Sun Sentinel Palm Beach Edition
‘Going after editors’ in Annapolis
Among the five people killed in an Annapolis newsroom Thursday was Gerald Fischman, the editorial page editor of the Capital Gazette. I didn’t know him, but I’ve read that he had a shy demeanor and wry wit, worked endless hours, asked tough questions, tried out for “Jeopardy!” and wielded a wicked pen.
“For more than 25 years, Fischman was the conscience and voice of the Annapolis news organization, writing scathing, insightful and always exacting editorials about the community,” says a story printed in the Capital’s Friday edition, itself a remarkable achievement given the shattering events of Thursday.
I know from experience that you can’t hold the job of editorial page editor without making some enemies.
Unlike reporters and editors in the newsroom — who do their professional best to tell you what they know, when they know it, without fear or favor, and with as much context as possible — editorial writers take a stand.
We call things out. We speak truth to power. We stand up for our community. Remember that front-page editorial in the New Orleans Times-Picayune three days after Hurricane Katrina? “Mr. President, We Need Help!”
Sometimes, we fall short. The mistakes I most regret involve decisions made in haste. Usually, it involves jumping to conclusions, only to learn later that things weren’t quite as they seemed.
On our best days, we write editorials — mostly on local and state issues — only after reading deeply, checking the records, talking to people and thinking things through. We strive to say not only what we think, but why we think it.
We don’t expect everybody to agree with us. But some people disagree violently.
No enemy of the people
So I was taken aback Thursday evening as I listened to Capital reporter Selene San Felice tell CNN’s Anderson Cooper about hiding under a desk, fearful her heavy breathing would give away her presence.
She said the gunman was “very calculated.”
“I think this person was going after editors.”
I flashed on that moment, a couple years ago, when a St. Petersburg police detective called to say he’d arrested the woman who was threatening to kill me and two journalists from the Tampa Bay area. The woman’s emails were unsettling, but I never really considered my life in danger. I figured she was just crazy. Not now. Now I accept it’s crazy people with big guns who are committing mass murder.
I also remembered when, after writing something critical about dirty trickster Roger Stone, who lives in Fort Lauderdale, Broward Bugle tweeted at me: C U Next Tuesday. There was nothing on my calendar for next Tuesday. My boss alerted security and suggested we call the police. Then I learned Stone had tweeted something similar at Hillary Clinton. The real message was coded in the first letter of each word.
And I thought about the dozen or so people whose posts, tweets and emails I’ve blocked, weary of the vile they spew my way. I hope never to see their names again. I empathize with Broward Schools Superintendent Robert Runcie, who’s been criticized for blocking people on social media. He says they’ve even tracked down his family. Crazy.
When I first saw the news out of Annapolis, my mind leapt to President Trump and how he calls journalists “enemies of the people.” A friend of mine told me that while covering one of his rallies, the president pointed to members of the media penned in the middle of the arena. The crowd turned her way and started booing. She grew apprehensive, understandably so.
But I was wrong. This shooting wasn’t about the president, who should nevertheless recognize the tinderbox he stokes around journalists.
This was a guy with a grudge. According to the Baltimore Sun, he’d sworn an oath to kill the Capital writer who wrote a 2011 column about him having harassed a former high school classmate on social media and the ensuing criminal case.
Jarrod Warren Ramos, the alleged gunman, sued the paper for defamation and lost, including on appeal. But he fixated on the paper and escalated his harassment online, the Capital’s former publisher told the Sun. Police investigated in 2013, but determined Ramos did not pose a threat to the newspaper’s employees, the Sun reported. A Twitter page in his name went dormant until moments before the shooting — when a message was posted that read: “F--- you, leave me alone.”
Eager to hear you’re OK, Rob.
I didn’t know any of this Thursday as I sat in my office, transfixed on the television, watching people again walk out of a building with their hands over their heads.
When I realized it was the Capital, I thought of Rob Hiaasen, an editor and columnist there. I checked his Facebook page and posted how eager I was to hear he was safe. Then I called my husband, Tom, who became friends with Rob years ago after hiring him at the Palm Beach Post. Rob was a beautiful writer and Tom always talked about him with a smile in his voice.
I kept checking Facebook, but saw no word. As the hours went by, a sense of dread descended. I told myself Rob was busy dealing with the mayhem. I started searching for his old emails and Facebook posts, and smiled when I re-read his comment on a video of Tom and me. “Oh … HIM …. again.”
I tried to hire Rob as an editorial writer a couple years ago. He grew up in Plantation and came “this close” to taking the job. But in the end, he said he feared he would disappoint me and that that was the last thing he wanted to do. He knew himself and knew he most enjoyed telling “people stories.” He also really enjoyed working with the young people at the Capital. He feared I might be thinking of him in the same vein as his famous brother, Carl Hiaasen, who writes with a sharper edge.
Rob’s mom died around that time and I remember crying and laughing with him about sorting through your mother’s things, an experience I’d shared. Like my husband, I developed a real affection for him.
We are devastated by his death and heartbroken for his family. We’re angry, too. Rob was no enemy of the people. He didn’t even want to write hard-hitting editorials. He liked to tell funny, quirky, real-life “people stories” and help young people be better storytellers.
Gerald liked his blinds just so
As I’ve absorbed the news these last couple days, I’ve also thought a lot about Fischman, given our common jobs.
I learned he was quirky and shy, with a conservative bent.
During an endorsement interview, “he asked tough questions and exposed every weakness in my legislative record,” former Anne Arundel County Councilman Jamie Benoit told the Sun. Yeah, Fischman! It takes hard work to ask tough questions. I would have liked this guy.
“He was a respected writer and captured, for the most part, the feelings within the community,” said Maryland House Speaker Michael Busch.
I’ll bet Fischman would have loved that line — “for the most part.” Spoken like a true politician.
“He liked his blinds just so,” said former features editor Kathy Flynn. “We’d mess with him by going in his office and making them askew.”
Ah, Fischman was a character. Newsrooms attract characters. I probably would have messed with his blinds, too.
Instead, I wept Friday when I saw the Capital’s opinion page. It was blank, but for these words: “Today we are speechless. This page is intentionally left blank today to commemorate victims of Thursday’s shootings at our office: Gerald Fischman Rob Hiaasen John McNamara Rebecca Smith Wendi Waters Tomorrow this page will return to its steady purpose of offering our readers informed opinion about the world around them, that they might be better citizens.”
Fischman’s obituary says he is survived by his wife, Saran Erdenebat, and a stepdaughter.
But like the Capital’s other fallen journalists, Fischman also is survived by his community and his colleagues. That includes this editorial page editor, who salutes him from afar.