Website Maintained by:
Communication Chair
©1998, SLA WCC

Usually a "Dear John" letter is bad news. You know what I mean. "Hasta la vista, honey!" as the door slams shut. Except this time, the door to opportunity was just opening.

The plan was devilish in design. The Edmonton Sun was seeking weird and wonderful ways of celebrating its twentieth anniversary, and paying tribute to its unsung heroes.

"Why, let's turn our answer man into a celebrity!"

The Chief Librarian had been there for 18 of those years, diligently researching the toughest tabloid trivia and enhancing his product's value with a strong base of facts. "Why, let's turn our answer man into a celebrity!" mused Editor in Chief Paul Stanway. Aided and abetted by Promotions Director Bonnie Lopushinsky, he did just that. "Twenty trivia questions over twenty weeks, to celebrate twenty years of publication! And to add interest, we'll make it into a contest. Each weekly trivia winner gets a twenty inch TV, and the grand winner gets a twenty day vacation!" they brainstormed. Well, we had to scale back down a little bit on the prizes. The twenty inch TVs became personal cassette players, and the twenty day vacation became a Home Theatre system. But the deed was done and the contest off to the races.

What a race it was! The promotions ran prominently every day, and I began getting admiring e-mail. "Are you ever photogenic!" crooned Greater Edmonton Library Association president Tracy Stewart. "You've gotta get that framed!" enthused Northern Alberta Health Library Association prez Della Jacobson. "You have such penetrating eyes!" intoned Alberta Report photographer Paul Wodehouse. "Gosh" I stammered to all of them, "I never knew."

I began to get approached by distant acquaintances and complete strangers. "I know you . . . you're . . . you're . . . that GUY!" they'd say. At the pool where I swim my laps, my fellow fitness buffs would regale, "Hey, it's the LIBRARIAN, the ANSWER man!" My broker called me to complain that this week's question was too hard. My pastor stopped slamming the Sun in his sermons. My chiropractor offered me a free treatment. My celebrity status became intoxicating.

I've always been a sensible person, and I knew in my heart that this was only my 15, er, 20 minutes of fame, and that the end would eventually come. Over 47,000 entries later, the last question ran, the draw made, and the grand prize awarded. I performed the wrap-up interview with reporter Jerry Ward, and modestly reflected, "I'm now the most famous librarian in Edmonton."

What a wacky crew we are at the Edmonton Sun! Who would expect a trendy tabloid to express such love for librarians and strike such a fearsome blow for their visibility? Then again, who would expect a new lease on life when the first two words are "Dear John"?