Christmas In The Newsroom

NRO: Just Another Dysfunctional Family Gathering

(National Review Online) 

This past Thanksgiving was one of the finest newsroom spreads I've seen, even if the attempt at carving the turkey looked more like the Unabomber blew it up. But out of all the food-friendly holidays, Christmas is always special. The staff level is a bit lower than on other holidays, which will have to do if a big story breaks because everybody else is out of town. Someone either cooks the ham or turkey at home, or pre-cooked meat is bought in advance. Everyone brings steaming side dishes, fluffy pies, or bottles of sparkling cider — yet one year I recall a bottle of something stiffer being discovered in a staffer's desk. The "dinner table" is prepared with the "tablecloth" — newspapers spread over the conference room table. Dishes are lined up in progressive order, with paper plates at the beginning and desserts at the end of the table. Sports guys randomly throw bags of Ruffles into the mix.

And, for a profession that relies heavily on takeout and vending machines for sustenance, the holiday dishes are surprisingly tasty. But not always.

One year, at one of the many papers at which I've worked and spent holidays, I stood at a microwave in the break room, heating up the bad-for-you-but-taste-so-good mashed potatoes that I'd packed in GladWare, when an editor from the sports department pulled open the door on the neighboring microwave to check on his sweet potatoes with marshmallow topping. He'd just come from the newsroom with an announcement: Someone was making gravy on their desk.

I paused mid-stir to digest the indigestible news. The editor reached over and swiped a finger-full of potatoes off my spoon.

I went back into the newsroom. Sure enough, one journalist had a pot of gravy on a heating plate next to the dictionary and AP stylebook, adding ingredients and stirring, then turning back to the computer to read a few lines and type a few words, then reaching back to give the bubbling pot another stir.

And though editorial bloodlust correctly indicates that most journalists are carnivores, newsroom holidays are sometimes marred by an ornery vegan. I remember a reporter marching up to the holiday table one Christmas, her face writhing in disgust at the sight of colleagues ripping into the turkey carcass.

"Where's the Tofurky?" she squealed. She was ignored. "Is there any broth in these?" she hollered, pointing at the mashed potatoes. "Is there any broth here?" she continued, wildly gesturing at the stuffing. "Can't I eat anything?!?" Usually, the biggest drawback of the newsroom Christmas potluck is that a journalist can't lie on the couch and bloat after dinner; this particular Christmas, though we were just disappointed we couldn't force-feed giblets to our vegan colleague.

The journalist's Christmas is about more than free food or getting comprehensive holiday light tours on police ride-alongs. It's about knowing there are others just as insane as you who can find happiness in an industry that never pauses for the holidays. In an industry with such high turnover, your dysfunctional news family gets scattered far and wide. But the unforgettable memories of Christmases shared together never fade — especially if they're enshrined in print.


Bridget Johnson will spend Christmas at the Los Angeles Daily News, where she is a columnist. She blogs at GOP Vixen.