So long Sam

Donna Riley-Gordon

EFFINGHAM — The newsroom is much quieter now.

Longtime Sports Editor Sam Rickelman has left the building and the EDN pages — at least on a daily basis — after more than 51 years of bringing area readers the best in local sports.

His booming voice no longer ricochets through the newsroom, making new reporters quake in their shoes and some managers grit their teeth. His teasing tone no longer summons select members of the staff to his office, an honor to be one of the chosen. His sarcastic remarks no longer sting the guilty and please the innocent.

Life at the EDN will never be the same.

Not a morning person by nature, I stumble through the doors and shuffle past the sport’s editor’s office. But as I reach the open doorway, all is quiet. There are no summons using his made-up titles — chiefette, editress and others, including some not so nice ones depending on the mood of the moment. As I glance in the doorway, a bold color of Cub blue hits my still sleepy eyes — Millie Lange (Sam’s longtime sidekick) has taken over.

Cardinals’ memorabilia on the office walls have given way to Cubs’ items. Hundreds of ink pens stuffed in desk drawers (I always knew Sam was the office pen thief) have been dumped in a box for staff to swipe as needed. And it is a female voice that hollers at me through the morning haze.

Life goes on.

Sam was the patriarch of the newsroom. Editors have come and gone. Reporters kept a revolving door turning. The one constant factor in the newsroom was Sam. He was an icon. He set a tone that demanded young journalists be the best they could be. He inspired hard work and honesty; he epitomized fair play; he expected integrity; he demanded one to have a sense of humor.

Sam epitomized the gruff reporter with the soft heart portrayed in so many movies and novels. The only things missing were the cigar clamped in his teeth, the bottle in his drawer and the press card in the hat brim, although I’ve heard enough stories to know the first two items also were once traits that could have described Sam.

His mere presence could intimidate young reporters. They would tiptoe by his office, yearning for, but yet unsure whether they had gained, Sam’s respect. When he began harassing them about this or that, they knew they had gained entrance into the sacred realm — Sam’s domain.

And once a journalist gained entrance, there was no turning back. That reporter or editor or other staff member would be teased and picked on from that point on. But then he would nonchalantly stop by the person’s desk and slide them a story idea or other information that would help the person succeed in this cut-throat world.

The gruff man wasn’t as brusque as he let on.

It was an honor to be one of Sam’s chosen. If Sam liked you, there was hope the talent you believed you had actually existed. He befriended those he believed would one day be good journalists and were willing to put in the work to do so. He would let a reporter get reamed by the editor and then quietly slip that reporter a story idea that would help the rookie redeem his or her self in the editor’s eyes. Sam was a mentor to countless reporters, who went on to make names for themselves as journalists at larger newspapers and sometimes in other careers. Laziness, however, would keep Sam at a distance.

You had to earn Sam’s respect.

Sam learned his journalistic trade through the school of hard knocks. He doesn’t hold a journalism degree; instead his diploma is etched with hard work and persistence from the Learn As You Go School of Life. One lesson he learned from this education was passed on to new staff members: Sometimes you have to stumble through to learn, but failure is not an option. Sam may let a person fall, but he was always there offering a hand back up.

He may not have been a trained journalist, but there was none better. His talent made the ink stick to his words. His stories leapt off the page. Readers saw the game as they read. As their eyes went back and forth over the words, the action played out in their minds — they were in the stadium, in the gym, standing along the track and sitting at the field. He was a master storyteller who gave punch to every word that hit paper.

Sam was still in high school when he began working for the EDN. He did whatever needed to be done, whether that was delivering a paper or working in the pressroom. Then-Editor Frank Dooling gave Sam his first sportswriting assignment when he told him to go cover the Effingham vs. Shelbyville football game.

One of Sam’s favorite stories is how when he was playing football at EHS, coach Jack Klosterman always told him he would make a fine sports writer. They were words that sealed Sam’s destiny, or so he says.

And a career was born.

Sam may have spent most of the last 51-plus years covering sports, but he was more than a sports editor, he was a true newsman. He believes in newspapers and all they entail, not just the sports section. His fingerprints have been left throughout the EDN, not just on the sports stories that carried his byline. When he believed something would help or hurt the EDN as a newspaper he would fight, very loudly, for the outcome that would benefit readers and keep the paper’s journalistic integrity.

