It was an honour to work with Jeff and Pam — and that’s no joke.
The other day, we had a goingaway function to honour two beloved Regina Leader-post colleagues — Pamela Cowan and Jeff Dedekker.
The planning may also be underway for a “go away!” party, in honour (?) of me.
Pam is far too nice to ever say such a thing, even though I routinely waddled over to her desk during the 24 years we worked together at our Park Street Palace, which has electricity and running water.
You see, Pam made the mistake of encouraging me. She laughed at one of my jokes.
Do that at your own peril. Laugh just once and prepare for a bombardment. I’m just that way.
Pam has always been so remarkably nice about it, even though my one-liners — I am not smart enough to remember two lines — are conventionally cringe-inducing.
But there was this one time, when the impossibly friendly P. Cowan was angry at me. Or at least mildly perturbed. But “angry” makes for a better story, so ...
It was the spring of 2001, around the time of my second anniversary. There would not have been a wedding in the first place if not for the phenomenal Pam.
Pam, bless her heart, dealt with my angst during the “Chryssoula will dump me any day now” period that is also referred to as “dating.”
I figured that Pam, as a champion of the only extended relationship in my life, would be the unwitting target of one of my great jokes of all time.
Accordingly, I approached her desk and did my utmost to feign sincerity. And then it started ...
“Pam,” I began, “considering all you have done for us, I thought that you should be the first to know — Chryssoula and I are expecting.”
Pam instantly beamed, even though she appeared to be on the verge of tears. It was so moving, so perfect.
Irene Seiberling, sitting not far away, got up from her desk and began to walk over, awash with excitement.
Angels were singing. Birds were chirping. Yaks were yakking, or whatever it is that yaks do.
It really was a beautiful moment ... until what I thought was a perfectly timed zinger of a boffo punch line.
“Yup,” I continued, “Chryssoula is flying to Montreal next week to pick up our new dog.” Ooooh, it was a good one!
There I stood, in front of Pam’s desk, waiting for an eruptive reaction to Simply The Greatest Joke Ever Told. Silence.
I still had a goofy grin on my face, poised to share in the knees-lapping and (here’s that word again) yakking that was certain to result from my clever little scam, and ...
Nothing.
More silence.
(Gulp.)
Pam glowered at me.
Irene went back to her desk. And I felt all the blood drain from my head — which I wasn’t using, anyway, so it didn’t matter.
Pam forgave me, thank goodness, for joking about an issue that should never be used as a premise for, er, humour.
Jeff, I am convinced, would have made that “joke” work.
How many times has he cracked me up since debuting at the Leader-post on May 1, 1989? Well, how many days did we work together?
Jeff’s one-liners, practical jokes and mischievous humour are among the many things I admire about him.
He is an exemplary father, husband, friend, colleague and citizen. I cannot remember one time when Jeff has put himself ahead of anyone else. (Nor can I remember a game in which his Cleveland Browns were ahead of anybody else.)
Pam is much like Jeff in terms of generosity and spirit. She is caring, selfless and, well, pick any superlative.
Although I already miss working with Pam and Jeff, it was fitting in a sense that the going-away function was for both of them.
Their personalities are different — Jeff is gregarious, whereas Pam is reserved — but the fundamental manner in which they treat people is the same.
As a result, it has been an absolute treat to share this office space with both of them.
I still look around the office and try to wrap my 19 — oops, down to 18 — brain cells around the fact that neither one of them is in the newsroom.
But there is considerable solace in knowing that, even though we are no longer colleagues, we will always be friends.