Ray “Happy” Leonard was a fixture at the Daily Bugle office.
No one could remember a time when he hadn’t been there, pencil propped in the
corner of his smiling mouth. In fact, it had been 34 years, seven months and
two days since the Happy had first walked in, confidently stating that they
needed to hire him as a proof reader.
The editor had been, unknown to Happy, in dire need of a
proof reader. The prior proofer, Harriet, had just quit over a thorny grammar
dispute with a staff writer about a dangling modifier. Her chair was still warm
when Happy sat down and slid it up to his new desk.
Happy was just 18 when he started working at the Bugle, and
was predictably optimistic about his life, and his potential impact on grammar.
In reality, what he faced was an uphill battle with grizzled reporters who
regularly employed colloquialisms and held little respect for the rigors of the
formal English language. Yet, Happy smiled and went about his work, his red
pencil flashing across the pages set before him.
As Happy advanced in years, he grew accustomed to the
relaxed grammatical attitude of the paper. His hair gradually abandoned him and
the rhythm of his days lulled him. Where had his dreams of being a writer gone?
So much time had passed, and the reporters he proofed for in his youth were
long gone. He could remember proofing some of their obituaries.
Happy pushed back his chair and stood up. He twisted from
left to right and heard his back snap and pop with the unaccustomed movement. He
wrapped his scarf around his neck, shoved his arms into his warm coat, set his
hat upon his head and nodded. He would spend no more than 34 years, seven months
and two days at the Daily Bugle. They may have had his youth, but they didn’t
have his soul.
He had a novel to write. A novel about a fictional newspaper and
the intrepid proofreader who kept the place running.
He strode out the door, holding it, politely, for a young
woman carrying a red pencil and a look of determination. Happy’s smile grew as
the door closed on the wood paneled office steeped in the click of computer
keys and interviews in progress, and joined the flow of humanity filled with
possibility on this cold, bright January day.
