Getting the Boot or Giving It, The Impact Makes an Impression

Awhile back I wrote about journalism's "good old days," back when publishers and editors sometimes fired underlings for the slightest transgression, from wearing squeaky boots to sporting unfortunate haircuts. I invited readers to share their own termination tales, the interesting or unfortunate ways they were fired -- or fired someone else.

Not all the stories I received were about journalists, but George Newman's was. In 1965, George, now of Chesapeake Beach, was the news editor in the Associated Press's Salt Lake City bureau. "We had hired a young reporter who came well recommended and aced our writing test," George wrote. "He was assigned to come in at 5 a.m. and write 'radio splits' -- summaries of regional news written for radio from carbons of Salt Lake Tribune copy."

I should explain to anyone under 40 that carbons were duplicates made at a time a story was written, flimsy pieces of inky onion skin.

"One day, alone in the office as usual, our new hire picked up a carbon and wrote a dramatic account of the snowstorm paralyzing the Salt Lake region. Unfortunately, the carbons were a week old, and that particular morning was clear as crystal, as the view from our ninth-floor office confirmed. I can't remember whether the copy actually got on the wire. Probably not. In those pre-computer days, transmission was by teletype operators, and they delighted in catching mistakes. Anyway, we fired him that morning. He left town and was never heard from again, although for weeks we got calls from bill collectors and young women looking for him."

Tom Henderson of Salem, Ore., used to be the managing editor of a weekly newspaper out west. Tom wrote: "When one reporter was fired, he responded that he couldn't be fired because he was on probation. Asked what he thought probation meant, he responded, 'I have 90 days to decide whether or not I want to work for you.' " Er, not quite.

Tom said he had to sack another reporter after he made a long series of stupid mistakes. "I don't see what the big deal is," the reporter said. "I read newspapers. There are lot of idiot reporters."

Back in the 1980s, Alan DeValerio was interested in writing political humor. He was also working part time as a butler at the White House. One night, after serving a dinner in the second-floor family dining room, Alan was coming out of the kitchen when he saw President Ronald Reagan was going to his bedroom. Alan wrote: "I always had a copy of some of my latest jokes in my pocket, and when I saw the president I quickly thought that this might be an opportunity to show my jokes to him, which I did. Unfortunately, while he was reading them (and laughing like a good sport), I spied the head usher coming out of the Yellow Oval Room. When I realized that he saw me, I knew I was in trouble."

It was an unwritten rule that part-time butlers were not allowed to speak to the president unless spoken to first.

"I was supposed to work the next day, but just as I was about to leave, the maitre d', Gene Allen, pulled me aside and told me not to come in to work the next day," said Alan, who today performs a one-man tribute to comedian George Burns.

In the early 1970s, Toni Gianforti, now of North Catonsville, Md., was living in Rochester, N.Y., and had just lost a wonderful job -- "loved the people, great team, etc.; unfortunately, the place went bankrupt" -- and so was looking for work. She snagged interviews at two firms. "I wound up getting a job offer from Litton Industries -- administrative assistant to the manager of the local sales office. I remember having a gut reaction (negative) to this guy, which I ignored totally when he offered me the job a few days later. I wanted to buy some time in hopes that my other possibility would get back to me. 'May I take a day to mull over your offer?' I asked. 'No, take it or leave it,' he said. I took it.

"Months later, he fired me, honest to God, because I refused to adhere to his ban on women wearing pant suits in the office."

Toni said her old boss was himself fired some months later. "I then went on to another wonderful position, where I remained for eight years until moving to Baltimore to obtain my graduate degree. With some very rare exceptions, my philosophy is that it all works out in the end."

Perhaps, but things can sometimes seem pretty grim before you get to the end.

My e-mail: kellyj@washpost.com.