The phone rang three times before 8:30 a.m. today, and each time I picked it up there was a nervous mom at the other end. They were heartbroken over the shootings at the Amish schoolhouse in eastern Pennsylvania, and, more than anything, they seemed to want to talk.

They wanted reassurance that such a shooting could not take place at the schools where their children are enrolled. Of course, there are no such guarantees, and it's almost too horrible to even think about such a massacre. One of the moms begged us to carry a story about how security must be beefed up atlocal schools. But most districts in this region already have fairly good security systems in place.

Another mother spoke out passionately against guns. When I mentioned that the shooter at the Amish schoolhouse probably would have used other weapons had he not been able to get his hands on a gun, she began sobbing.

I felt like crying, too. This is such a terribly sad story. At the end of the conversations, I had the feeling that I might have helped the three distraught moms -- mainly, just by listening. In a way, they helped me, too, because, in a way, I felt that they were seeking
out an old friend.

The only other time I can recall having conversations was on Sept. 11, 2001 and on the days that followed the terrorist attacks. Sometimes people want to talk -- to share their feelings, and I have come to understand that it's part of a daily newspaper's role to be there for its readers. In every way possible.

My father, Gene Cuneo, who started with the Erie Daily Times during World War II, said that in his eary days at the newspaper, he often used to speak late at night to families that had soldiers fighting in far away lands. He said he felt a special closeness between those readers and the newspaper.

I know now what he meant. It's painful, but it's real.

-- Kevin Cuneo