Ben and Vera
By James Donahue
Ben Nottingham was an eccentric writer on the News Palladium staff. His unique life-style and way of free thinking was probably as close as I ever found to the old “Beat Generation.” He was a tall, lean man with thick horned-rim glasses who wrote great stories. Just his by-line was enough to make you want to read every inch of what he had to say, even when it came to routing news reporting. Ben gained recognition for a series of pieces he wrote about a character he met in one of the area taverns that spun tall tales. Ben lived on Paw Paw Lake not far from the cottage we were renting. He and his wife were parents of a large family. Going to Ben’s house was an adventure in chaos, with children of all ages running, screaming. and keeping the house in total disarray.
In some ways I couldn’t blame Ben for not wanting to go home nights. But I also felt sorry for his haggard wife who was trapped in that place day and night with all of those children. Doris was struggling with just one baby in the house and she was going through that awkward phase of carrying a second one. I wondered how we were going to all fit in that small one-bedroom cottage once the second baby arrived.
Ben had a girl friend at the office. Nobody knew if they were lovers, but we all knew they were drinking buddies, especially on payday. Her name was Vera Lay, a name that seemed strangely appropriate. She worked as the office receptionist with a desk located at the top of the stairs right at the entrance to the newsroom. She did numerous other odd jobs like serve as Bert’s secretary, take dictation from reporters on the road who called in stories, sorted mail, and probably prepared the daily obituaries, weather report and other routine tasks. She was a woman in her late thirties or early forties, slightly overweight, but with all her curves in the right places. She wore clothes that accented those curves. She flirted with all of the men in the office, so we all perceived her as a very sexy woman. She lived in an apartment over one of the downtown stores in Benton Harbor, about a block from the office. She and Ben got into some serious mischief in that Benton Harbor apartment. Staff members talked about one party that got out of hand - there were water balloons dropped from the windows on people passing below and the police got involved.
One day Doris and I woke up to find a big snow storm raging. Living on the west coast of Michigan, along the Lake Michigan shoreline, made the area a target for some heavy lake effect snows, and we were experiencing the first one of those blasts after moving into the area. The snow was so deep in was level with the window casing of our house. The car was buried. I had a long driveway to dig out to a road that was still plugged with snow. It was obvious that I was so snowed in that I was not going to get to work. And that was a very bad day to have had such a storm because it was payday. Doris and I lived from paycheck to paycheck.
I called Ben and found that he also was snowed in. We had to wait for a snow plow to pass before we could think of getting out. We called the office to let them know. In the meantime, I started digging out our driveway while we waited. But as I said, it was a long drive and the snow was deep, damp and heavy. It was going to be a long hard job. Before I got it finished the plow opened our road about mid-morning. Then Ben called and said he was out and was coming over to pick me up. I always took a camera home so we had orders to get some pictures depicting the storm on the way in.
When we got on I-94 off the Coloma exit, we found the highway snow covered and extremely slippery. We were carefully making our way toward Benton Harbor when we came upon a Greyhound bus that slid off the highway. It was resting half tipped in the ditch. It was a picture just waiting to be taken. Ben pulled off on the side of the road. I had my door open and one foot reaching for the ground when “Blam!” a car slammed into the back of Ben’s car. We were both thrown back into the seats, but we were not hurt. The car that hit us was driven by a young woman trying to get home from Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo. When she saw our brake lights go on she hit her brakes. That caused her car to skid out of control, and she rammed us. Fortunately she was not traveling very fast and the damage was light enough that both vehicles could be driven. Rather than wait in the cold for a police car to happen to come along, we agreed to drive to the nearest police station and file a report. We then went on to the office.
We worked a short day, but we accomplished our mission, which was to get our paychecks and deposit the money in our bank accounts. As we were getting ready to go home that night, I was surprised when Vera got in the car with us. Ben suggested that we go to a local bar for a drink before going home. I knew Doris would have dinner ready and be home waiting for me so I didn’t like the idea very much, but I was at their mercy. It was obvious that I had been set up. We had one drink, then another and another. Eventually I realized that I was stuck so went to a pay telephone to call Doris and try to explain. As I was talking to her, Vera loudly made it clear that we had at least one woman with us. When I stumbled into the cottage much later that night I had a cold reception awaiting me.
