Looking back on a career in journalism
- Mike Dewey: Life Lines
- August 5, 2023
- 532
I was driving my wife to a doctor’s appointment the other day and happened to pass the building that used to house the newspaper operation I left home to become part of in November 2000.
It was absolutely abandoned, not a sign of life, seemingly empty.
All the bleak scene needed was tumbleweeds skittering past.
Since then I’ve had some time to reflect on what’s happened to small-town journalism, and honestly, I don’t see any reason not to believe the worst is yet to come, though I hope I’m wrong.
There was a time — not that long ago, really — when the very idea of a town without its own newspaper, be it daily or weekly, was inconceivable, something along the lines of a baseball game with a pitch clock or an election being challenged simply because you lost.
So much for things you could count on, right?
When I was growing up — and you have to understand we weren’t a wealthy family, though my parents were quite well educated — no fewer than four newspapers were a basic part of life.
There was the local paper, delivered to our door six days a week.
Then there was the major metro publication, which arrived every morning, not including Sunday, just in time for breakfast.
Sunday was reserved for the big paper out of the state capital, published in the city where my mother was born and raised.
And finally, we received the South Bend Tribune, two or three days late, usually, but that was for my father, who was a native of that Indiana city, one that was home to my future alma mater and a place that was like a second home to our family as I grew up.
It never once occurred to me there was anything unusual about the fact newspapers arrived every day of the week, every day of the year, except, well, Christmas and the occasional snowstorm, which could cause delays in the delivery of the local publication.
Newspapers were an essential ingredient in our daily lives, something that — even as children — we understood to be important, right up there with going to church and getting good grades.
It was that understanding, that appreciation, that played a role in my decision to begin a career in journalism directly out of college, though an argument could be made that had it not been for my ability on the softball diamond, I might never have gotten a chance.
But that’s another story for another time.
Most of you have never spent much time in a newspaper office, unless it’s to place an ad, pay a bill or register a complaint about what a certain long-haired columnist had written about whatever was on his mind when he sat down to share his thoughts with you.
Let me assure you that behind the scenes, there was very little ordinary to be found there. From the newsroom to the press room, composition areas to the circulation offices, the loading dock to the photo lab, there was nothing like the buzz and hum of those places.
Everyone had energy, everyone worked hard and everyone loved it.
Well, OK, there were exceptions to the rule, but they were rare.
Most of the time, the folks who showed up every day wanted to be there because, basically, they were doing jobs that really mattered.
If that sounds a bit conceited, well, tough. We were very special.
So when did it all start to change? What happened to the pride? Why did the value of our skills suddenly become so irrelevant?
I could sit here and type for hours, drawing on my three-plus decades of experience in small-town journalism, and not begin to convey the complexity of an industry’s decisions to adapt to a changing economic landscape that’s still in a state a flux. I could write about monetizing on multiple platforms, the shrinking ad base, the consolidation of publications and the fact that only a handful of behemoth corporations control most of the outlets.
What good would that do?
If you’re still reading my words, however, all this way into my ramblings, then you’re proving my point, which is that as long as writers continue to do their best, there will still be a place for them.
Again, if that sounds a bit egocentric, so be it, but the fact remains there are seriously talented people who maintain the belief readers will always be there, if they find something good in your work. They might never take the time to tell you that, but it’s true.
The first time I had my words printed in a forum meant for public consumption, I was in eighth grade, and I wrote about the Smothers Brothers and the unfair manner that CBS was censoring them. I was 13 years old then, and the school paper was mimeographed.
Since then, I’ve written for the Youth Page, the high school paper, the Notre Dame daily, my hometown newspaper, its sister publication in the neighboring county and the one in New Bern, the one whose offices are currently vacant. I’m lucky to still have had my columns available to readers back home for the last 20 years.
So thanks to all of you who continue to make me feel necessary.
Mike Dewey can be reached at Carolinamiked@aol.com or 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 28560. He invites you to join the fun on his Facebook page, an internet niche that is not at all monetized, though it’s possible certain exceptions could be made.