Silver "Buzzers" Come Home, Press Badges Stir Memories

I was young and dumb and ready for action, thought I'd seen a thing or two. My editor all those years ago sent me down to the Hall of Justice in San Francisco and told me to look up someone named "Scoop" and "The Baron."

It was a madhouse, with all the "personalities" that come with an urban city - and magnified by ten because it was San Francisco. A Disneyland for adults. There was a card game in progress when I made it to the third floor press room - a gorgeous blond, some TV people, cops. They said they were playing for candy bars.

"Siddown, kid, more the merrier."

One of the players was a Superior Court Judge. Everyone, it turned out, was armed. I began to lose.

"You're going to go far down here," the Examiner man - Malcolm "Scoop" Glover, said approvingly. He brightened when a good looking guy in a dapper suit walked in, the press room ringing with "Hey, Baron!"

Baron Muller was a legend around the city and the Hall of Justice. He'd covered everything that moved in town for years and had a string of exclusives on his belt. I tried not to look too impressed. They got around to asking for my press card, a laminated piece of junk with a sorry looking photo and some words that were supposed to get me past police lines when things were exploding.

"What's the matter with you guys?" The Baron asked the cops in attendance while looking at my press card with a look a new dad reserves for a recently soiled diaper. "You used to have a little class." And with that he threw down his police reporter's "star" the one with his number "9" in hard-fired enamel, in a leather holder and gleaming.

It sounded cool. I looked at it with envy.

"Yeah," Scoop said, throwing his lapel shield on the table. "Those were the days."

I started to drool.

I put in a few years with the paper and left, never getting anything nicer to wear than a lanyard and that crappy laminated card. A few months ago The Baron's badge and buzzer turned up on the antiques market, he's not with us any longer, and I pounced.

Had to have it. And proud to have known the man and shared time with them all.

They had class.