IN GENERAL.
Loud, messy, angry editors, writing long roaming and usually pointless pieces.
Either to thank someone who promised them a favour in return for some good/bad
press or just to vent some personal irk with the price of pipe-cleaners these
days (how do they live with themselves).
This is a bit of a Phenomenon throughout the world of printed journalism. Of
course our paper isn't like one of these. We're more interested in other
things, (1) making enemies and/or (2) confusing people -not always managing the
second, but never failing to do the first-. However we did come across an
editorial in the Seattle Post which is not the normal tripe at all. They have
threatened to sue us for circulating this, but what can you do when you don't
know who to sue? (we sang).
SEATTLE POST 24th SEPTEMBER 1998 - Editor Mr. Gregory Higgins
A FINAL EDITORIAL.
I have spent many happy years as your editor. I have enjoyed the sensationalism
of the eighties and to a lesser extent, the hard hitting factual reporting of
the nineties. Needless to say I have a few stories that I have amassed over
that time. I would like in particular to tell a special story. The story which
raised me from a weekend events reviewer to the, soon to be Ex-Editor of the
Seattle post.
I am sure you have all heard of, whether you have the whole story or not, the
string of murders in the Seattle area claiming the lives of 11 High school
girls, dubbed 'The Seattle slaughter'. In the Autumn of 1969, almost 29 years
exactly today, I came upon a photographer named Harold Simms. Harold never
married and passed away almost 5 years ago now, so I have no qualms in
divulging this information to the Public of today.
One night whilst attending a charity auction in the Seattle Museum of Modern
Art, I met Harry in the lobby scowling at the lack of celebrity turn-out. It
was a very important time in my career as I was 28 and just around the corner
from being regarded as a failed report, where as I had previously been known as
a young man waiting for his 'Big Break'. Harry was a rough paparazzi type, of a
school of thought which was soon to give birth to the media hounds who assault
the famous of today.
After a fairly dismal turnout on that rainy windswept night. Harold and I went
for a drink in a small Downtown Bar called, quite simply 'The Bar'. After a few
too many JD's the conversation turned from this and that, to work and both of
our careers and how unglamorous they both were. On into the night we talked
about how if we could get that one chance, just one! We'd grab it with both
hands and never let it go.
After leaving 'The Bar' we walked through the quite streets chatting about
trifles but always returning to that 'Big Break'. When we reached the corner of
32nd and Rochdale we encountered what would should have been a shocking image.
There on the corner of the street lay a young Girl, approximately 18, her name
turned out to be Anna Rosinski. She had obviously been the victim of a hit and
run, as she wore a long dark gash across her forehead where she'd hit the
pavement.
Unbelievably, I felt no dread a the sight and no shock at this young girls
untimely demise. I smelt a story and so did Harry. After a brief drunken
debate, we decided what we were going to do. Harry had a long switchblade which
he carried to defend himself from the various angry Body Guards he occasionally
encountered in the course of his work. And with it we quickly went to work on
the Girls arms and torso. We inscribed what is now a famous sigil of a serpent
eating its tail on her stomach, called the police and Harry began to take
photos.
It was as easy as that! No planning, no actual Killing, just some carefully
placed incisions and a clever.... Well I suppose Logo would be the right word.
It was frighteningly similar to advertising, PR or even Marketing! The story
went all the way to front page, with our names mentioned on numerous occasions
in different papers. In my own column I revealed that I'd received a anonymous
Phone Call asking for a meeting at the corner of 32nd and Rochdale, everyone
believed. But like all news, a couple of days saw it swept under the carpet and
although I'd gotten my big break I needed to find a way to make it stick. And
then something amazing happened.
I was sitting in my kitchen trying to rewrite a review that the copy editor had
thrown back at me, when the phone rang. Apparently it was the killer! The man
who'd inscribed the motif on the girls stomach and that I was to meet him
outside 'The Cranberry Stop' on Walkers St. What could I do?
I called Harry who swore he hadn't called me. Who then? A prankster? There
really was only one way to find out. Harry and I went along only to find
another dead girl lying in the street. This time however we had no need of
Harry's switchblade. The Motif was there already, almost exactly the same as
the one we had carved ourselves. There was also a note, it didn't make much
sense. But I knew in my heart that this would not be the last body I'd stand
over. After reading the note Harry turned to me and said, 'What have we done?'.
'What you two have begun, I will finish, The young are so peaceful. Why else
would I need to lay them out? I shall draw a picture in shades of red and none
shall Know with whom I paint it. The young lie down to me so that I may lay
them out, your young will lie down before me, as I lay you out'
I shall skip the interim because it is a widely known fact that the Seattle
slaughters spanned two years before the murders mysteriously stopped and Harry
and myself were the first to find all eleven girls. It went as far as the point
where the police kept us under surveillance to ensure we had not committed the
murders ourselves. We did not, but then again maybe we did.
Eleven girls killed to Make three men famous. The price for my success has
always hung over me, it is only now at the end of my career that I can say what
I now say.
I have never married and have no young to lie down before you as you lay me
out, but come to me anyway. I need to know who you are. Did you enjoyed the
fame I gave you? Or did you flee the police? I know you killed Harry but what
did you tell him before he died?
Gregory Higgins
Gregory Higgins died of a heart-attack last July. Whether he was ever visited
by the killer, we don't know. But I think this definitely stands out as a truly
Extraordinary Editorial.
P Wanchope Woopass Weekly
