We sure do miss her

city limits

by Debbie Knox

 

Since she left last September, I haven’t had the time to write about my long-time newspaper partner in crime of almost 40 years, Susan Taft.

It’s impossible to share all the shenanigans we’ve had together. She literally grew up before my eyes when she started to work here in the 70s. She was a 16-year-old young lady and I was a newly married woman and relatively new to the community.

I just didn’t get Susan at first. She came in on time everyday; started her work; never, ever said a word unless she was spoken to and continued her work until it was done. Then we went home. I had never been around someone so quiet. I thought she was an alien.

One day I had enough of all that quiet. So I would start a conversation with her that consisted of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers. Most days she offered no elaboration. How could anyone be so shy?

Susan admitted to me a few years down the road how mortifiedshe was one day when we were walking down the street and I yelled as loud as I could to get someone’s attention, a half of a block away, and I just wanted to say ‘hi.’ Doesn’t everyone do that?

After a decade, or so, she began to be more tolerant of my extrovert behavior or should I say understand? And I understood her introverted ways.

During The Pittsburg Gazette’s 125 celebration, I had arranged for us to go take some pictures on top of the feed mill. Susan was going to take the pictures, of course. I just wanted to look around. I didn’t tell her I was afraid of heights. And she didn’t know I was going to stop in the middle of the driveway at the feed mill and start gagging smelling that unpleasant smell. She simply turned around, looked at me with disgust, and walked off. I managed to compose myself and get to the elevator. If you’ve never been on top of the feed mill, there is another level you can travel up and walk across this cat walk and see all the way down

“Oh no thank you,” I said. I wasn’t up for that, but what Susan lacked in conversation, she made up for in courage. I think it was Gary Ogle who grabbed my arm and pulled me across the darn thing. Susan was on the top already shooting pictures.

We talked about writing a book but then realized we couldn’t use anyone’s names with the good stories, including our own.