Millie was never paid what she was worth. Her worth went beyond the typesetting, ad setting, proofreading and newspaper-designing that she did for all those years. Hers was the face people wanted to see when they walked into that front office. And it wasn't unusual for one of us to answer the call when the doorbell rang only to have the customer ask if Millie was there. She was always the friendly face that people first thought of when they had business with the Herald.
I knew Millie from way back when I was a young boy. Her son, Mike, was our leadoff hitter and second baseman for so many years. I played shortstop, and so together Mike and I made it our business to stop any baseballs hit up the middle. I considered all the Wenande boys good friends -- Mike, Don and Tim. Their dad, Jim, was always ready with a smile and hearty laugh. He seemed to be a good match for Millie. They were both so friendly and open.
And then when I came back to Alex at age 32, having bought the Alex and Emery newspapers in 1987, Millie was working there. It was reassuring to see a familiar face and someone who was so connected to the community. It made my transition so much easier.
Since we lived above the newspaper office, the kids would come down sometimes and play in the back room. Sometimes they came down just to visit with Millie. She was like a second mother to them. And I think she was a second mother to a lot of kids around Alex, having raised three popular, active boys of her own.
We had so many memories. We used to sit on Tuesday afternoons and proofread copy in front of the computer. Millie reading for a while, and then me reading for a while. And Millie was our expert caller for local news. That's back when "who went where" was still a popular item in the paper. Millie had her stack of 4x6 cards with names and phone numbers, and she'd make her calls, writing up the locals for that week's edition. It wasn't unusual to have a full page of local news back then. Millie was a natural at it.
But everything came to a head on Tuesday nights. That was deadline. The newspapers had to be finished and "put to bed" because I took them to print in Madison on Wednesday morning. We'd usually finish with the newspapers anywhere from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m., depending on how many problems we ran into. I remember one time, when we were under some intense pressure to finish, and Millie broke down from some remark I made. I never felt worse in my life. Nothing was worth putting that much pressure on someone. But that's the only time I remember things getting to that point. Millie knew the newspaper routine better than anyone. Even for several years after I sold the newspapers I lived thinking every Tuesday night I was still on deadline. And even though I had sold the newspapers and moved on to another job, I know my kids still thought of Millie as their "bonus grandma."
I last talked with Millie around Christmas time this past year. She was in the rehab home in Mitchell, and she sounded tired and worn out. She hadn't liked leaving the farm or her apartment in Alex. But she was still pleased to hear from me and we still laughed about the good times we had putting out the papers more than 15 years ago. Although I loved publishing the newspapers all of those years because I love journalism, it was really all about the people. Millie was one of those special people who made a young editor's job a lot easier. She really was irreplaceable.
