By Bob Hoyt / Chronicle contributor
May 05, 2009 05:48 pm
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The Kid and the Cub were collaborating on a term paper titled “The Death of Print Journalism.” They were having trouble deciding where to begin. “My Granddad was a reporter and rewrite man for years,” the Kid said. “He sometimes talks to me about the smell of printer’s ink, about ‘sitting in the slot’ and writing headlines and new leads for news coming in over the teletype and then yelling for a copy boy to take the new lead to the linotype operator in the basement. It was always hot in the press room, and so noisy that everyone yelled if they had anything to say to each other.”
“Why would he miss that?” the Cub asked. “They do all that these days while sitting in front of a computer screen in an air-conditioned office.”
The Kid shook his head. “It’s not that part that he misses. My mom says that he believed it was part of his job to nurture truth and justice in the world. She said a misspelled word was the same as a lie to my grandfather. Every issue these days has errors, and they have programs that check spelling. Old newspapers prided themselves in getting it right. Granddad would rather eat cockleburs than write a story he knew was not true or that left out the facts. Everyone on the paper was dedicated to putting out the best and most accurate product possible. Nowadays, he says, papers that speak the plain truth live in fear offending someone who will cut back on the advertising revenue. Newspapers are still going under every day. They’re folding everywhere.”
“Your granddad must not like to read bloggers and instant messages and Internet stories,” the Cub said.
The Kid nodded. “My mom won’t stay in the same room when he listens to television news or when he reads something my mom prints for him from a blogger. He knows cuss words that most sailors have never heard. One time an ignorant expert was spouting off about something he knew nothing about and my granddad was getting ready to spray paint the screen black when my mother stopped him.”
“Maybe your grandfather should just read opinion pieces,” the Cub said.
“That sets him off worse,” the Kid answered. “He says bloggers must pass a stupid test to get certified before they can set up a Web site. Half of them want to rewrite history so no one can understand it and the other half wants to make up their own version of what happens every day. And most of the radio talk show hosts are so unbalanced that granddad says if they start biting each we’ll have a rabies epidemic.”
“So?” the Cub said. “Where does that leave us?”
The Kid frowned. “It leaves us vulnerable. If editors and reporters are not free to do honest work, who’ll keep thieving coyotes out of the chicken coop? If bloggers and talking numbskulls are free to say what they want with no accountability to anyone and without respect for truth and facts, who sets standards? A free press is one of the pillars of our democracy. Forget about truth and justice. We’ll be lucky if anyone gets the dateline right.”
“It can’t be that bad,” the Cub answered. “We’ve had strains on our democracy before.”
The Kid nodded. “Of course, but not like this. It’s dangerous. My granddad says that if you show him a community without a good newspaper he’ll show you a place controlled by scoundrels and hypocrites who think it’s their divine duty to divvy up the world, impose wrong-headed justice and beat the drums for more war.”
The Cub had an idea. “Let’s interview your granddad before we write our paper,” he grinned. “We might get a real story from him, like reporters did in the old days.”
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