Las Vegas Sun

March 28, 2024

Where I Stand 1963 — Hank Greenspun: Hearing of destructive Sun fire actually provided a bit of relief

Note to readers: This column by Sun founder Hank Greenspun appeared on Nov. 27, 1963. Events of the week included the fire that gutted the Sun building and the assassination of President Kennedy.

The last trouble only seems the worst.

I never like to belittle fires, especially my own, but there are worse things in life. Of course, no person is entitled to more than one fire in his lifetime and the burning of the Sun is my first experience with this particular form of destructive force. I would be completely satisfied if it were my last, for as Joe E. Lewis often says, "You only live once but if you do it right, once is enough."

And to paraphrase the late Fiorello La Guardia, I don't have fires often but when I do, it's sure a beaut.

Even the worst of fire bugs couldn't have hoped for more destruction and devastation than what occurred exactly one week ago, and which I would have to admit is as black a Wednesday as I have ever known in my lifetime.

When Ruthe Deskin told me the news over the telephone it wouldn't have shocked me if she inferred from the conversation that I set the fire myself.

It was just the way it was told to me, and I mean no criticism of dear Ruthe. I dare not, for her loss to the Sun would be more catastrophic than anything fire, flood or Act of Bankers could inflict upon a suffering business.

Watching the destruction of something that meant so much to all of us must have been a terrible event in Ruthe's young life. How could she know that the normal delay in an overseas call had already conjured in the senile mind of a doting old father the most dire of happenings?

I was half asleep on a rainy afternoon in the President Hotel in Geneva, Switzerland, when the jingle of the phone somewhat jangled my nerves. The good wife, Barbara, and Debbie Prell had decided to go shopping -- a decision they have to make over and over again in every city, in every hamlet of every country throughout the globe.

All I could hear on the phone was a jumble of voices, which is not unusual for Americans in foreign lands, and thinking it was Barbara with the astounding news that she had once more run out of money and would I hurry over with some more Yanqui dollars or a credit card, I immediately hung up after informing whoever was at the other end of the line that I couldn't hear a thing.

The phone rang again and the same static assaulted my ears. Suspicious-like, I asked the operator where the call was from and she replied, "Overseas."

We had spoken to all the kids a few nights before and all was well. Ruthe was the only other person who knew where we were and she, with her usual efficiency, would never disturb me except under the most emergency of situations. Besides, I had called her the day before and all was well with the paper.

I again asked the operator where the call was from and in English with a smattering of French and Swiss she said, "Las Vegas, Nevada." Mentally I quickly tolled off the nine hours difference in time and concluded that it was seven in the morning in Las Vegas.

I knew Ruthe never hits the office before 10 a.m. when I'm there, so I had to assume an 11 o'clock schedule when the boss is away. That's when I became jittery and the mind starting conjuring all sorts of happenings, none of them good.

I knew it couldn't be related to the newspaper, for that day's edition was already delivered to the homes and the next edition was a good 12 hours off.

For 15 minutes we tried frantically to re-establish connections and by the time I learned that the call was from Ruthe and she was coming to the line, I could only think of the kids.

Ruthe's first words were: "I have terrible news for you." The last time she said that over the phone a few years ago, her next words were, "Your father died."

I was ready to leap off the Eiffel Tower if it were handy when I shouted, "Quickly, tell me what happened."

Half-sobbing she replied, "The Sun burned down right to the ground."

"Is that all?" I yelled. "Ruthe, you scared the hell out of me. Was anybody hurt?"

When she answered "No," I said, "It's only money, buildings and machinery. We'll build a bigger one but make sure the Sun comes out tomorrow morning if it's only four pages."

I have never known such relief as the news the fire brought to me. I could breathe again. The black despair I had felt was lifted from my heart.

I could imagine Ruthe's despair standing on the sidewalk watching the Sun go up in flames. She's got her life's blood wrapped up in it, like all of us.

And like Ruthe, the group of Sun employees desperately attempting to salvage something from the flames must have been going through the most devastating experience their young lives had witnessed.

I can't tell you the hundreds of employes who have come and gone since the start of the Sun. The same small nucleus remains but in all of its existence never has there been a more capable, more loyal or more devoted group than now, and they give of themselves with genuine and complete dedication.

In fact, the knowledge that I was getting slightly superfluous around the place was slowly being impressed on my consciousness, which isn't the most flattering of emotions. Every human requires a feeling of being desired or needed, so the best I can hope for is need.

It was therefore tragically gratifying to receive Ruthe's call that I better get back in a hurry and be greeted by Bryn Armstrong's column saying that they thought they could get along without me, but the old boss is needed in the emergencies.

It gives me a feeling of belonging, being part of something big, but I still think we could have gotten along without the doggone fire.

Fortunately, I wasn't here when the blaze occurred. I couldn't have taken it watching the despair of all the employes. I would have had to give them all raises to console their shattered hopes instead of firing them to preserve some of mine, which is what good business practices necessitate.

But a good business head does not happen to be one of my major accomplishments so I guess we'll all stick together to rebuild that which is so dear to all of us. We'll find the means that will clear the way.

Besides, the President's assassination made all personal tragedies so inconsequential and meaningless that any inner suffering was immediately numbed.

Our temporary state of shock is grief for a beloved J.F.K. To hell with the fire. We can always rebuild, but the torch he lit for this generation to carry forward in the betterment of mankind is now burning at the head of his grave.

This is our generation's great tragedy.

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