Эбби Луби - Nuclear Romance

What about the Daily Suburban ? She couldn’t remember when she’d last seen Lou’s byline. These days someone else was writing about ALLPower—if you could call it writing. She knew Owen Marks was still the editor. She’d give it a shot and call him.

“Yeah. I’ve seen your byline,” Owen said. “What’s up?”

“I’d like to pitch you a story comparing ALLPower to the Japanese plant disaster—you do know I have experience writing about ALLPower, don’t you?”

“Job is already filled, Ms. Dolan.”

“Any openings to write straight news?”

Owen looked over at Lou’s empty desk.

“I don’t get it. Didn’t you sell out your own paper? Don’t you write for the Metro Record now?”

“Actually, I’m just freelancing. I could really use a full-time job. I don’t suppose Bob Stalinksy ever mentioned my name to you?”

As soon as she said it, she was sorry. Paybacks and favors died with the lake story.

“No. Should he have?”

“I guess not.”

“You don’t have a clue, do you, Ms. Dolan. Your reputation as a reporter in Westchester is dismal. If I hired you, how would I know you wouldn’t screw us like you did Al Areva? Me? I wouldn’t take the chance. Have a nice day.”

The phone clicked off. Chrissy was devastated. She was too pushy for her own good. Was her brief career as a reporter totally ruined? Something Lou said began to haunt her. Something about burning her bridges.

Bob sat in the posh office of the high-priced PR firm on Madison Avenue. He was heady with power—there wasn’t anything he couldn’t make happen. Two reporters dared to write lies about ALLPower, and both had been fired. But here he was, still head honcho, more empowered than ever. The new campaign had started based on what he called the Fukushima syndrome, the highly charged skepticism about nuclear power newly fueled by the Japanese disaster.

“Here are a couple of new slogans, Mr. Stalinsky.” The young ad executive projected a PowerPoint presentation on the wall. “I like this one the best.”

CLEAN, SAFE, AND CRUCIAL.

It was good, catchy. The campaign would be built on those three words: “clean,” indicating nuclear was good for the environment; “safe,” the public doesn’t have to worry about—well, anything really; and “crucial,” for generating enough electricity to homes and businesses in the area and New York City. The slogan would create a strong, new media buzz. People would forget about the accidents, the problems.

The executives at ALLPower loved it. Bob gave them his most enthusiastic spiel and talked them into spending seven figures on the ad campaign. The part he loved the best? Unlimited funds for writers and bloggers to counter the anti-nuke cyber activity and pump out pro-nuke opinion letters on a daily basis.

The ad agency needed Bob to sign off on a series of radio and TV ads that would air immediately. He reviewed them all; each brilliant spot made him feel strong, immune to anyone who might jeopardize the future of nuclear power or his job ever again.

“I like them. Run them all.”

“We’ll start to schedule these ads right away, Mr. Stalinksy. Will there be anything else?” The ad person was gathering his notes.

“Yes. Actually there is,” said Bob. “We need a press release pronto about our application to the NRC for a new operating license. One of your in-house crackerjack writers is what I want.”

ALLPower wanted to extend their operating license to keep the plant running for twenty more years. The NRC application would take at least four years, and Bob had no doubt that the opposition would rally.

They would advertise heavily, and even the slightest plant mishap would be played down in the news.

A week later, when the new young reporter Owen just hired to replace Lou opened his e-mail, he saw the ALLPower press release. He buzzed Owen and asked him if he wanted to run it.

“Sure, it’s news, right? Not just a puff story?”

Owen knew he would have to spoon-feed the young man, but the kid was working for almost nothing. He did what he was told and didn’t give Owen any guff.

“It sure is news, Mr. Marks. Should I get responses from the anti-nukers who are against keeping the plant open?”

Owen paused and thought about all the new ads ALLPower had just taken out in the paper with their flashy new slogan. “Nah. Just rewrite the release to make it sound like a news story. That should do it.”

Stella peeked into Bob’s room to empty his garbage and saw his open suitcase. It was half filled. Seems her son had decided to leave. He’d had enough.

“So be it.” She glanced around the room. Stacked on the small desk were a bunch of glossy white-and-blue folders with the ALLPower logo on the front. She gingerly picked up one and opened it. It was the entire PR campaign, including cost and target audiences. A seven-page glossary listed key words to use with the press, when talking about dangerous leaks or security issues. Three additional pages labeled “Confidential” outlined how to deal with activists, and there was a spreadsheet of costs for bloggers and writers who would wage a nonstop war of words against anti-nuke groups. Stella folded the corner of the page as a marker.

Bob’s name was all over the packet. He was clearly the brains behind the entire campaign. The go-to man. Despite her feelings about her son’s employer, she was impressed. It was a comprehensive piece of work, and she wanted to read every word. She slipped the folder under her arm and went to brew herself a fresh cup of coffee.

An hour later she turned on her computer. Becoming computer literate was a process Stella initially shunned, but Bob had tutored her during the few times they were getting along. She quickly became cyber savvy, driven by her need to read more news online, another source for her news fix. Newspapers were floundering, ethics were being compromised. Writers for major newspapers frequently declined to cite their sources, something that irked her big-time. Maybe reporters online were more accurate? Maybe good writers like Lou Padera would end up as a popular cyber byline, someone who could actually write something decent.

Stella placed the ALLPower folder next to her computer. She logged on and searched for the new anti-nuclear coalition formed after the evacuation debacle. What was her name? Diana someone?

The group, Coalition for Safe Power, had a straightforward website that was easy to navigate. There was a ton of information and a comprehensive timeline of the plant’s history, including all accidents and mishaps since the plant broke ground about 40 years ago. There were clear links and a long list of contact information.

Stella reached for the phone and called one of the numbers. The phone rang three times, and finally a woman answered. Stella looked over at the white-and-blue folder. “Hi, Ms. Chase? My name is Stella. I’d like to volunteer to work for your organization. Yes. Really. And Ms. Chase. I may have something of interest to show you. Yes. I’d love to meet you whenever you can. What’s my last name? Stalinsky.”

The geologist read the last page of the new study that tracked thirty years of seismic activity in and around the Hudson River. The study was researched by scientists connected with a local university, and all of them were required to sign off on the final document before making it public. He scrawled his name at the bottom of the list, picked up the phone, and called the university’s media department.

“Study is good to go,” he said.

The press person, Simon Frank, wrote up a straightforward release, stunning for its omission of the devastating disaster still crippling Japan.