Fear of the unknown so often clouds our judgement. It blinds us to growth, compassion and dedication.
With the publication of this edition of the Sun, I’m overwhelmed with fear of the unknown.
Because, for the first time since the 1980s, the paper is without the services of Ray Nolting. The man and editor who hired me is stepping away from his longtime desk.
An evolving landscape for local journalism and ownership changes have forced layoffs and downsizing in recent years. The Sun has lost irreplaceable journalists, designers and staffers over the years. In a way, I’ve felt survivor’s guilt for not being among them.
But those choppy waters were always navigable under the Sun’s captain, Ray.
When the paper’s current owners bought the Sun, they moved our offices from 18th Street to Main Street.
Ray moved nearly all of the furniture himself, often in the dead of night. All to make the lives of those who remained at the paper a little easier as we underwent yet another transition — another era of uncertainty.
For the 11-plus years I’ve been with the paper, Ray has constantly challenged me. He’s also allowed me the autonomy to be myself. How Ray ran this paper is how the best coaches in the area run their programs.
He’s loyal to any and all staff he’s worked alongside during his nearly four-decade tenure. He holds everybody accountable while still possessing grace and forgiveness.
In my first year here, I reported on the firing of Labette Community College’s volleyball coach, Marisa Jordan. Her firing was an effort spurned by parents, upset about playing time, that levied false abuse allegations.
My reporting was triggered when a pair of college athletes came to me and asked for help in telling their story.
The cliche perspective would’ve been for me to be nervous about telling that story. The opposite was true. I was a young, ambitious reporter who wanted to put his name on something big.
It was Ray that pulled the reins. We were reporting a controversy against one of the community’s biggest, most established institutions based on the word of 18, 19 and 20-year-olds. I had to cross my Ts and dot my Is. Ray ensured I did, and the story came out in the appropriate way.
A decade later, a coach from the same coaching tree (Lindsay Hill of Fort Scott) that Jordan is from has inherited the Labette volleyball program and guided it to its winningest season ever this fall.
Ray has always had my back in the face of adversity from an often adversarial public — even when I was the one in the wrong.
If Ray ever defended my actions to you, there’s about a 50% chance he turned around and ripped my ass for it.
(I can put “ripped my ass” in the paper now that Ray’s gone.)
Ray has always embraced new perspectives and outside voices. When a group of young women came to the office to discuss a Black Lives Matter protest in 2020, Ray’s response after they left was to have a company-wide meeting on how to better cover issues surrounding race in our community.
That same year, when the COVID-19 pandemic broke out, sportswriters left and right began losing their jobs. There weren’t any sports to cover.
I actually tracked it. Draw a line, east to west, along U.S. 400. Start in Pittsburg and stop just shy of Wichita.
The only paper along that route that kept its sports editor on staff during the height of the initial pandemic outbreak was the Sun. Eventually, some brought them back. Others didn’t.
Granted, I had to cover the news beat on an interim basis.
But Ray worked hard at convincing management to keep every employee on payroll. He extracted value from all of us and helped a vulnerable institution and vulnerable employees stay healthy.
This spring, Ray’s son, Tanner Nolting, was a vital member of the Parsons High School boy’s tennis team that ended up winning the state title.
Except Tanner didn’t get to compete at state. Despite being one of the best players in the state, he was injured during the regional competition, where you qualify for state. So Tanner didn’t go.
But the Noltings still made the two-day trip to Winfield to watch the Vikings claim the school’s first team state title in 20 years.
When the state title was locked up after the tournament’s final match, the Parsons players, coaches and families all began celebrating. I’ll never forget seeing the team’s head coach, the legendary Jane Posch, hug an ear-to-ear smiling Ray as part of the revelry.
Ray always found joy and celebrated life’s accomplishments. Even when it wasn’t fair — a moment partially robbed because of bad luck that Tanner got hurt. But still, a moment preserved because of Ray’s loyalty and dedication to his family and his peers.
On Tuesday of this week, Ray and I had a meeting with his replacement, Hannah Emberton.
A s we sat and talked, I told a story about an interaction Ray and I had years ago in the old office to Hannah. When I was done, Ray said something that stayed in my mind the rest of the day.
“You need new stories to tell. You always tell the same ones.”
That’s the stage Ray and I got to. Two colleagues and friends who spend their days telling the same old stories over and over.
I never had many friends growing up. I never felt like I had a place where I could be myself.
When I was looking for a job out of college, the Sun needed a sports editor. It was the summer of 2014, and Ray gave a 22-year-old kid a call to schedule an interview.
I drove the three-and-a-half hours south, interviewed and got offered the job. I still remember the tour around town Ray gave me in his old, white sedan. I was just happy I had a job and that Parsons had a Braums.
Eleven years later, I live in a place where I can be myself. I’ve learned to connect with others. I have friends.
But one of my best friends is leaving. I don’t care how cliche or sappy this sounds, the Sun isn’t going to be the same without Ray.
But… Ray is the reason that this newest fear of the unknown won’t cloud my judgement. Myself and Hannah will keep this paper thriving.
You have Ray to thank for that.
