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I've talked and also written about them for years and if you think I'm spoofing, you're mistaken. Remember, I am a believer. But there are angels in this world whether or not you believe it. Consider the following day in the life of one editor.
It was Wednesday, March 2nd, 2005, as I was driving to the Crow River Press in Hutchinson with my Gazette pages laid out and ready for printing, all 44 of them. It's always a very early morning on print-ing day that I hop into my old rusty red pickup truck, and I'm wide-eyed with energy and amazement at the culmination of another miracle. There are also miracles in this world, whether or not you believe it.
On this particular March morning, excitement in the air was even greater than usual, heightened because in less than 24 hours I'd be on a plane with all my brothers and sisters flying to Texas to surprise my dad on his 80th birthday and I had squeezed double everything into the last few days in order to make it all work and it was working and soon I could start packing and ….
My truck began sputtering on the main drag through Hutchinson so I flipped the switch from the back fuel tank to the front tank, but the sputtering turned into a dead halt as I was forced to pull over to the side of the road about ten blocks from the press. Could just as well have been ten miles.
Deafening silence. It was very cold outside on March 2nd. I put on the flashers and sat still, staring straight ahead, with thoughts fast forwarding to my next move. I was in trouble. The embryonic Gazette on the seat beside me was in trouble. But this isn't prehistoric times so I reached for my cell phone and called Crow River Press.
"I ran out of gas just a ways down the road and I'm wondering if somebody there could bring me a gallon of gas so I'm not so late and you can start printing the paper."
I barely tucked my phone away when a car pulls over and parks in front of me. Tom from the press was on his way to work and recognized my rusty red pickup truck. I tell him someone is coming with gas and I hand him the 44 pages of layout sheets and am relieved that I won't be holding him up in the camera room.
Two minutes later Dave from the press, also on his way to work, also recognizes my truck and also stops to help. "Can you believe I ran out of gas?" I say. "I've got two big tanks on this crate and they're both dry as dirt."
In another five minutes Del from the press arrives, smiling, with gas, and takes care of the situation. Now count them. That's three angels and the Gazette gets printed on time!
A couple hours later I'm back in my pickup truck, which is now filled up with gas and laden with 4,500 issues of the new Gazette all printed and sorted by zip code and bundled and bagged, packed and stacked into two large hampers and I'm tooling on down the road for home.
The big hurdle has been jumped and I'm getting closer to packing for Texas and I don't want to forget my sunglasses and swimming suit and suntan lotion and shorts and sandals.
It takes only one hour to arrive with my printed Gazettes at the Chanhassen Post Office Annex, which is located just down from Prince's Studio off Audubon Road. I back up to the dock, yank the tailgate down, and roll out the two hampers filled with Gazettes.
Whoever invented those rollered hampers deserve a Gold Medal. In the old days, and for about 20 years, I lifted and threw the mailbags in and out of the truck, one at a time. Could it amount to 2,000 pounds of newspapers? I believe so.
Then I roll two empty hampers back into my truck, ready for next month's excursion to Hutch, and head for Victoria. The air is bouncing around and I'm bouncing around and so happy to be done and soon I'll be at the airport and in Texas and in Mexico with Mom and Dad and …
Bang! Clang! Kajang! My attention is diverted, as out of my side view mirror I see two big white hampers rolling down the highway, upright, zigging and zagging across the center line. I'm aghast. Apparently the tailgate hadn't properly latched.
I pull over to the side of the road and put on my flashers, again. Deafening silence, again. The hampers have come to a standstill about a block away, one skewed in the middle of the road, the other tipped on its side by the curb. They're huge and I can't possibly get them back into my truck alone. I'm in trouble, and the traffic is in trouble if they drive into one of those hampers. I could cry if I give in to the moment, but I don't.
I reach for my cell phone, dial 911, and then chase down the hamper in the middle of the road and roll it off to the side. Before I blink twice, a fellow in one of those small mail delivery vehicles stops to help me roll the hampers down the road to my truck. Then another mail delivery man stops to help the first man lift the hampers into my truck, and then another mail man stops by with a large bundle of tied Gazettes that had also flown out. I cancel the 911 call. I'm chagrined by the episode and choked up by the kindnesses. Count them. That's three more angels.
Potential catastrophe strikes twice in one morning and each time I am rescued. My grateful heart melts inside of me. The sun is shining. The sky is blue, just like in Texas. People are good. As a matter of fact, some of them are angels.
~Sue
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