Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

In today’s newspaper world, one person is doing the work of two or three. They sleep less, drink a lot of coffee and rarely have time to fellowship with co-workers.

I used to say that I believed one of the hardest jobs is that of a manicurist - slumping over a small, white table, and working relentlessly. Having never been one, that’s an observation from a customer.

But having worked as a newspaper reporter, I KNOW how hard that job was during its glory days. Back then, big cities had a morning and an afternoon edition, a room full of reporters, fact checkers, a legion of sportswriters, myriad photographers and editors galore. Excitement always buzzed around the room because something big was always happening.

And the bell. Oh, that bell. Newspapers subscribed to Associated Press and United Press International which transmitted stories via a machine similar to a fax machine that printed out on old, yellow paper. When the bell rang, big news was happening. Everyone would stop for a moment to see if a plane had crashed, a President resigned, or the stock market had dropped dramatically. If the news was big enough, a couple of reporters were sent scurrying out to get local reaction.

One day, when I was working at USA Today, I left my desk in the sports department to round a corner, walking no more than 40 feet to pick up my mail from our inter- office boxes. I flipped through the envelopes, then returned to my desk which was beside a wall of windows where a small television hung from the ceiling, practically over my head.

Seven or eight of my colleagues were now standing solemnly around my desk, watching the TV.

“What happened?” I asked. My boss glanced at me. “The Challenger just exploded.”

“With the teacher on board?” He nodded. Editors started running from desk to desk and to the executive offices a couple of floors up. Within an hour, every reporter – except for us sports folks and editors – were running out the door, headed for a chartered plane.

“Buy a tooth brush and whatever you need when you get there.”

For the next three days, 40 sports reporters and a dozen editors put out a national newspaper with stories filed (often read over the phone) from Florida. Those were the days when journalism was thrilling, even on the dullest of days. We wrote and recorded history.

This leads to a story I find as personally important to me as the Challenger story. Jon Alverson, publisher of one of America’s most-admired newspapers – made so by Pulitzer prizing-winning, tough-minded Hodding Carter (his son, also named Hodding, would earn a place in President Jimmy Carter’s cabinet. There was no relation. Just good men with the same name) – is a young man who has old newspaper values.

I have known him for many years and celebrated for him the day he accepted the job at Carter’s former newspaper, The Delta Democrat Times, in Greenville, Miss. It is now owned by the Emmerich family which, in hard times, had risen to the challenge to keep a slew of newspapers up and running.

The day that job of publisher became his was probably the happiest professional day of his life. It is always lovely to see a good friend know such pride and joy.

A few months ago, Jon, answered the phone and took a subscription renewal from an older woman. He emailed me. “She said she only takes the paper because of you. Lovely woman.”

Two months later, he emailed, “Mrs. Vera Pesaresi is in hospice. I bet she’d be happy to get a note from you.” His suggestion was a blessing.

I wrote and sent it immediately. Two weeks later, Jon sent her obituary.

Jon is a fine editor and publisher. Hodding Carter would be proud.

More importantly, he is a good, thoughtful man.

Ronda Rich is best-selling author of “St. Simons Island: A Stella Bankwell Mystery.” Visit www.rondarich. com to sign up for her weekly newsletter.