A few weeks later Ben and I were both served notice that the driver of the car that hit us was filing a lawsuit for damages suffered in the accident. We both had to go to court on that case. The girl claimed that we drove out in front of her and that she was unable to stop on the slippery road. She claimed the accident was our fault and not hers. When I gave my testimony, the lawyer refused to let me tell what really happened and cleverly twisted my words. I left that courtroom with a very bad impression of American justice after that experience. Fortunately the police report we all filed had the facts right, and the girl lost her case. The litigation, however, delayed his insurance claim and he was forced to drive a banged-up car for months.
The following spring, the newspaper decided to open a bureau in South Haven. There already was a bureau operating successfully in Paw Paw, the Van Buren County seat, but South Haven was a busy coastal city with one of the most active State Police posts in the state, a U.S. Coast Guard station, and a busy local police and fire department. Ben was given the job of going to South Haven and launching the bureau. It did not work out. Nottingham was too socially oriented to leave the main office, and he struggled against a daily newspaper already operating in South Haven. A few weeks after he was sent out on that assignment, Ben came walking into the office with his typewriter under one arm and the telephone in the other hand, its cord trailing him across the floor. He walked up to Bert Lindenfeld’s desk, dropped the typewriter and telephone down in front of his working editor, and said: “I quit.” He then walked out of the office.
Lindenfeld was not about to lose a good reporter that easily. He also knew that Ben was putting his family in jeopardy by letting his emotions take over like that. He caught up with Ben and persuaded him to return to his old job. We were all glad to see him back.
Ben later took a job at the Grand Rapids Press. I remember helping him load a U-Haul and move out of his house. I saw his by-line in the Press several times after that but never personally saw or heard from him again. I later learned that he worked as the paper’s outdoor editor until he retired in 1981. He died in 2015.
Vera Lay remained at the News Palladium as long as I did and probably retired there. Because of my escapade with Ben and Vera that one winter night, I think Doris always mistrusted the woman. And Vera seemed to always know just how to get under Doris’ skin. She dressed extra sexy for the Christmas parties and made sure she flirted with me while Doris was nearby. I remember one night she came up behind me and shoved her hand deep into one of my pants pockets. Doris never let me forget that. I had a hard time forgetting it myself.
By James Donahue
Ben Nottingham was an eccentric writer on the News Palladium staff. His unique life-style and way of free thinking was probably as close as I ever found to the old “Beat Generation.” He was a tall, lean man with thick horned-rim glasses who wrote great stories. Just his by-line was enough to make you want to read every inch of what he had to say, even when it came to routing news reporting. Ben gained recognition for a series of pieces he wrote about a character he met in one of the area taverns that spun tall tales. Ben lived on Paw Paw Lake not far from the cottage we were renting. He and his wife were parents of a large family. Going to Ben’s house was an adventure in chaos, with children of all ages running, screaming. and keeping the house in total disarray.
In some ways I couldn’t blame Ben for not wanting to go home nights. But I also felt sorry for his haggard wife who was trapped in that place day and night with all of those children. Doris was struggling with just one baby in the house and she was going through that awkward phase of carrying a second one. I wondered how we were going to all fit in that small one-bedroom cottage once the second baby arrived.
Ben had a girl friend at the office. Nobody knew if they were lovers, but we all knew they were drinking buddies, especially on payday. Her name was Vera Lay, a name that seemed strangely appropriate. She worked as the office receptionist with a desk located at the top of the stairs right at the entrance to the newsroom. She did numerous other odd jobs like serve as Bert’s secretary, take dictation from reporters on the road who called in stories, sorted mail, and probably prepared the daily obituaries, weather report and other routine tasks. She was a woman in her late thirties or early forties, slightly overweight, but with all her curves in the right places. She wore clothes that accented those curves. She flirted with all of the men in the office, so we all perceived her as a very sexy woman. She lived in an apartment over one of the downtown stores in Benton Harbor, about a block from the office. She and Ben got into some serious mischief in that Benton Harbor apartment. Staff members talked about one party that got out of hand - there were water balloons dropped from the windows on people passing below and the police got involved.
One day Doris and I woke up to find a big snow storm raging. Living on the west coast of Michigan, along the Lake Michigan shoreline, made the area a target for some heavy lake effect snows, and we were experiencing the first one of those blasts after moving into the area. The snow was so deep in was level with the window casing of our house. The car was buried. I had a long driveway to dig out to a road that was still plugged with snow. It was obvious that I was so snowed in that I was not going to get to work. And that was a very bad day to have had such a storm because it was payday. Doris and I lived from paycheck to paycheck.
