Remembrances of my friend, W.B.
Wallace D. “Wally” Ballentine was an encourager, a lifter of spirits, a man who always offered that welcoming smile and warm handshake, no matter the circumstances.
When I visited with him on the morning of Tuesday, July 18, in the Arkansas Hospice wing at CHI St. Vincent, it was he who made me feel better and, as was often our norm, we quickly embarked on a “Remember when” conversation.
Our moods were lightened even more when joined on that nostalgic look back by The Sentinel-Record’s editor, Mark Gregory, and production manager, Jimmy
Robertson. There we were — two retirees and two current-day colleagues — swapping “war stories” about the many years we four worked together at 300 Spring St.
In some ways, it was like being in a weekly staff meeting with the “Boss,” who guided us through numerous agenda items and then challenged us to go out and produce a solid edition of the hometown newspaper.
With Mr. Ballentine’s approval, I joined the daily publication’s editorial staff in the mid-1970s, returning to Hot Springs after college and following reporting and writing stints in southern California, New Orleans and on the Mississippi Gulf Coast.
By that time, I had considerable experience in my chosen career field, but this job in this place was special. And so was my new teacher who, despite myriad obligations associated with being a general manager, kept watch over all the “newbies” on board.
He instinctively knew that I was especially anxious to succeed here. He reacquainted me with Hot Springs, which was then in the early throes of significant change. He wanted everyone in our company to understand the importance of community journalism and the roles we all played in serving loyal readers and advertisers.
“Wally B.,” as many of his friends and business associates called him, passed along his invaluable knowledge of the individuals and families who populated our city and county. He wanted all of our customers to feel connected to The Sentinel-Record and he made sure everyone in our offices treated them with courtesy and respect.
He knew the names and personal stories of everyone in our organization. From him I learned more about the circulation, advertising, production and press departments than I’d come to know anywhere else. He pointed out that we were all one big family, committed to doing right by the people who depended on the information we gathered.
In that regard, he was like a surrogate father, a wise uncle or a protective older brother who stepped in when his charges had a tiff or two or when there were problems to be resolved. But, most critically, he required that we step up and acknowledge our gaffes and errors in judgment, no matter how small or large.
When my mentor entrusted me with the editorship of the newspaper in the fall of 1980, I was deeply honored, yet a bit trepidatious about taking on such somber responsibilities. But, thanks to his patience and support, I gained my footing and became more confident in being newsroom manager.
For 27 years, we shared a rewarding and exciting journey and a mutual passion for watching the renaissance of the resort city. After he retired in 2001, he kept in touch, calling every year to wish me “Happy Birthday.” This past April, he checked in like clockwork and then asked if I would help with his obituary. I knew he was in a arduous battle with cancer, but his request — which I answered in the affirmative — saddened me greatly.
Nonetheless, I thank Darlene, Valerie, Davis, Leslie, Bill and Kim, for allowing me to make a small contribution to the news about his passing. I think about it as M.G.’s last assignment from W.B. It was a privilege, sir.