Around 10 years ago, when I found myself traveling several times a year to Washington, D.C., I joined the National Press Club, and I bought my dad a blue windbreaker with the club’s logo on it. After my dad died two years ago, the windbreaker came back to me, and in this mild winter I find myself wearing it a lot. Today at the convenience store near my office, the young man at the cash register looked at the gold logo and asked, “What’s the National Press Club?” I explained it is a group based in Washington for reporters and editors. “Oh, so you’re a reporter!” he said, almost beaming, and I could imagine him going home after work and saying, “You’ll never guess who came into the store today! A journalist! I see them on TV all the time, but I never thought I’d meet one.”
“No,” I said, “I’m an editor.”
His face fell. “Oh.”
Newsroom With A View 
Leave a Reply