I love my morning newspaper. It’s a ritual. I love retrieving it from my front porch, unfurling it, opening it up and being greeted by the headline the editor has chosen for his daily flagship masthead’s vindication. It sets my tone and attitude for the day. I depend on his judgement for this important psychological setting and he seldom disappoints. He knows me. I appreciate him far more than he can imagine.
But mostly, I appreciate the kid on the bike artfully and squarely hitting his mark on my front porch like the apple on William Tell’s son’s head ...but more about that later.
Most of the time the headline story is local because that is the self-professed, sometimes ironic mission of our local daily newspaper ...”Empowering the Community”. Sometimes the headline story is national or international depending on the editorial decision of the day, or which way the political wing is blowing, or on which side of the bed the editor dismounted this morning or mounted last night. Or if the news event du jour made press time.
The local headline stories are the best, however, because they are so ...local. Sometimes they don’t “empower” the community as much as reveal it’s soft underbelly. They can be fun and funny, absurd and asinine, embarrassingly unvarnished, but they’re always entertaining and informative on many levels. There are plenty of places to get updated in-depth news coverage and salable commentary, but the local paper is an upendingly entertaining augmentation.
The “news” can be something as mundane as a heated debate at a city council meeting over a new dog park, or the firing of a local police chief for certain indiscretions. The best, however, are the local community columnists ...some doddering fool discussing the local roadkill problem or lamenting down memory lane, or some over-opinionated dolt like me letting everyone know just how much he doesn’t know.
The ritual of a relaxed reading of the morning paper over cup of coffee, or the evening paper for that matter, is a joyful and a universal tradition practiced by many all over the world. To me, it’s a Norman Rockwell moment of Americana that I cherish. Funny though, that I couldn’t find one Rockwell image of a paper boy (or girl) on a bicycle, burdened down with paper carrier bags flinging an issue, aimed precisely, with deadly accuracy, at a front porch.
Maybe Norman had as bad an experience with his paper delivery as I am having and it soured him as it has me.
In the past, like last year, our paper carrier was a young girl. She’d come early in the morning before dawn on her bike. In winter, she’d be all bundled up in addition to the two full newspaper carrier bags on her bike. I saw her a few times while I was shoveling snow and marveled at not only her remarkable balance on the bike in the snow, but at her aim and accuracy getting the paper squarely on the front porch. I couldn’t do that, even in my prime. Occasionally, she’d miss and the paper would land in the bushes. She’d stop, get off her bike, retrieve the paper and place it lovingly, yes, lovingly, for who would do that today ...respectfully, on my front porch. She was my hero.
Another time, another paper carrier, this time a boy, aimed a little high and the paper crashed through the bottom pane on my storm door. The sound at 6:30 AM woke me with a jolt. I was a little angry at first, but cooled down quickly when I realized he obviously didn’t mean to break the glass, and especially, when I learned that the local newspaper company he worked for held him responsible for the cost of repair. I paid for the door fix and gave the kid a ten dollar tip. I told him he was doing a great job.
This year, however, the times have caught up with our local newspaper and it’s delivery acumen. The paper is increasingly slight with news and editorial content, and the delivery system is something to behold. A young girl, seemingly dressed in her pajamas, is driven by who appears to be her mother. They roll up to the curb in their car, the window slowly descends, and she lazily flips the paper out barely clearing the sidewalk. It’s rolled up tightly about the size of a foot long hot dog. Sometimes, if there is rain or snow, the paper is encased in a plastic bag for protection from the elements. Nice touch but the down side is the time it takes to dislodge it from the plastic.
This is unacceptable, but it’s the way it is, so we accept it. It’s a sign of the times. The assistant district manager told us that delivery on our front porch is part of our subscription fee in our neighborhood and that he would have a word with pajama girl. Well, it’s 10:00 AM, it’s raining, and still no paper in sight ...
Right, now, when the paper actually does come, we have to walk even further down a cold, wet sidewalk in our bare feet to retrieve our joyful morning edition.
Really, I’m no prude, it’s not as much having to work harder to retrieve my morning paper as it is the arrogance and attitude of both the newspaper company and their carrier. I see in the neighborhood many newspapers on the curb, the grass, the sidewalk in front of other subscribers and I wonder if any of them have complained as I have. If anything, I’m a hopeless Norman Rockwell romantic looking back to the “old days” when the kid on the bike with the paper was like clockwork and my courteous friend.
We’ve reconciled and made the adjustment because no iPhones, Kindles or social media for me, thank you. I’m purely a traditionalist. Give me a hard-cover or paperback book or a crinkly newsprint-smelling newspaper or magazine and I’m good to go. I must admit, however, I am a broadcast news junkie.
The joy of a local newspaper, and the art of the local newspaper carrier on his or her bicycle hitting the front porch is something to behold ...because it’s something that won’t be around much longer. Embrace it, cherish it. Slip that kid a ten next time he misses your front porch and tell him he’s doing a great job.
John Kushma is a communication consultant and lives in Logan, Utah.
