This is my Barbara Marshall story.

I was a new reporter in town and had been at KHON a few weeks. I had worked in news before, but on Kaua'i, and Channel 2 felt like the big time. I was intimidated.

There was one audio booth in the station for the reporters to record their voice-overs for stories: a small, sound-proof foam-lined closet with a glass pane on the door, a single microphone and a recording deck inside.

I was in there one afternoon trying desperately to read my script correctly and blowing take after take. Barbara stood impatiently outside the door. After watching me mess up a bunch of times, she wasn't about to give me more chances. She yanked open the door, ejected my tape and pulled me out of the booth with an "I don't have time for this!"

I was so embarrassed. She closed the door in my face, recorded her audio in one take and blew past me to an edit bay. I was sure she hated me.

Months later, I was working on a story that required looking up archival footage in the station's crazy library system, which at the time catalogued stories not by date or topic but by the name of the reporter who covered the event. Barbara saw me standing like a fool in front of the shelves of library tapes and she asked me what I needed. She remembered the reporter who had covered the story years ago and found the tape for me, even cued it up to the right place on the tape to make sure it was what I was looking for. She was a huge help.

I was shocked. Did she like me now? Why was she suddenly so nice to me? Had I won her over? How?

I grew up a little bit when I realized that it wasn't at all about me. Her mission was the same in both instances: She was serving the newscast. She would do what she needed to do to make sure the story got on the air, even if it wasn't her story.

Barbara Marshall, who died this past weekend after a long struggle with cancer, was that rare television anchor and even rarer politician who didn't need to be loved by everyone. Her motivation was much more practical and external. Sometimes it made her seem brusque, but it was what made her independent and relentless. She wasn't trying to make people think she was one of the sweetest ladies to walk the Earth: She was trying to do a good job.

Years after I worked with her, Barbara sent me the kindest, most thoughtful get-well card. Now I realize she was battling cancer at the time, and there she was sending good thoughts and prayers to someone else. What a sweet lady. She just didn't care if people knew.

Lee Cataluna's column runs Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Reach her at 535-8172 or lcataluna@honoluluadvertiser.com.