Column: Memories with Emory
December 30, 2015
The first time I met Emory Melton, he was interviewing me for the editor position at the Barry County Advertiser. I can’t say that my interview was completely conventional, but it lasted two hours nonetheless.
During the interview, he asked me about my parents, my grandparents and the family I was marrying into. He knew the Freemans rather well and began telling me all about the family I was getting ready to be a part of.
He noticed on my resume that I was currently employed by the Missouri State Senate. He knew the senator I was working for was a Republican, of course, so my odds were getting better and better for landing the job. Although I had a degree in Communication, it didn’t seem to matter to Emory that I had only taken one journalism class. In that two-hour interview, Emory only asked me one question that had anything to do with the newspaper business: Why do you want to work at a newspaper?
I spent two and a half years as the editor of the Advertiser. In that time, Emory and I wouldn’t always see eye-to-eye. He had a knack for wanting to change articles on Wednesday morning when I was ready to send the paper to press. Sometimes he would send me to cover a story that I would consider ridiculous, but there was no point in questioning it.
I came to dread Thursday mornings. The day-after. If I missed putting something in the newspaper, Emory was the first to let me know. He would come out of his law office searching for me. My body would start to tense-up without me even being aware he was looking for me. Emory had a standard that he wanted met. If I wasn’t meeting it, he would tell me. Sometimes in a voice that was gruff and stern. A voice that always made me sit up straight.
During my time as editor, I learned what Emory expected of me and the newspaper. I learned that you had to earn his compliments. He would rarely pay a compliment directly to you. You’d hear it through the grapevine. I learned to cherish those compliments, because I had to work hard for them.
After the birth of my son Jackson, being the editor of the newspaper became difficult. It was hard attending City Council meetings in the evenings and community events on the weekends. Emory was understanding, and I took over as his bookkeeper. From there, Emory went from being my boss, to my mentor, and then to my dear friend.
Emory and I became close this past year. He began confiding in me about business matters or asking my thoughts on upcoming elections. He would call me into his office, sometimes for an hour at a time. Sometimes he would tell me a story, many involving politics or his childhood. Other times, we would discuss finances and bank statements. He enjoyed showing me old articles he had saved, and I enjoyed reading them. Sometimes, we wouldn’t talk much at all. He’d sort through his mail and I’d listen to his commentary. He enjoyed having company, and I enjoyed his wit.
I think back on this last year I spent with Emory, and I cannot help but smile. My dear friend was 92-years-old, and I couldn’t wait to visit with him every day. He always had a story to tell, and he knew how to deliver a punchline. What I wouldn’t give to sit and talk with him just one more time; to walk down memory lane with him, a place he always enjoyed to go. He went from making me want to slam my office door when his stubbornness would shine, to today, where I’d give anything to hear one more story, one more joke, one more piece of advice. Emory Melton was a true treasure that I was lucky enough to find.
-Rachael Freeman, former editor & current office manager
The first time I met Emory Melton, he was interviewing me for the editor position at the Barry County Advertiser. I can’t say that my interview was completely conventional, but it lasted two hours nonetheless.
During the interview, he asked me about my parents, my grandparents and the family I was marrying into. He knew the Freemans rather well and began telling me all about the family I was getting ready to be a part of.
He noticed on my resume that I was currently employed by the Missouri State Senate. He knew the senator I was working for was a Republican, of course, so my odds were getting better and better for landing the job. Although I had a degree in Communication, it didn’t seem to matter to Emory that I had only taken one journalism class. In that two-hour interview, Emory only asked me one question that had anything to do with the newspaper business: Why do you want to work at a newspaper?
I spent two and a half years as the editor of the Advertiser. In that time, Emory and I wouldn’t always see eye-to-eye. He had a knack for wanting to change articles on Wednesday morning when I was ready to send the paper to press. Sometimes he would send me to cover a story that I would consider ridiculous, but there was no point in questioning it.
I came to dread Thursday mornings. The day-after. If I missed putting something in the newspaper, Emory was the first to let me know. He would come out of his law office searching for me. My body would start to tense-up without me even being aware he was looking for me. Emory had a standard that he wanted met. If I wasn’t meeting it, he would tell me. Sometimes in a voice that was gruff and stern. A voice that always made me sit up straight.
During my time as editor, I learned what Emory expected of me and the newspaper. I learned that you had to earn his compliments. He would rarely pay a compliment directly to you. You’d hear it through the grapevine. I learned to cherish those compliments, because I had to work hard for them.
After the birth of my son Jackson, being the editor of the newspaper became difficult. It was hard attending City Council meetings in the evenings and community events on the weekends. Emory was understanding, and I took over as his bookkeeper. From there, Emory went from being my boss, to my mentor, and then to my dear friend.
Emory and I became close this past year. He began confiding in me about business matters or asking my thoughts on upcoming elections. He would call me into his office, sometimes for an hour at a time. Sometimes he would tell me a story, many involving politics or his childhood. Other times, we would discuss finances and bank statements. He enjoyed showing me old articles he had saved, and I enjoyed reading them. Sometimes, we wouldn’t talk much at all. He’d sort through his mail and I’d listen to his commentary. He enjoyed having company, and I enjoyed his wit.
I think back on this last year I spent with Emory, and I cannot help but smile. My dear friend was 92-years-old, and I couldn’t wait to visit with him every day. He always had a story to tell, and he knew how to deliver a punchline. What I wouldn’t give to sit and talk with him just one more time; to walk down memory lane with him, a place he always enjoyed to go. He went from making me want to slam my office door when his stubbornness would shine, to today, where I’d give anything to hear one more story, one more joke, one more piece of advice. Emory Melton was a true treasure that I was lucky enough to find.
-Rachael Freeman, former editor & current office manager