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| | | So long, Bruce | | September 22, 2009 | | | | Bruce Robey, the Voice’s founder, died Monday morning at Washington Hospital Center. He was 65. Patti Shea was the managing editor of the Voice from 2005 to 2007.
I'm writing this in the same 24-hour, breaking-news window that Bruce Robey would give me when I began writing for the Voice in 2003.
"Local news doesn't wait," he'd say. Usually, I'd just mutter something, continue plugging away, and send him an item to post on the Voice’s Web site in the timely fashion he required.
He was always happiest when I sent in a fire or crime story. When the Folger Shakespeare Theatre caught fire, we posted a story almost immediately. Bruce demanded it, and we were happy to oblige. All his breaking-news training was very useful when I took the helm of the paper he started 10 years ago.
I remember when I first met Bruce. I had just moved back to the District into an English basement apartment near Garfield Park. While I had a full-time job that paid the bills, I was looking for a way to get to know my community and make some vacation money. A friend suggested I contact Bruce for the local-politics beat available at the monthly Voice.
So I walked over to his place on 11th Street, where he "interviewed" me for the position. I use the word loosely, because it wasn't like a normal job interview. He asked me offbeat questions: Which baseball team do you like? What’s your favorite movie? I liked him from the start.
For some reason, he hired me and I began almost immediately. I think it was the next night or so when he took me to my first advisory neighborhood commission meeting. On the way there he drove me around the Hill in his jalopy of a truck pointing out this and that, thinking I was going to commit it to memory. He warned me about the meetings and how they could be a little, um, heated at times. When I became managing editor in 2005, I did the same tour with new reporters and interns.
When I met Bruce, I had never met anyone with so much passion about a community. Sure, I had been a city-beat reporter in Los Angeles and thought I had seen it all. Nope. The Hill, as I would learn from Bruce, is its own little town, with its own nuances, quirks and opinions. He fought for recognition for Hill residents who never sought the limelight. And he bucked trends: Let the record reflect that Bruce and his lovely wife, Adele, were on H Street before it was trendy.
I think that's why Bruce and I got along so well. I never thought I'd meet anyone more opinionated than myself who also lacked the etiquette filter that most humans possess. I pity the person who asked him for an opinion and wasn't expecting the frank truth. He said what he thought with conviction and never backed down. But everyone adored him for it.
I was happy when he and Adele moved down the street from me after their short stint in West Virginia. I got to see him more and was always glad to see him walking his dog, Andy, in Lincoln Park. "Bruce!" I would shout, lamely galloping toward him. If I had a tail like my dog, it would have wagged when I saw him. We'd talk about this and that — always local scuttlebutt. I would giggle inside because he couldn't stay away from Hill goings-on.
I hate to say goodbye to him, so I'll just say so long for now. He should rest assured that his hundreds of friends on the Hill and elsewhere will keep an eye on his girls — Adele, and daughters Jennifer and Julia.
I'd like to write more, but, alas, I’d miss Bruce's 24-hour deadline. | | | | | Log in to comment on this article |
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