Readers and writers blog

Back in May, nearing the first anniversary of his death, I wrote a post about former newspaper colleague Rob Borsellino and the power of his words. The post included a snippet from a Christmas column he wrote for the Des Moines Register that later was reprinted in his book, So I’m talkin’ to this guy¹.

Now nearing the holiday season, I offer a larger excerpt from that column, all in the spirit of Christmas:

No Pulitzer, but a new way of
looking at Christmas season

By Rob Borsellino

Dec. 24, 1998

This one’s for those folks out there who just want to pull the covers over their heads and pray for Christmas to go away. I can relate. I felt that way all through my teens and well into my 20s. Then I met an interesting kid and he helped turn me around.

It happened in the late ’70s at the Kingston Daily Freeman — my first newspaper job. Kingston is in New York’s Hudson Valley, about 90 miles north of Manhattan, and the 20-person newsroom was an odd collection of misfits, alcoholics, aging journalists and reckless young bucks looking to make a name for themselves.

(This was) the post-Watergate era, when every reporter was certain a Pulitzer Prize was behind every closed door in every City Hall in the country. The Freeman staff was infected with that disease. In a three-year period, the paper’s constant hounding drove the mayor, the sheriff and the chairman of the county legislature into retirement.

The editor decided we needed something to show the community we had a heart. So she started a Christmas fund. She went to the county welfare office and got the names of families in need who would be willing to have their hard-luck stories plastered on the front page — with photos. Then each of the paper’s reporters was expected to knock out one of these tear-jerkers every week between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, making sure there was one in the paper every day.

And like everything else at the Freeman, this became a competitive exercise among the staff. We’d try our damnedest to write the saddest, most heart-rending story. After work, we’d have a few beers and a few laughs and argue over who had written the most maudlin piece. Late in the season, I was sure I’d locked up first place. I interviewed a father and son living in a shelter and they only had one coat between them.

My story ran under a 6-column banner headline — ‘Father and Son Share Overcoat.’ The outpouring from the community was exceptional. So was the response from my colleagues, most of it punctuated with that sick newsroom humor: ‘Hey, Pop, can I borrow the coat tonight? I’ve got a hot date.’

I was about to claim victory when, a few days before Christmas, a reporter named Rick Remsnyder came into the newsroom with a tale to tell. We gathered around his desk and Remsnyder — a quiet guy who last I heard was writing for Golf Digest — seemed shaken.

He’d just come from the home of an elderly couple who lived in a two-story walk-up on the seedy side of town. And they were raising their 8-year-old grandson, a kid who I believe was named Ricky.

The only sign of Christmas in the apartment was an anemic plastic tree that they’d found on the street, dragged home and propped up in a corner. The only sign that a child lived there was some overused toys strewn about the living room floor. They were the kind of toys they give out at the fast-food places when you buy kid meals.

The couple didn’t have much to say, but Ricky did. He said he’d have a happy Christmas if his grandma could get a robe and if Grandpa could have warm slippers.

‘What about you?’ Remsnyder asked.

The kid said he didn’t need anything. But he was going to wrap up his old toys and put them under the tree so he’d have something to open on Christmas morning.

We stood around Remsnyder’s desk and tried not to let each other see the tears.

The story ran, and the community response was just what you’d expect. For weeks after Christmas, folks were sending gifts and money.

There was other fallout. That was the last time we handled the Christmas Fund as an exercise for our amusement. And closer to home, not a Christmas goes by when I don’t think about that kid.

Some column, huh?

I’m sure what Rob’s wife, fellow Des Moines Register columnist Rekha Basu, and their two sons would like for Christmas is to have Rob back. But since they’ve had to face the sad impossibility of that, I think they might feel better to know that his words have encouraged someone to help the less fortunate. Of any color, ethnic background, religion or no religion.

Maybe the someone is us.

– Sid Leavitt

NOTES:

1. © Copyright 2005 The Des Moines Register. Hardcover edition $24.95 plus shipping (about $6), available from the Rob Borsellino Book Fund, The Des Moines Register, 715 Locust St., Des Moines IA 50309. Telephone: (800) 247-5346. Visit the newspaper online at http://desmoinesregister.com/.

2. Bottom photo: Rob, wife Rekha and their sons, Romen, at left, and Raj.

3. Again, in the spirit of the season, you may be interested to read a piece Rob wrote for USA Today just last year about Jesus.