Even acknowledging the fact that the information may be fake, false, or not the most up to date, part of my budget goes to two newspapers to hold and scan. The ink covers my fingers imperceptibly until it leaves a smear on the side of my coffee cup. I went to Barcelona for a week and left the world to turn on its own, yet the morning of re-entry I settled into my rocking chair and ran my eyes over headlines and noted local dates that I might need to add to a paper calendar I keep, another anachronism of time that is part of the soul I call myself.
Blame this need on my childhood. Besides gossip, various newspapers were the source of what was happening where. My first newspaper was The Hammond Vindicator, founded in the early 1900’s by the Campbell family who lived catty cornered from us on Church Street. It’s pages were reports of interest to Tangipahoa Parish from the Police Blotter to actions by the Town Council. Local tidbits were written by the older Mr. Campbell in a column called “The Stoller.” These were two sentences ranging from who was replacing their front door to what family was seen catching the train to New Orleans for a day in ‘the city.’ My high school English teacher wrote features of interest and did social reporting. My wedding had a picture and a two column report. I have no idea how the issue arrived, except the Tuesday/Thursday question was “Have you seen The Vindicator?”
Two bedrocks of our day were the plunks of more substantial papers landing on the sidewalk. We never had a paper boy, just a man who drove his car around town in the early morning and afternoon. The Times Picayune was, and as far as I can tell, still is the print copy of New Orleans. The first copies came out in 1837 when a silver Spanish coin worth 6 1/2 cents called the picayune was in circulation. Some major national stories might make the front pages. Mostly people who could pronounce them read about the Robichauxs in Plaquemines parish and problems with drainage ditches and week-end car wrecks. All that was enough to satisfy subscribers until the Baton Rouge edition of The Advocate arrived about 4:00 with comments from the capital: be it corruption or chosen political action. My memory is that its other focus was updates on sports, especially what was coming up at LSU.
Now. Houston used to have two papers, plus the Press, which served its own dubious group. In 1995 the Post merged with the Houston Chronicle. This left me very sad, mainly because I respected Lynn Ashby, senior editor, and a columnist Leon Hale. So, these mornings I check The Chronicle and the Wall Street Journal. Before you judge, remember we didn’t have a television until I went to college. Nor did we have one in our marriage until my father-in-law decided that our four and three year olds were abused children. I like to read and reread and see literally if I really understand. Some days I have to chase rabbits to get the story straight. My children, and maybe you, read digital subscriptions to East Coast papers on i-pads while feeding the dogs. A picture and sound bites may be worth the thousand words. Instead of remembering the rapid clipped comments after some recent 5:00 report, I’m offering the last paragraph of an op-ed piece to rest my case.
God have mercy, we ask. Lord have mercy, we plead. But then we must learn to act — to heal wounded hearts, to bear one another’s burdens, and to address the terrible scourge of violence that scars our land.
Let Me Tell Ya 