No offense to the memory of Bronson Toles, I was bored to tears after the first half hour or so. Speaker after speaker went up and rambled or ranted about the man, about oppression, about imperialism, and oh yeah, about a certain nuclear power plant. I took notes the best I could, wondering how regular news reporters could do this, day after day, without turning to heavy drinking. At least when I was a lowly columnist, I could choose my own topic, something that interested me. I really had no interest in being here, save for keeping my fairly well-paid job. It wasn’t just me, I either; could see some of my fellow scribblers yawning, with some of the more sneaky ones texting on their cell phones or PDAs. Even some in the audience seemed restless, with the applause and cheers declining for each subsequent speaker. After time dragged on for another hour or six, Laura Glynn Toles came to the microphone, and the crowd came alive, cheering and applauding and whistling. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked as if she had gotten maybe a handful of hours of sleep over the past couple of days.
