I started at the Indy on September 6, 1988, at the age of 19. When I arrived, the publisher at the time seemed mostly impressed by my uncles, Robert “Big Man” Pointer and Earl “The Pearl” Pointer, who were football legends for the Santa Barbara High Dons. (“Big Man” was even in the Guinness Book for being the heaviest high school football player at 487 pounds.) I don’t recall a formal interview. The publisher just shook my hand, said “Welcome to the Independent,” and left for a three-month honeymoon.
My first week was rough — no training, no tour, no introductions. The office was chaotic, phones ringing constantly, people angry and mean. “I wonder how long this one will last?” I overheard someone say about me, which made sense, given they’d just fired three receptionists in a single week.
My coworker Duncan Westley absolutely terrified me at first. He yelled at me to put the newspapers that we subscribed to in his mailbox. Then, a few days later, he was screaming at the top of his lungs, “Who the fuck is stuffing papers in my fucking box?!”
Despite the chaos, I chose to stay because I felt needed. Each day, I was able to put out small fires and bring order to the office. I left for less than a year to live in San Diego, but was rehired right away when I returned.
My most interesting Indy memories were during those earlier days of the 1980s and ’90s. I was surrounded by incredibly colorful characters: a colleague who ate dog biscuits at his desk, one who’d sunbathe nude on the building next door, a man who made his wife and son sit outside in the car while he worked a full day, and another who’d leave for three hours to make lunch for a husband who no one ever saw.
If Laz (RIP) or “Tim” went missing, we usually found them having a midday drink at the Gold Coast. One time, “J” got arrested, so “X” sent someone to bail them out, but that person got arrested too. After a third person was sent and also got arrested, “X” finally had to go down and bail out all three.
We’d even hire strippers to celebrate office birthdays back then, often attracting the most random performers. It was a crazy, hilarious, and unforgettable time. There were rarely consequences for anyone’s actions.
Our Angry Poodles softball team existed for more than a decade. I’ve played first base since I was 9, but it was the first time for most of our team. We had full uniforms, played every Thursday against other businesses, and were actually really good. When the News-Press challenged us one day, we beat them 17-4. The team was a great way to make new employees feel less nervous and like they belonged. Afterward, we’d head to Pasqual’s to celebrate.
It was 36 years ago when I started as the receptionist, and I’m still at the front desk, though my job has evolved tremendously. As office manager, I handle legal advertising, obituaries, phones, and supplies, while also acting as a sound board, counselor, nurse, and bodyguard. I am a huge believer in customer service and enjoy helping people find the answers they need. I know exactly what every single person on staff needs, how they prefer their calls handled, and how to cover for them when they’re busy or away.
I’ve found a true calling in handling the obituaries. Being there for people during a difficult time is incredibly rewarding. I try to humanize the experience and bring them out of their sorrow for a few minutes. My goal is to stop the noise, let them know I’m not going anywhere, and offer whatever support they need. Hearing a customer say how easy I made it, ask to give me a hug, or offer a simple thank you means more than anyone will ever know.
Recently, one of my colleagues said he was shocked by how patient I am on the phone, which brought tears to my eyes, especially since he didn’t realize that caller was screaming at me. After helping someone with an obituary, two other coworkers told me I should be a counselor. It feels good to be recognized for doing something you truly love.
As the newspaper’s first line of defense, I am very protective, and sometimes have to stop people from walking straight past me, which often leads to me being labeled as rude. There’s been racism and violence — once, I was slapped; another time, someone rolled their glass eye across the floor at me; and once I was nearly stabbed with a pencil. I still get dismissed to my face, when people decide I’m not the person they need. I’m the exact person with their answers.
Ultimately, I’ve been the “voice” of the Independent for most of the past four decades, and I take great pride caring for this entire office and the greater community. As a Santa Barbara native, the Independent means family to me. We are a bunch of unique, funny characters with very different personalities, beliefs, and backgrounds, and that’s exactly why the Independent works so well.
We are the paper of record for our community, and I couldn’t imagine Santa Barbara without it. It was an honor to join the Indy two years after it started, and amazing to see the paper that it has grown into today.
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