dark days
~ August 7, 2009 ~
“How do you pack up a career?” you asked no one in particular as I passed you in the hallway yesterday. How, indeed, Mr. Ledbetter? I was too afraid of the ramifications to ask what you meant.
It’s a sad day here at The New Yorker. I learned today that you, a 20-year veteran of the magazine, have been unceremoniously let go, a victim, no doubt, of the “cost-cutting” measures being enacted in ever more noticeable ways throughout my chosen industry. (UPDATE: actually, not really. see below.)
Oh, Mr. C. Stanley Ledbetter III. How I will miss being greeted by you every afternoon as I step out of the elevator bank on the 20th floor. You, with that twinkle of knowing irony behind an intellectual demeanor worthy Eustace Tilley himself. You, the longtime receptionist, a title woefully inadequate when it comes to the breadth of your contributions. How quickly a 20-year career is liquidated in the name of efficiency. How disappointing that I had to learn of your departure through a Gawker post.
Rumor has it that you’ll be staying on at the magazine, albeit in a different capacity. I hope the rumors are true. This publishing establishment would be sorely lacking in levity without your presence.
Update: Good News
“Don’t believe a word of it,” Stanley said to me of the Gawker news on my way out of the office today. He and a co-worker were offering toasts to passing employees by the reception desk.
“C.S. Ledbetter,” announced Ledbetter in the third person, “is about to assume his rightful role as an arbiter of American taste.” Yes, Stanley is moving to the Fiction department to take on a full-time editorial position.
So, despite the fact that the reception area will imminently be lacking in wry erudition, this story has a happy ending. Unfortunately, the same isn’t true for the other receptionists who got laid off this week. ∞