Good old days gone for newspapers? I don't think so
In the spring of 1975, I walked into the newsroom of The Arizona Republic for the first time.
My dad was just settling in as the new bureau chief for the Associated Press, in an office wedged between the newsrooms of The Republic and the Phoenix Gazette.
I was on spring break, in town to check out the city. So naturally, I showed up one morning to see his new digs (read: to score a free lunch) and wandered over to the Republic newsroom.
Battered metal desks and typewriter stands were shoved together this way and that, and there was paper everywhere, piled high, spilling onto the floor tacked to walls – some of it likely before I was born, judging by that particular hue of yellow.
Reporters hunched over phones or pounded on manual typewriters. Meanwhile, editors did…well, whatever it is that editors do all day.
The placed smelled like cigarettes, rubber cement and ink and the bare floor shook when the basement presses started to roll with the day's final edition of the Gazette.
It was, to put it nicely, a dump.
I fell in love with newspapers that day. There was something about that dingy newsroom -- an air of expectancy, that something, anything, could happen and these people would be there on the front lines to record it.
Three years later, I would return to that newsroom as an intern, and another three after that, as a reporter.
The Republic has been a part of my life for most of my life. It's been a part of the state of Arizona since before there was a state of Arizona.
Historic photos from inside The Republic
Republic reporters were there at the beginning of the 20th Century, when the first road was paved (Washington, between Third and Fifth avenues). They were there when former President Theodore Roosevelt opened the iron gates of Roosevelt Dam, assuring that Phoenix would have a future, and seven months later, to witness the birth of the nation's 48th state.
For 125 years, Republic reporters have been there, covering the crooks, the characters and the calamities that have always been a part of this place. From the land swindles of the late 19th century to the land swindles of the 1970s. From corruption in the Highway Patrol to corruption at the Racing Commission. From the disgraceful treatment of mental patients to the disgraceful treatment of veterans.
From the political giants to the political oddballs, The Republic has been there, writing the story of Arizona.
A number of fine investigative reporters have graced this place: Don Bolles and Walter Meek and Al Sitter, to name just a few. A number grace it still: Craig Harris and Paul Giblin and Dennis Wagner, to name just a few.
Of course, my own journalistic contributions have been no less impressive.
Like the time I was assigned to go rattlesnake hunting and at the end of the night wound up sitting in the back seat beside a Styrofoam cooler filled with slithering headless snakes. Or that rainy night when I went racing to the scene of a plane crash in the desert north of Scottsdale – wearing high heels.
My ego survived it. My shoes? Not so much.
Like the time I skipped a House Education Committee hearing – the hearing at which the chairman defended a student's right to believe that the earth is flat. Two years later, he would say something similar, only by then he was Gov. Evan Mecham's education adviser.
Ah, the good old days.
Some would say those days are behind those of us who write for newspapers, that our industry is going, going, soon to be … gone. Don't believe them.
Certainly, things have changed. Gone are typewriters and teletype machines, pica poles and -30- and perhaps saddest of all, reporters' expense accounts.
Gone, too, are far too many good journalists, sacrificed to the gods of Wall Street who tragically rule with iron fist over America's 21st Century newsrooms.
Today, metal desks have been replaced by ergonomic work stations in gray cubicles. The squat cement block that was our building has been replaced by a sleek office tower and the place smells like an insurance office.
But good reporters remain, armed with Smartphones and computers that offer instant access to Arizona via the azcentral (and yes, still on your driveway, too). The story of Arizona continues to be told. And editors still do … well, whatever it is that editors do all day.
Forty years after I first walked into the newsroom, there is still something about this place. That air of expectancy remains, that something, anything, could happen and that they – that we -- will be there on the front lines to record it.
There still are crooks to cover, you see, and crises to race to…preferably with a sturdy pair of shoes.
Republic front pages from the past 125 years
