Time traveling to a
better future for newspapers

In a little less than a year, I will be the same age my dad was when I graduated from college.

Yikes.

(I would have placed an exclamation point after “Yikes,” but my doctor said that at my age, I should avoid undue excitement.)

I’m 61. I refuse to invoke any kind of cliché about age here, and with good reason. My lower back started hurting when I was in my late 20s, and as of this morning, it was still hurting. Age biases, age stereotypes and age-related comparisons are as preposterous as a wedge of a citrus fruit in your beer. Never, ever mix fruit and beer. It insults both.

But in a recent conversation with an editor, I came perilously close to starting a sentence with, “Back when I was a reporter, … ”

We were talking about how deftly some journalists manufacture excuses. My colleague was saying a reporter, Jake, had turned in, on deadline, a story that developed an acceptable central conflict, but deep in the story, there was a much better one.

When the editor queried Jake about why he buried the superior conflict, Jake shrugged as if the distinction were inconsequential, then answered, “Yeah, I noticed that the second one was better, but I didn’t have time to develop it.”

In other words, it wasn’t the reporter’s fault; it was the deadline’s fault.

That’s when I was tempted to invoke the “Back when … ” argument, but I would have been wrong. Back when I was a reporter, I used Jake’s excuse.

Despite the natural human yearning for good old days, most things have not changed since I was … was … well, since I was Jake.

I do know that the newspaper climate has changed drastically since my reporting career ended in 1989. Today, for instance, cubicles in newsrooms are as common as excuses, whereas in my day, I could remain seated and curse eloquently at any editor in the room.

Another change is that cursing itself has all but disappeared from most newsrooms. We live in an era of unprecedented sensitivity, so anything south of “dadgum it” is likely to have dire consequences.

And yes, I have noticed those Web site things.

But most of the fundamentals of healthy newsroom behavior are intact.

Reporters still complain about too much work for too little pay. (Much of that complaining still happens not in newsrooms, but in bars.)

Without hesitation, I declare that reporters should make more money. But, perversely, the modest pay weeds out the ones who don’t have the passion. (If you ask “What passion?” you don’t have it, either.)

There is still an undeclared hierarchy among reporters. If I walked into most newsrooms and said, “OK, I want to see the three best reporters in the conference room,” exactly three would show up.

The best reporters still don’t worry about whether they worked eight hours or 18 hours on any given day. When they’re doing really juicy interviews, the best reporters’ voices still rise so their newsroom colleagues can eavesdrop. (I love it when I hear a reporter start a question with, “So, let me get this straight: You’re asking my readers to believe that … ”)

And sarcasm, thank goodness, still is the currency of conversation among reporters and editors.
In fact, sarcasm is a manifestation of the best part of newspaper work: competition.

When I hear reporters constantly trying to outdo each other, constantly striving for the riposte that provokes both laughter and geez-I-wish-I-had-said-that envy, I think we will be OK in a world that doesn’t seem to care whether newspapers live or die.

But here’s where I get into trouble: I think reporters today, and even many of the reporters of my era, are (and were) not competitive enough in chasing stories and challenging sources.

If we could translate the one-upsmanship of newsroom banter into aggressiveness in our reporting and writing, we would be soaring instead of sinking. Actually, if we could just stop talking about sinking, soaring would become more likely.

I am excited about the future of newspapers, but only if we dedicate ourselves to competing with other media outlets for every story, competing with every source for more information than he or she wants to divulge, competing with all the other reporters in our own newsrooms.

We need to improve, not just today or tomorrow, but every day. See, I have this dream. One day, I’m going to start a sentence with, “Back when I was 61 …,” and end it with, “… newspapers made a dadgum good comeback.”

THE FINAL WORD: Can a cohort be an individual?

No, not in the classic sense of the word. In Latin, “cohort” meant enclosure, and the Romans often used it to refer to a division of the army. We may say, then, “A cohort of terrorists stormed the embassy.”

But we should not say, “Wilkens was a cohort of the mayor’s.” Wilkens was an ally, a sidekick, a helper, an associate.

Jim Stasiowski, writing coach for Dolan Media Co., welcomes your questions or comments. Call him at (775) 354-2872 or write to 2499 Ivory Ann Drive, Sparks, Nev. 89436.

POSTED 7/2/09