Since I cracked the cover on my first Mencken book
in junior high, I was in love with newspapers. I loved the whole idea; reporters in cheap suits and beater cars running around collecting actual news (and occasionally generating news of their own) to be in by the CITY edition and flipping through the inky fresh newsprint looking for your byline. Living a film noir life. Playing tonsil hockey with girls in the steno pool and trying not to run afoul of gangsters.
I loved Mencken, I loved H Allen Smith, Westbrook Pegler, all those guys. Just like I loved, while growing up, the vast array of screaming fast muscle cars.
By the time I graduated from high school the muscle cars had turned to shit (the 1977 Mustang was a pinto in disguise. a PINTO.)
And the newspapers were already dying. yeah, they have fought a valiant effort to stay alive and around, but I haven’t held a newspaper in my hand for… ten years?
The Koch brothers are looking at buying the Tribune company.
it could be worth working for a newspaper again. Sure, a little late to start at this point in my life, but hey.
And the Mustang started out as a Falcon…
indeed!
If the Koch brothers are able to resurrect the spirit of Col. McCormack, there may still be some life in the ol’ girl yet. We shall see.
As it stands right now, the Trib is at any given time less conservative than the Sun-Times…if that can be believed. Wonder what Kass thinks about this potential corporate change at the “Tribune Tower”?
“it could be worth working for a newspaper again. Sure, a little late to start at this point in my life, but hey.”
Hate to tell you this Og, but with your background and talents, you’d most likely be the guy covered in ink, crawling around the press trying to make it work again, while the editor gobbles Tums and the reporters play tonsil hockey with the steno girls.
Mark: I been in the pressroom of the Trib back when they were big rotary letterpress machines. The trick to not doing that is never let anyone know you’re mechanically inclined.
And the first time you came home with lipstick on your collar, d’ya suppose the Ogwife might get up a little game of tee ball using your head and a Louisville Slugger?
S’why I always wear black. Nothing shows on black. And why a woman would kiss my collar I’ll never understand.
I suspect none of you have visited a newspaper recently.
No steno pool.
No “girls,” really.
No proofreaders.
A couple of editors.
A few reporters, but they could just as easily be the guy in your neighborhood that blogs about the neighborhood planning board meeting.
And when they hit the button to send it to the press, it’s at some other company at least across town or maybe even a few towns over or more.
Most all the fun’s gone out of publishing, dammit.