Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, June 27, 1994 TAG: 9406270012
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Warren Fiske
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
My mother had died recently. During the two weeks I had taken off, stories had broken about how Charles Robb's staff leaked to reporters transcripts of a private telephone conversation between Douglas Wilder and a friend. Now, on my first day back at work, I was trying to follow the political story of the year and my mind was a million miles away.
Then Frances called. She was the extraordinarily efficient secretary in Gov. Wilder's press office.
"Warren," she said in a tentative voice, "can I meet you by the west wing door of the Capitol in 10 minutes? I have something to give you."
"Sure," I said. I had visions of being handed some ultra-sensitive documents that would blow the lid off the Wilder-Robb story - although, in my heart, I knew Frances was too discreet to do something like that.
She was agitated when we met. Her brown eyes darted as she led me to her car. Frances opened the trunk and handed me an enormous fruit basket.
"I know we're not supposed to be friends with the press," she said in a hushed voice, "but when I heard about your mother, I felt so bad that I had to do something.
"Please keep this a secret," she implored. "I don't want people saying that I curry favor with the press."
Frances B. Sorrentino died last weekend of cancer. She was 41. Frances never attracted attention or headlines. Her passing was marked by a brief notice on the obituary page of the Richmond Times-Dispatch.
But dozens of reporters and high-ranking government officials feel a deep loss. In the stormy seas of politics and journalism, Frances was a safe port, a friendly voice and a helping hand.
She was a large woman who never married and lived with her parents in Chesterfield County. Although she never discussed her religious beliefs, Frances was a devout Baptist and the organist at her church.
Frances was proud to be a secretary in the governor's office and she was good at her job.
"I can organize anything," she used to say with a twinkle in her eyes.
Wilder recognized her talent. Frances ran the schedule in 1992 when dozens of African leaders came to Richmond for four days of hectic trade talks.
Her immaculate desk was by the door of Wilder's press office. She always would inquire about my children, whom she knew by name and age even though she had never met them.
Sometimes Frances was on the front line when Wilder or his aides were ducking reporters and the tension was almost more than she could stand.
"I'll see what I can do," she'd say, pursing her lips.
Frances learned she had cancer last year. She was worried, with Wilder leaving office, that she would lose her job and be without health insurance. It was a tribute to Frances' professionalism and popularity that Gov. George Allen - who purged his administration of virtually all Wilder appointees - kept her on.
"She was just a lifesaver during the first weeks of the administration," said Ken Stroupe, Allen's press secretary. "She understood the technical requirements of running the office. I don't know how we would have gotten through the State of the Commonwealth speech without her."
Frances always wanted to work in Washington. Ironically, she died on the same day Wilder announced his candidacy for the U.S. Senate.
Wilder delivered her eulogy last Tuesday before hundreds of friends at Frances' church. Wilder described the governor's office as a shark tank where even the lowliest clerk can get devoured by jealous competitors.
"I heard complaints about almost everyone in my office," Wilder said. "But I never heard an unkind word about Frances."
by CNB