“Roundtable, Minus One”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(12-18)

It was an early morning at Geauga Gas & Grub on Water Street, in Chardon.

The annual gathering of local journalists had been scheduled over three months ago. But now, as we had all come together for breakfast and spirited conversation, our moderator was missing. We stalled with banter about current events, cell phone plans, and the weather. Then, the delay could last no longer.

Martha Ann Reale of the Newbury Siren-Monitor vocalized what we all were thinking. “Where is Carrie Hamglaze?”

Everyone looked around the room, as if she would appear out of the crowd.

Mack Prindl of the Parkman Register shook his bald head. “I haven’t seen her in weeks. She has been absent from local meetings.”

I bowed my head. “Not a good sign...”

Ezekiel Byler-Gregg of the Burton Daily Bugle stroked his long, gray beard. His overalls were still crusted with ice and snow. “Who will be our moderator? Somebody has to play traffic cop or Pringle will spend the whole morning blathering about his damn Steelers!”

Mack went red. “That’s P-R-I-N-D-L!”

Sandy Kimball, editor of the Claridon Claxon, fretted noticeably. Her nails tapped the counter. “She hasn’t returned my text messages. At first, I thought she might have gone to the family cabin near Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Cellular service is spotty there, as I remember. But it has been several weeks now.”

Ezekiel thumped the table. “Someone has to chair this meeting!”

Martha Ann adjusted her big-framed glasses. “How about you, Rod?”

I gripped my notebook with anxiety. “Me? I can’t pretend to measure up to Carrie as a journalist. I have been retired from the Geauga County Maple Leaf since 2014...”

Sandy gestured with her pen. “I think you are doing well with the revived Geauga Independent. As a matter of fact, I found it interesting to read your piece about the original paper, published in Middlefield, from 1884-1885. Quite fascinating, really.”

Martha Ann spoke up before I could protest. “Yes! Rod can lead our discussion!”

“I approve!” Ezekiel bellowed.

Mack smoothed his Steelers jersey and sat up straight. “It’s official, Rod. You are the coach today!”

I sighed heavily. “Let it be noted that we meet here with heavy hearts, missing our cherished Carrie. I hope one of us will unravel the mystery of her absence, before long.”

“Indeed!” Martha Ann agreed.

“Now, let’s get to the topic most people want to hear about in my newspaper,” Mack gleamed. “Pittsburgh football!”

Boos and catcalls filled the air.

“Pringle, you are an ass!” Sandy retorted.

“P-R-I-N-D-L!” he growled.

“Have you not heard anything about Baker Mayfield?” Ezekiel laughed. “Your star is dimming at the three rivers. We have a new division leader coming to town!”

Mack chortled like a drunk. “Please! Cleveland is still a loser city. Six Super Bowls, my friend! Count ‘em. SIX!”

Sandy coughed with disgust. “We have an international trade war about to explode, and you want to talk football?”

“Okay, what about Urban Meyer stepping down at Ohio State?” Mack replied.

“That’s still football!” she shrieked.

Martha Ann trembled with irritation. “Local stories, my friends. What are your local stories?”

I flipped through my notebook. “Okay then… Paula Horbay is selling her Christmas trees again this year., in Chardon. A dependable benchmark of life in Geauga County!”

Ezekiel smiled. “Best trees anywhere.”

“Tim Statz has a piece about the new Dollar General, in his township,” I observed. “A front-page feature in the Hambden Herald. But he never comes to these meetings.”

Ezekiel raised an eyebrow. “Statz? He must be 80 years old!”

Martha Ann nodded affirmation. “I think you are right. His wife passed away in April...”

I bowed my head again. “This year has been a long procession of funerals. I found out my friend Mollie Race was gone, months ago, in New York State. My friend Jennifer died, in January, then Dad in West Virginia, Aunt Juanita in Gallia County, Ruth from Chardon and Kevin who grew up here but moved to Orwell...”

“Very sad,” Sandy concluded.

“I’d rather talk sports than funerals,” Mack interjected.

I rubbed my eyes. “For once, you are right. It isn’t a happy subject.”

Sandy waved her notebook. “Doesn’t anyone have a happy ending to offer for this year?”

Ezekiel adjusted his overalls. “The pancake breakfast on Christmas in Burton. Best you’ll find in our county. I am inviting you all! Plenty of maple syrup and homemade sausage!”

“That sounds better than anything we’ve talked about, today,” I declared. “Here’s a coffee toast to our esteemed moderator, in her absence. And a wish of Christmas cheer to all of you. Happy holidays, my friends!”

The counter cleared quickly. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged in a festive mood. But one thought lingered as I walked outside, to my Ford pickup truck.

WHERE WAS CARRIE HAMGLAZE?

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