There's a woman that calls the newsroom frequently. We call her Racist Marge. She may have a last name, but she's never given
it, probably for fear we will use some part of her tirades as comment in a story, as if we were that insane.
A few months ago I reported a story about a "breakout" of encephalitis in Staten Island. There was, in actuality, no real breakout - just the threat of one, with numbers one patient higher than usual. Well, the next night I had my first interaction with Racist Marge. I had heard stories of her, but had never met her on the phone, and when I said "Newsroom, this is Melis-" and she launched into a forty-minute rant about how there are still illnesses in this country because the "dirty filthy immigrants" sneak them over the border, nay, all the way up to Staten Island, over the Verrazzano, mind you, I knew I had met a truly mad person. It made me feel bad for her, because if she has nothing better to do than call the local newspaper with imagined apocalypse scenarios, home life can't be fun and daisies.
(Not that she's the only slightly off-kilter phone call we get. We are constantly notified that there are UFO's in neighborhoods from SI's top to bottom. One person called me to ask the day and time once - the easiest way to get her off the phone was to give it to her. Another told me that it was my fault that there were so few Italian or black reporters at the Advance, and this 'Dolnick' guy [the name of the reporter who had written an article about racial ferry hiring practices] was one of a string of white Jews who control the paper, and when I told this caller I wondered how he had a profile of our employee's ethnicities, and that I hoped he wasn't going by names because I am Italian and Sam Dolnick is neither caucasian nor Jewish, he hung up.)
Anyway, it's been a while since we heard from ol Marge. So when I read about Bush's sudden desire to throw open the doors of America, I knew we were in for a call. I didn't know I'd be the one to pick up the phone.
"Hello, newsroom, Melissa speaking."
"It's the dirty filthy immigrants! They sneak over our borders and now Bush wants to let them in and it's the end of the Republican party!"
"Hi Marge."
"Can you believe what he's doing, boy oh boy, I'll tell you, where's the psycho with a gun when you need him? We aren't as lucky with Bush as we were with Reagan (pronounced "Reegan.")."
She hung up at this point and I sat with my jaw dropped for some time. Now, I'm no big fan of George Bush, and I would bet my life and then some that if re-election wasn't on the line he couldn't give a siesta about Mexican workers in America, but I'm not about to hit the grassy knoll about it, or wish death on the man. That's up there with my distant relation who swears Bush set up 9/11 for political gain. If I could even in my darkest heart half-believe that, I'd move out of the country.
A few months ago I reported a story about a "breakout" of encephalitis in Staten Island. There was, in actuality, no real breakout - just the threat of one, with numbers one patient higher than usual. Well, the next night I had my first interaction with Racist Marge. I had heard stories of her, but had never met her on the phone, and when I said "Newsroom, this is Melis-" and she launched into a forty-minute rant about how there are still illnesses in this country because the "dirty filthy immigrants" sneak them over the border, nay, all the way up to Staten Island, over the Verrazzano, mind you, I knew I had met a truly mad person. It made me feel bad for her, because if she has nothing better to do than call the local newspaper with imagined apocalypse scenarios, home life can't be fun and daisies.
(Not that she's the only slightly off-kilter phone call we get. We are constantly notified that there are UFO's in neighborhoods from SI's top to bottom. One person called me to ask the day and time once - the easiest way to get her off the phone was to give it to her. Another told me that it was my fault that there were so few Italian or black reporters at the Advance, and this 'Dolnick' guy [the name of the reporter who had written an article about racial ferry hiring practices] was one of a string of white Jews who control the paper, and when I told this caller I wondered how he had a profile of our employee's ethnicities, and that I hoped he wasn't going by names because I am Italian and Sam Dolnick is neither caucasian nor Jewish, he hung up.)
Anyway, it's been a while since we heard from ol Marge. So when I read about Bush's sudden desire to throw open the doors of America, I knew we were in for a call. I didn't know I'd be the one to pick up the phone.
"Hello, newsroom, Melissa speaking."
"It's the dirty filthy immigrants! They sneak over our borders and now Bush wants to let them in and it's the end of the Republican party!"
"Hi Marge."
"Can you believe what he's doing, boy oh boy, I'll tell you, where's the psycho with a gun when you need him? We aren't as lucky with Bush as we were with Reagan (pronounced "Reegan.")."
She hung up at this point and I sat with my jaw dropped for some time. Now, I'm no big fan of George Bush, and I would bet my life and then some that if re-election wasn't on the line he couldn't give a siesta about Mexican workers in America, but I'm not about to hit the grassy knoll about it, or wish death on the man. That's up there with my distant relation who swears Bush set up 9/11 for political gain. If I could even in my darkest heart half-believe that, I'd move out of the country.
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