Mentor Wrote a Meaningful Page in One Writer's Life

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. 

Ever since I got my first journal in second grade, I haven’t stopped writing to myself.  I figured it was better than talking to myself. 

I have since journal-ed through my whole life, even writing on the day I met my husband how “I had just met the guy I was going to marry.” After having my son, which totally altered my life as I formally knew it, I had so much to write about that I couldn’t begin to get it all on paper. 

Every time I did something outrageously over-protective with my son, something completely koo-koo that only a new mom with no sleep would do, I thought about how funny and relatable it probably was to so many other moms. 

I couldn’t possibly be the only freak in town. 

So, I used my credentials as a former Hollywood executive to pitch myself to the Culver City News Editor, Glenn Esterly, to write a column about being a Mom. I sent him a quirky e-mail about how I would like to write confessions of a new Mom, a column about finally growing up while raising my son, and sent along some samples of what I would do. 

Somehow, I struck a chord and he thought it was a great idea. 

“Raising Mommy” was born and I was going to be a columnist!  Wow.  Sure, I had worked in the entertainment business for years on screenplays and TV scripts, but newspaper writing was different, more influential, immediate, and a whole new arena for me. 

I had a column to produce every single week. 

I was thrilled that Glenn was giving me this chance.  I wanted so badly to write well for him, the consummate newspaper man.

Glenn embodied the term “professional journalist.”  He was a bit unkempt and his curled hair was graying when we first met.  He had thin shoulders from years of sitting over a typewriter, little sleep, and not much exercise, and his desk was a disaster, littered with newspapers from all over the city.

Dictionaries and thesauruses bricked his walls.  He was quiet, always thinking and pensive, carefully assessing then articulating what he was going to say. He was a pro and I knew he was wicked smart. 

Glenn wrote conservatively yet he was liberal and progressive in spirit.  He had been making his living writing for newspapers and magazines for years, as a real beat reporter with a resume spanning writing for the Associated Press through being a correspondent for TV Guide. 

Weekly, he wrote investigative pieces while editing the paper. He brought life to mundane stories about town council meetings.  That’s not easy. 

He got people interested in taking part in what was happening in town.  He cared and he wrote old-school, relaying the facts without dropping in his own opinions.  I wanted so desperately to impress him. 

For over five years, I have been writing for Glenn. Over the years I have trusted him to let me know if I was too weird, too funny (I hoped), too personal, too opinionated, too cliché, or too over the top. He has been the first to read about the things I hold closest to my heart, like learning I was pregnant with my second son Tommy, losing my oldest brother to melanoma, Frankie’s first day of school, discovering my sister had cancer, and finding out that I had it as well.

Each Tuesday, I couldn’t wait to get his edit, see his pull-quote, read his heading that seemed to always pull my scribbling together.  Each week I couldn’t wait to see what he thought of my column.  Would I get a “good job,” a “timely,” or a “funny stuff” or just simply a couple of commas and hyphenations?  Each Tuesday I waited for his response…

…and last Tuesday, Dec. 23, Glenn passed away. 

Glenn was my editor, my friend, my journal. 

He was like a father that I wrote to every week, sharing the latest in my life and who I anxiously waited to hear back from.  It was as if on this journey of my life, he walked next to me, not meddling too much, but giving me just enough courage.  I knew that he was there for me. 

He taught me how to say a lot with a few words.  He taught me to stay real and be honest.  He told me I was brave when I was vulnerable and scared. 

Glenn took a chance on me and by doing that, changed my life. 

He gave me the privilege of writing in his newspaper.  I will miss you Glenn, as I know Culver City will, too. 

You were the courageous one.