From the Editor: Losing Emory
Nothing could have prepared me for the early Saturday morning text saying that Emory was gone. Nothing could have prepared me for what it would be like to work for him, listen to his stories and grow to respect him in a way that I didn’t think was possible.
My experiences with Emory were fresh when I became editor of the Advertiser two and a half years ago. My opinions of him were not painted with prior knowledge of him, his accomplishments, his status or his views. I went in blind, so to speak, a transplant to Barry County who was hired on as the editor of a paper with a very significant niche for people in this community. I had no idea what that responsibility meant, nor how much Emory loved this community and wanted the best for the people in it.
My first impressions of him were humorous, serious and a bit intimidating. It was something we talked about many times. Over the years, he would call me into his office to talk about a story he wanted me to write, and how he wanted me to write it. Over time, those meetings turned to stories he wanted me to write, to suggestions, to a mutual understanding that he trusted me to an extent to do what I felt was right.
I’ve had more than one person ask me over the years why Emory hired me considering how differently we viewed things. My response has always been, “Because you don’t need to agree to respect each other.” No matter how our opinions differed, I hope he always knew that I did what I thought was right for the paper, the community and the people in it. I think he did.
It wasn’t so often, but there were definitely times that Emory could shock me. He would tell me a story with a punch line that would leave me in stitches. He was witty, intelligent, strong-willed and stuck to his beliefs. And that is why I respected him, even if we didn’t agree on everything.
When I think about what it means that he is gone, most of the things I’ve already come to accept and miss. When he stopped coming into the office every day, it felt off that he wasn’t calling me into his office to talk about something he read in another newspaper, or a letter he’d gotten from someone he’d known during his days at the Capitol, or to tell me about things that seemed inconsequential at the time. I’ll miss the Saturdays and Sundays where the only people working were him and I. I’ll miss him always offering to share his lunch with me on those days, just for an excuse for some company and conversation. Those same days where I’d take him half of my cinnamon roll from the Farmers’ Market on the square, which he said he didn’t need, but always ate anyway.
As cliche as it sounds, no one will ever convince me that Emory will ever die. He’s made too many impressions on people over the years: fellow politicians, clients, friends, employees. He’s given too much to the community through his books and his stories. He’s made too much of an impression on me, even in small ways like when my oldest son would be in my office, and Emory would always ask him, “How’s the governor today?” That question always got a chuckle from all three of us.
We’ll all miss Emory in our own ways, but he’s not really gone; he never will be.
-Charlea Mills, editor
My experiences with Emory were fresh when I became editor of the Advertiser two and a half years ago. My opinions of him were not painted with prior knowledge of him, his accomplishments, his status or his views. I went in blind, so to speak, a transplant to Barry County who was hired on as the editor of a paper with a very significant niche for people in this community. I had no idea what that responsibility meant, nor how much Emory loved this community and wanted the best for the people in it.
My first impressions of him were humorous, serious and a bit intimidating. It was something we talked about many times. Over the years, he would call me into his office to talk about a story he wanted me to write, and how he wanted me to write it. Over time, those meetings turned to stories he wanted me to write, to suggestions, to a mutual understanding that he trusted me to an extent to do what I felt was right.
I’ve had more than one person ask me over the years why Emory hired me considering how differently we viewed things. My response has always been, “Because you don’t need to agree to respect each other.” No matter how our opinions differed, I hope he always knew that I did what I thought was right for the paper, the community and the people in it. I think he did.
It wasn’t so often, but there were definitely times that Emory could shock me. He would tell me a story with a punch line that would leave me in stitches. He was witty, intelligent, strong-willed and stuck to his beliefs. And that is why I respected him, even if we didn’t agree on everything.
When I think about what it means that he is gone, most of the things I’ve already come to accept and miss. When he stopped coming into the office every day, it felt off that he wasn’t calling me into his office to talk about something he read in another newspaper, or a letter he’d gotten from someone he’d known during his days at the Capitol, or to tell me about things that seemed inconsequential at the time. I’ll miss the Saturdays and Sundays where the only people working were him and I. I’ll miss him always offering to share his lunch with me on those days, just for an excuse for some company and conversation. Those same days where I’d take him half of my cinnamon roll from the Farmers’ Market on the square, which he said he didn’t need, but always ate anyway.
As cliche as it sounds, no one will ever convince me that Emory will ever die. He’s made too many impressions on people over the years: fellow politicians, clients, friends, employees. He’s given too much to the community through his books and his stories. He’s made too much of an impression on me, even in small ways like when my oldest son would be in my office, and Emory would always ask him, “How’s the governor today?” That question always got a chuckle from all three of us.
We’ll all miss Emory in our own ways, but he’s not really gone; he never will be.
-Charlea Mills, editor
