Odds are KARE viewers never heard of Lonnie Hartley, even though he worked for the station for 21 years. Hartley's title, "senior executive producer" doesn't illuminate things much.

But newsroom staffers know Hartley as their managing editor — the guy who ran morning and afternoon editorial meetings, oversaw each of the daily newscasts, contributed more content to the web site than anyone, planned special event coverage such as the GOP convention, tuned in live shots, directed crews in the field, and even stepped in to make the graphics when KARE cut the department.

On Tuesday, KARE cut him.

Insiders say the newsroom had never seemed so shell-shocked as it was today, when a tearful Hartley told his troops goodbye. Part drill sergeant, part rabbi, Hartley was not only the newsroom's institutional memory and conscience, he was the sort of 70-hour-a-week guy that dissipated staffs need more than ever. KARE troops not only mourned his fate, but their own: Who the hell is going to do all the work he left behind?

For now, KARE president John Remes and vice-president Tom Lindner aren't talking about their plans, but Hartley confirmed his layoff late Wednesday afternoon.

"Damn, it was a tough day," he says with a mixture of exhaustion and amazement. "Today in that newsroom, I was just taken aback by the reaction from all of my co-workers. Watching a grown man cry can't be the funnest thing in the world, but they brought me to tears, and it touched me beyond my wildest imagination."

Hartley has nothing but kind words for Remes and Lindner, even expressing sympathy for Lindner, who was forced to deliver the bad news over the phone.

"I was on vacation in South Dakota; they didn't know I was out of town. Tom said he had some stuff to discuss and I needed to stop in. I told him, I can't drive seven hours not knowing whether I have a job or I don't," Hartley says.

"It was one of those deals where you work for a long time at a place and you wonder, 'why me?' 'why now?' and 'what did I do wrong?' Their answer was always that the broadcast division was restructuring, and that it was strictly an economic decision."

It's no secret that KARE owner Gannett Corp. is in the toilet financially. Its stock has fallen from 28 bucks a share last June to $3.85 today. Employees have been forced to take up to three weeks of furloughs over a six-month period, and Gannett bean counters are attacking every cost. Although KARE remains the local ratings champ, it has cast off anchor/reporter Rick Kupchella earlier this month, and a marketing and promotions executive this week.

Hartley says, "I told Tom 'I'm not sure if I want to be you or me.' They are operating under nasty conditions, and I do not envy their position."

Despite the shooting gallery that Golden Valley has become, Hartley says he was "very surprised" he was cut.

"I don't make a lot of money, at least not what people think TV people make. Always in the back of your mind, you think, 'gee, it could catch up to me some day.' But I really gave my heart and soul to that place, worked as hard as I could, ten-and-a-half hour days. I thought I'd be part of the solution for getting us through this wilderness."

While that might be dismissed as the normal chest-thumping of a senior exec, co-workers say Hartley did not rest on his old-media laurels. He was one of the most prolific writers for KARE's website, and even if it wasn't his first language, he understood that the action was moving net-side.

Although KARE has a reputation for warm fuzziness (and essential decency), Hartley is credited for substantially improving political coverage during his two-decade stay. He makes no apologies for KARE's feature-heavy approach.

"News is what's relevant to people, what touches people. But I've always believed politics can be a huge TV story if it's just framed correctly. There's no doubt that TV and print news are different — TV has less context until you add the pictures."

Hartley, whose wife Sue is a KARE newscast director, says it's way too soon to figure out what's next.

"The only limit I've set on myself is that I don't want to leave town. I have my wife and kids, but also a whole newsroom of family I love, and an enormous number of friends and neighbors in Champlin. From here, it could be anything — TV, or something else.

"I have a huge passion for news — you know what it's like to break a great story, the fulfillment that comes from that. If I run into someone else who offers me fulfillment, the sky's the limit."