and, further, if you did, what
would you talk about?" He asked quiet a few people. Little did he know, he would
soon have a story; one that was entertaining and unusual....
En route from afar was a group of six. They were relaxing aboard their interstellar
craft. One could go from star to star in practically no time thanks to
advances in rocket propulsion. This craft from the stars came with an important
mission. Luckily, they were not to unlike the beings on the planet that they were
visiting. Only the most careful scrutiny would reveal their differences. For a
number of years their race picked up radio transmissions of this race, that had
escaped into space. They often picked up radio waves modulated with primitive
intelligence which they used to gain knowledge of the language and customs.
They landed in an obscure area; so that they would not frighten the
primitives, especially, gays, illegals and muslims (Citizen Journalist: the latter five
words did not appear in original story). Interstellar law forbids "one in any manner,
shape or form to harm either physically or mentally stagnant or developing species."
This will represent the first time an encounter with this species will ensue.
Sniff was walking with his eyes facing the ground, when he looked up, he saw
an individual who looked lost. "Are you busy," Sniff asked.
"I'm just standing here looking lost," was the strange reply.
"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?," said Sniff.
"I have a few questions for you, but, even though I am your guest, I will
relinquish the right to go first," stated he who came from the stars.
Sniff thought: this guy certainly says odd things.
"If you had the opportunity, would you like to talk to someone from space?"
was the first question.
"It's a pleasure," was the reply.
"Sniff stared; unaware that he was being complimented. "If you did - what
would you talk about?," was the second query.
"Well," he responded, "a number of things. I would ask questions about
the language, customs and that sort of thing. I would ask them if they liked
being what they are. Oh, and, of course, I would solicit their feelings on
finding that they are not alone in the universe. That sort of thing."
"You are odd," said Sniff, bluntly, in his usual boldness.
"Don't insult what you don't understand," was the reply.
"What are you," said Sniff, sarcastically.
"Well, I should not tell you, but, no one will believe you, anyway. It
will probably get you committed. But, you want to know. I am from space!'
At this point, Sniff swiftly walked away and hollered, "You're nuts!,"
he said in a very threatening voice. He proceeded to the nearest bar. The
guest quickly proceeded to his starship.
Back in the ship, he explained his misfortune in not getting the story.
"The editor of the 'National Inquirer' will fire you!," said R.J.D. his
crewmate.
Always: Always the perennial search for Truth.
Out there; Out there is a story, the Big Story.
And, there is much competition.
But, if you want the Big Story, you'll get it.
This is not a species that gives up; at least, not
most of its members.
They'll be back; not with that one, but, one of
the other six.
It is Written in the Stars...
(Postscript: Has his writing style changed much since he wrote this?; All
profits www.rickcmtsite.blogspot.com go to charities and not-for-profit orgs; If there
is a God and a Heaven, he is requesting that Bob Hope sing "Thanks for the
Memmories" for Mildred and John).
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Enjoy other material at this site.
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