My Boss Screamed at Me Tonight

Only problem with the "do whatever it takes to get the paper out now, then hash it out in private tomorrow" approach is, Night Owl got reamed out in a very public, gossip-inspiring way and then -- maybe -- gets an apology behind closed doors where all the witnesses don't see it.

Hate it when players and coaches pull that stuff, ranting at you in front of teammates or other people, then pulling you aside to admit they were wrong. It's like running an arrest story above the fold on Page 1 but the acquittal story in a brief on page 6. Uh uh, need more balance than that.

Also, in this day and age, a female boss needs to tone it down several notches, because if the genders were reversed, the underling could probably make a pretty good case for sexual harassment. Even if the profanity or ad hominems were gender-neutral, the act of yelling might be called into question, with anecdotal evidence gathered about how often guys got yelled at by said editor as opposed to gals, etc.

Unless, of course, Night Owl's bitch frequently yells at males and females alike, an equal opportunity offender.

 

I haven't read entire thread, but just wonderin:

What if the game had gone 15 innings?

Did you have a backup plan to fill the hole?

it's baseball - it aint over until its over. have to anticipate long games, rainouts etc

 

I'm a proponent of criticize in private, praise in public.

If I'm going to rip someone a new asshole, it will be behind closed doors. If I'm going to sing someone's praises, the entire newsroom is going to hear me do it.

 

I don't like being criticized publicly. (Who does?) But I don't like being praised publicly either.

I just want to be left alone to do my job and if I never hear from my boss either way, I'm pretty happy.

 

Here's my other two cents.

For one thing, the biggest screaming match I ever got into was with a woman who was my managing editor, and who I absolutely adored, as a person AND a boss. She kind of went around me on something, I said I should have known about it, it got heated, and yeah, we went in her office, but believe me, that thin-walled, glass-walled thing didn't hold it. Everybody was staring. That deal was over in 5 minutes, and we were laughing together in 20.

But here's the other problem with I have with this whole post/thread. I'm not saying NightOwl wasn't right that it was over the top, but you know what? In deadline newspapering, you don't always have the option of "criticize in private, praise in public." Because you don't have any frickin' time to ask the person to stand up, walk over to an office, politely close the door, have a few courteous words of constructive criticism and then get back to work with deadline in two minutes.

I have certainly had my share of colleagues over the years whose feelings were hurt by raised voices that were nothing more than a function of urgent expediency. And they really needed to understand the message and not worry about the tone.

But I'm afraid today, even that might be frowned upon by some.

Not saying that's your case, NightOwl, I'm just sayin'...

 

I'd rather have someone yell at me in front of everyone than pull me into an office to do so.

 

amen. suck it up, kid. i hate today's environment in news rooms. like an effin' insurance company. clamor and some loud voices help give a news room some juice. not anymore, alas.

gimme the clamor of typewriters and loud voices anytime.

i know. those are bygone days. but can we develop some thicker skin, please? yelling and screaming isn't my way to inspire production -- or to have it inspired in me -- but folks handle deadline in different ways.

SUCK IT THE EFF UP!!!

 

That's a good point, if the "audience" sees what a jerk that yeller is being and winds up sympathizing with you. But if the "audience" is clearly on the side of the yeller (e.g., other players in a clubhouse), then it sucks worse.

 

I snapped during a September Friday prep football night. Writer covered a 41-39 thriller, complete with a late field goal with less than 21 seconds left.

Took it easy on him for his first edition. For his rewrite, he:

1. Didn't get any comments from the kicker.
2. Didn't put the kicker's name in the story.
3. Wrote half his story on the first half.
4. Wrote that the field goal was a "last minute" field goal. Correct, yes, but there's quite a difference in football between 59 seconds and 2 seconds, or in this case, 21 seconds.
5. Failed to mention that the starting QB for the winning team got hurt in the first quarter (found out about this later on an internet message board. Stats from both coaches sent in the next day confirmed it. Our writer denied there was ever a QB change).

After screaming enough F-bombs after getting the first edition out - to a standing ovation from two part-timers - I had two hours to calm down before the writer got back. The SE was out covering a game, so he let me handle the talk that night, but I still couldn't believe that I never raised my voice at the writer when he got back.

But I'm sure he heard of my blow-up. He quit a few weeks later.

 

Fortunately, I can count on one hand how many times I've been in the office on deadline in the past decade, so it hasn't really been an issue.

Back in my preps days, I would see some doozies of yelling matches in the office on deadline.

 

I listened to Bill Dwyre give a talk in L.A. last summer, and he told a story about the run-up to the '84 Olympics. A couple people had called in sick one night, so the Times desk was a little short-staffed (because the rest of the crew was out, you know, doing pre-Olympic stuff). At least, as much as a Times desk could be short-staffed in the mid-1980s.

It just so happened that Otis Chandler was walking through the newsroom on his way out and had stopped to say hi to Dwyre, who got swamped right at that moment (I think a writer had just called in with a breaking story.) Otis dearly loved the Olympics, and even though he was retired at the time, he was always around the office for the Games, says Dwyre. ... Anyway, he asks Chandler to hold on for a second, and goes into his office to talk with the writer. It's late, and the phones are ringing off the hook and there's not enough people to answer them. Typical newsroom.

Dwyre ends his call and goes back over to talk with Chandler ... who is sitting at a typewriter, calmly taking a call and typing in agate(!) from whatever prep or local college result that had just been phoned in. He types it up perfectly, hands it to a desk monkey, says goodbye to Dwyre and walks out.

The astonishment in Dwyre's voice, two decades later, was probably the same look he had on his face when he realized what Chandler had done.

I never met Otis Chandler, but I think I would have loved to work for him.