By Dixie I Love the Smell of Newsprint in the Morning
My granddaddy would hold his newspaper high in front of his face at the breakfast table and blow on the pages to make them open. Occasionally a corner would dip into his coffee, which he had poured from his cup to the saucer so it wouldn’t be too hot. Like most folks, he read ‘the paper’ as he called it, every day religiously from cover to cover.
My Poppy did too. Every morning, he picked up The Macon Telegraph from the driveway and sat down at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee. As he finished a section, he handed it to Mama.
Poppy read the morning paper starting with Nation and World, Local News with Editorials, Opinions and Obituaries, Lifestyle and Entertainment (movies and TV listings), Sports (Local, Regional and National) and Classified with Public Notices. He ended with the obituaries, although later in his life he read it first because he said he was likely to see people he knew.
Most mornings, I’d pitch a child’s fit waiting on Poppy to throw me the Lifestyle section so I could read the comics. Mama had to wait for me to finish so she could do the crossword puzzle and the Jumble. My brother grabbed the sport section from Poppy and they talked and argued (constantly) about scores, batting averages and how umpires and referees were both blind and unfair. The paper flew back and forth across the counter as we ate.
The paper, in badly folded pieces or wads depending on the latest sports score, wound up in the kitchen or bathroom for the rest of the day. There was a heap on a side table next to Poppy’s recliner, a neatly folded crossword page (halfway completed) next to Mama’s place on the sofa and the comics page spread out on the floor, covered in crayon scribbles.
Poppy would check and double check what time the Braves were playing in the TV Schedule page, while my brother planned dates using the Movie section for theatres and showtimes.
The Classified section was studied late afternoon, after everything else had been read and ballgames lagged on TV. Poppy looked at endless advertisements about cars, and he carefully checked out the specials at the Piggly Wiggly.
We once put an ad in the paper’s Classified section in Lost and Found for our dog Todo when he got lost. My brother bought comic books and concert tickets. I got my first job out of college from the Want Ads.
There was a whole lot to The Macon Telegraph for a whole lot of people and not just information.
My entire adult life I subscribed to at least one daily newspaper and sometimes three. I don’t remember a morning when I didn’t wash powdery black ink off my hands before leaving for work. As I got older, I developed an allergy to newsprint and changed to digital subscriptions.
The Macon Telegraph announced today that it will only be published twice a week now.
Newspapers need advertising dollars and subscriptions to survive. Ads were at the bottom half of each page, except the front page of each section, or the occasional full page political ad. In the past few years, advertising crept up above the fold and the articles were squeezed in at the top. Local writers we all knew from the grocery store and church were replaced by names we didn’t know from the AP wire.
The internet became a more immediate source of news as people used smartphones to instantly share videos and information. Newspapers became quaint…something old people read because they don’t understand Google.
Subscription prices increased for less content, more advertising, and often with an editorial slant rather than straight news. Subscriptions and newspapers decreased dramatically.
Newspapers are becoming a provider of Public Notices only and some counties and states have approved online notices.
Times change. Look at any family in any restaurant and there is a phone in every hand with access to most all information available on the planet in a second or two. The sad part is no interaction. Most are looking at TikTok, memes, texting or playing video games, heads down, no communication.
Proof that information doesn’t equal wisdom. Or memories.
For those who remember, wasn’t it wonderful to wait your turn to read that messy newspaper, dipped in coffee and covered with crayon scribbles? And just be together?
I miss the newsprint ink. Even though it makes me sneeze.