The EDN is better because of it.

Although he was great by himself, when Sam teamed up with Millie they became better. The two were a team through everything — the highs, the lows and all the in-betweens. They were a team for 20-plus years, both in the newsroom, at sporting events and in each other’s lives. They are family, although no blood relation.

Pat, the rock behind the Rickelman saga, also known as his wife, affectionately calls Millie Sam’s other wife or his work wife.

Many young journalists who have been seated directly behind Millie in the newsroom have been taken aback by the relationship when they first began working at the EDN. Things may have been humming along quietly, when an outburst between the two broke up the monotonous tapping of computer keys. Voices were raised, harsh words — including expletives — were exchanged, and the rest of the newsroom fell into silence. A few — or sometimes several, depending on the issue — minutes later, the two were getting along as if nothing happened. And at lunch time, Sam would say something like, if not these exact words, “Come on, Little Buddy, lets go eat lunch.”

They argued, they fought and they were inseparable.

It was not unusual to see both Sam and Millie sitting side-by-side at a sports game. They both liked sports and they liked each other. Watching the game together was more enjoyable. And it was a normal occurrence for the two to take off after work and go shopping — one of Sam’s favorite pastimes. Pat, who was not so fond of shopping, was happy to hand over a shopping list and wave goodbye as the two took off.

In the newsroom, they shared the work. And when something happened outside of work, they were there for each other.

When Sam had heart problems and first learned he had diabetes, it was Millie who stepped up to the plate. She ran the sports department on her own while Sam recovered.

When Millie struggled to deal with her mother’s, and then later her father’s, Alzheimer’s, Sam and Pat were there, as they were when her parents died.

And it was Millie who understood and shouldered as much burden as she could when the most devastating blow came — the diagnosis of cancer and subsequent death of Sam and Pat’s son.

It wasn’t just the tough times that held the team together, though.

The good times were shared, too.

Sam’s love for his wife and children — Chris and Cindy — were evident in the continual stories he told about them, not only to Millie but to many in the newsroom. When Granddaughter MacKenzie joined the family, she became his favored subject of tales.

He has more soft spots than he would ever admit, but his family has the hold on his heart. They were and are his pride and joy.

Christmas was a favorite time. Sam and Millie regularly hammered out a Christmas Gift List column for the sports page that was funny and loved by all, especially those who were lucky enough to escape the list. Every year, the two would go shopping together. And then the three — Sam, Pat and Millie — would share the gifts with others in his home away from home — his office.

During March Madness, Sam and Millie would hang a chart in Sam’s office and when teams fell by the wayside, Sam would designate someone in the newsroom for that day’s ritual of crossing out fallen teams. It was an honor to be selected for the “crossing off.”

Sam wasn’t shy.

His outgoing personality helped him connect to those he covered. He not only loved sports, he loved those involved in sports — coaches, booster clubs and players, especially the players.

He loved watching players strive to be their best, and he loved seeing them overcome obstacles to reach for the stars. He wrote about them with love. Every word, a word of encouragement to strive to be the best, even when one met with defeat.

Sam watched as careers developed and never hesitated to call in favors to try to help a kid get a scholarship, although oftentimes he would never say a word to anyone about it.

His bylines are taped into countless treasured scrapbooks. His words anchored onto pages of memories for countless young players who have grown into adulthood.

He’ll be missed by all.

We — coaches, players and EDN staff — are adjusting to Sam’s absence. Although, a true newsman, he still hasn’t completely severed his ties. He will continue to cover some games for the EDN on an occasional basis; thus, his byline will still grace our pages.

Sam had been talking about retiring for the last couple of years, but those who knew him well understood it would be difficult for him to walk away from a job he loved. Health problems forced his hand, however, and the inevitable day came — after almost 52 years, Sam passed the torch to Millie and new sports reporter Dustin White.

With his health back on track, Sam began a new chapter in his book — life that no longer required a 4 a.m. wake-up call and evenings spent covering games. He and Pat have taken full advantage of this new free time; they take regular short trips to try out new restaurants, do a little shopping and see the sights.

Sam has never been better. He has lost weight, gained color in his skin and has a 51-year-old load lifted off his shoulders — it’s not easy putting out a sports section on a daily basis. He has discovered that retirement isn’t so bad after all.

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