I get that the economy is challenging. I understand that advertisers are cutting back, and that readers are even dropping their subscriptions. It is a difficult time for newspapers -- those stalwarts of public information. All across the country newsprint is shrinking, newsrooms are laying off staff, and one recently announced that it will reduce home delivery to three days per week. The affliction has even struck close to home. This morning, unsleeving the Sunday edition of the Des Moines Register and settling in for a few precious moments of inky reading, I found myself exerting more energy turning the pages than reading the text. What used to be a mountain of journalistic endeavor has become, alas, a molehill of wired stories, obituaries, and inserts. They've even laid off the editorial cartoonist. Less and less to hold, and still less that is much worth reading, it has become more the appearance of a newspaper than the reality of one.
I don't mean to suggest that the populace is suddenly bereft of news. Indeed, with customized computer homepages, media websites constantly updated, YouTube videos and 24-hour cable channels it's hard to get away from it. News has become one of the molecules we breathe.
That said, there is something sad to me about the decline of the printed page. I love the layout of the headlines and the smell of the ink, the rattle of the page, the kinesthetic quality of the stories. I love the sense of depth when a story carries over to another column and even to another page. I love the amalgamation of breaking stories, analysis, editorial, image and sidebar; I love the juxtaposition of the history making and the whimsically mundane -- a profound editorial reflection just an ink spot away from an irate reader's ranting letter; a sobering news report alongside touching human interest. I know all those things can happen on the internet and on TV, but there is something about holding it all and savoring it all and setting it down to pick up again on your own time.
I know that newspapers are businesses more than public service, and lots of us are needing to cut back. I know for all their talk about journalistic integrity, they still have to make a profit. But I feel like something solid has crumbled from my hands. Who knows, maybe the economy will shortly turn around and papers can hire real people again. I already miss the smudged fingers, the stretched point of view, and the paper that used to be.
I don't mean to suggest that the populace is suddenly bereft of news. Indeed, with customized computer homepages, media websites constantly updated, YouTube videos and 24-hour cable channels it's hard to get away from it. News has become one of the molecules we breathe.
That said, there is something sad to me about the decline of the printed page. I love the layout of the headlines and the smell of the ink, the rattle of the page, the kinesthetic quality of the stories. I love the sense of depth when a story carries over to another column and even to another page. I love the amalgamation of breaking stories, analysis, editorial, image and sidebar; I love the juxtaposition of the history making and the whimsically mundane -- a profound editorial reflection just an ink spot away from an irate reader's ranting letter; a sobering news report alongside touching human interest. I know all those things can happen on the internet and on TV, but there is something about holding it all and savoring it all and setting it down to pick up again on your own time.
I know that newspapers are businesses more than public service, and lots of us are needing to cut back. I know for all their talk about journalistic integrity, they still have to make a profit. But I feel like something solid has crumbled from my hands. Who knows, maybe the economy will shortly turn around and papers can hire real people again. I already miss the smudged fingers, the stretched point of view, and the paper that used to be.
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