Well, the Chicago Defender is now located in lovely headquarters in the heart of the Bronzeville Community at 4445 S. Michigan Ave., in what "back in the day" was the famed Metropolitan Funeral Home. The staff has settled in, and we are fast becoming familiar with our new surroundings. Many of us have been relegated to tiny cubicles, a far cry from offices we were privileged to work in when we were on S. Michigan Avenue overlooking Lake Michigan and Millennium Park in Chicago's downtown's "high rent district." We are also having to get used to not being able to walk to any number of eateries for lunch or dinner. Unfortunately there are no nearby restaurants; we either have to drive or hop a CTA bus. Nonetheless, we are "at home" where our founder and predecessors envisioned the Chicago Defender to be from the very beginning.
Most (almost 99 percent) of us have completed unpacking (the keyword here is "most"). And being the packrat that I am, there are still a couple of boxes (okay, several) that still need to be emptied. But as I attempt to finish this awesome chore, I find myself reading back issues and clippings. One in particular is a favorite retro story that I wrote back in 2002 when I was the Chicago Defender's lifetimes editor. It was entitled "A day of infamy at the Defender." And I am more than pleased to share it with you!
** ** **
"It was early Thursday evening on April 4, 1968 -- a day that forever would be etched on my mind. As woman's editor, I was in the lower-level composing room, overseeing the final makeup of my pages for the Chicago Daily Defender's big weekend edition, which was due to hit the newsstands early Friday morning. I heard a panicked voice yell repeatedly: "Dr. King's been shot! Dr. King's been shot! Dr. King's been shot!"
Stunned, I ran up to the editorial department on the first floor to confirm what I hoped to be a false announcement. Colleagues were pouring over the Teletype wire reports about the shooting in Memphis, Tenn.
The reports, however, did not indicate the seriousness of the assault. But we all knew immediately that a long night lay ahead. There was an indefinite hold put on press time, and we decided to have dinner to fortify us for the hours beyond.
Sam Washington, our news editor, Defender staffers Dave Potter, Betty Washington, Charlotte Hunt, Don Mosby, Arnold Rosenzweig and I quickly headed north to Batt's Restaurant on Cermak Rd.
Cassie, our regular waitress, other staffers and restaurant patrons were all in a rather somber mood. We ordered dinner. Our food came quickly, and we ate with very little conversation. All too soon, a tearful Cassie came to our booth and announced, "Dr. King is dead." Without finishing our dinner, we rose from the table and started putting on our coats. The owner come over and picked up our checks. "No charge," he said.
We hurriedly returned to the Defender. In the meantime, several staffers, including Audrey Weaver, our city editor, having heard the awful news at home, returned to the office to help revamp the weekend edition.
John H.H. Sengstacke, chief editor and publisher was in Detroit but kept in close contact by telephone as he made immediate preparations to return to Chicago. Frederick Sengstacke, then general manager, and Tom Picou, had also returned to keep a step-by-step watch on the proceedings.
Assignments were made. Some monitored the wire services. Others made calls to local and national leaders for their reactions to Dr. King's assassination; still others began writing, editing and laying out pages.
Downstairs, Jesse Holmes and James Colley, composing room foremen, along with pressmen and linotype operators, were working diligently with the editorial staff in order to include as much news as possible about the horrific act in the pages of the weekend edition of the Chicago Daily Defender.
We were all misty-eyed. Periodically, over several hours, many of us actually wept. But we continued our mission. We felt our responsibility as journalists.
We had just about completed the sorrowful task of recording one of the most horrific events of the century when John Sengstacke came into the office having just arrived from Detroit. He said that as his plane approached Chicago, he looked out and witnessed numerous fires ablaze on the West Side.
He said that he envisioned his beloved city going up in flames and prayed. As his taxi brought him to his Chicago Daily Defender, Mr. Sengstacke realized that the destruction and devastation had not spread to the South Side. Yet, he said, he could not relax.
Finally, it was after midnight. We were finished. We had done all we could do. We had worked as a team. We had put into print the death of our beloved leader, a husband and father. We know the world would never be the same.
It was over, but we could not and did not leave. We sat around until dawn, but the words spoken were minimal. We comforted each other as best as we could, but it was all for naught. The King was dead!"
Long live The King!
______
Copyright 2009 Chicago Defender. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