I called Ben and found that he also was snowed in. We had to wait for a snow plow to pass before we could think of getting out. We called the office to let them know. In the meantime, I started digging out our driveway while we waited. But as I said, it was a long drive and the snow was deep, damp and heavy. It was going to be a long hard job. Before I got it finished the plow opened our road about mid-morning. Then Ben called and said he was out and was coming over to pick me up. I always took a camera home so we had orders to get some pictures depicting the storm on the way in.
When we got on I-94 off the Coloma exit, we found the highway snow covered and extremely slippery. We were carefully making our way toward Benton Harbor when we came upon a Greyhound bus that slid off the highway. It was resting half tipped in the ditch. It was a picture just waiting to be taken. Ben pulled off on the side of the road. I had my door open and one foot reaching for the ground when “Blam!” a car slammed into the back of Ben’s car. We were both thrown back into the seats, but we were not hurt. The car that hit us was driven by a young woman trying to get home from Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo. When she saw our brake lights go on she hit her brakes. That caused her car to skid out of control, and she rammed us. Fortunately she was not traveling very fast and the damage was light enough that both vehicles could be driven. Rather than wait in the cold for a police car to happen to come along, we agreed to drive to the nearest police station and file a report. We then went on to the office.
We worked a short day, but we accomplished our mission, which was to get our paychecks and deposit the money in our bank accounts. As we were getting ready to go home that night, I was surprised when Vera got in the car with us. Ben suggested that we go to a local bar for a drink before going home. I knew Doris would have dinner ready and be home waiting for me so I didn’t like the idea very much, but I was at their mercy. It was obvious that I had been set up. We had one drink, then another and another. Eventually I realized that I was stuck so went to a pay telephone to call Doris and try to explain. As I was talking to her, Vera loudly made it clear that we had at least one woman with us. When I stumbled into the cottage much later that night I had a cold reception awaiting me.
A few weeks later Ben and I were both served notice that the driver of the car that hit us was filing a lawsuit for damages suffered in the accident. We both had to go to court on that case. The girl claimed that we drove out in front of her and that she was unable to stop on the slippery road. She claimed the accident was our fault and not hers. When I gave my testimony, the lawyer refused to let me tell what really happened and cleverly twisted my words. I left that courtroom with a very bad impression of American justice after that experience. Fortunately the police report we all filed had the facts right, and the girl lost her case. The litigation, however, delayed his insurance claim and he was forced to drive a banged-up car for months.
The following spring, the newspaper decided to open a bureau in South Haven. There already was a bureau operating successfully in Paw Paw, the Van Buren County seat, but South Haven was a busy coastal city with one of the most active State Police posts in the state, a U.S. Coast Guard station, and a busy local police and fire department. Ben was given the job of going to South Haven and launching the bureau. It did not work out. Nottingham was too socially oriented to leave the main office, and he struggled against a daily newspaper already operating in South Haven. A few weeks after he was sent out on that assignment, Ben came walking into the office with his typewriter under one arm and the telephone in the other hand, its cord trailing him across the floor. He walked up to Bert Lindenfeld’s desk, dropped the typewriter and telephone down in front of his working editor, and said: “I quit.” He then walked out of the office.
Lindenfeld was not about to lose a good reporter that easily. He also knew that Ben was putting his family in jeopardy by letting his emotions take over like that. He caught up with Ben and persuaded him to return to his old job. We were all glad to see him back.
Ben later took a job at the Grand Rapids Press. I remember helping him load a U-Haul and move out of his house. I saw his by-line in the Press several times after that but never personally saw or heard from him again. I later learned that he worked as the paper’s outdoor editor until he retired in 1981. He died in 2015.
Vera Lay remained at the News Palladium as long as I did and probably retired there. Because of my escapade with Ben and Vera that one winter night, I think Doris always mistrusted the woman. And Vera seemed to always know just how to get under Doris’ skin. She dressed extra sexy for the Christmas parties and made sure she flirted with me while Doris was nearby. I remember one night she came up behind me and shoved her hand deep into one of my pants pockets. Doris never let me forget that. I had a hard time forgetting it myself.