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May
2, 2002 9:35 a.m. |
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he
premier of the New York Sun has inspired a flurry of stories, several
of which suggest that starting up a daily newspaper might reasonably be
considered a sign of advanced mental illness. This is surely true should
proprietors hope to make money from such an adventure. One assumes such
is not true in the Sun's case. Ideological newspapers supply their
own rewards, much like buying a symphony to play one's favorite pieces
in the proper way. It can only be hoped the owners will not grow weary
of striking checks for their merry band, or at least not any time soon.
Starting a daily newspaper is a bit of a freakish undertaking, however, especially in this day of newspaper closings and consolidations. It is also true that we live in the Golden Age of Homogenization, in the sense that papers across the country tend to sound like they were all written by the same person. That person is not a particularly sharp writer, has no sense of humor, and tends to take himself far too seriously. Looking deeper into his soul we sense a simmering pot of boredom, weariness, and bitterness at having discovered that no Inner Hemingway lurks within.
The Sun will no doubt be made of different stuff. It promises to bark at the passing caravan in a much different key than its three New York companion dailies. With any luck it will eventually develop the ability to unsettle the powers that be in the Great City. It provides a nice sensation to think of Mayor Bloomberg shutting his eyes and thinking, "Wonder how that will fly with the boys down at the Sun." Perhaps it will launch great investigations, perhaps even finding Chandra Levy.
Meantime, some of us who have been in the trade are inspired to reflect on our own paper days. As it happens, I once wrote for an ideological newspaper, that one started in Washington D.C. during the Cold War. It was owned by a fellow we called the Korean Lunar Deity. Rumor had it that he was the Messiah, or at least thought himself to be, presenting himself that way to his devotees, who lived like true communists — sharing homes, food, and a distinct view of utopia. Some of these folks, it should be added, could drink a platoon of Russians under the table.
This was something of an unusual match. Right-wingers, after all, were not known for embracing strange religions. There were other points of potential conflict as well. Stories would occasionally surface regarding a marriage involving a live person and a corpse, or about an African tribesman becoming possessed by the soul of a dead child. Then there was the incident in which a high official was dressed down with the help of a baseball bat. Among other things these stories made the competition's leadership look quite dull by comparison. Sally Quinn's cocktail parties were nothing compared to a good mass wedding.
All told, these and
other oddities were accepted with much good grace and indeed all but total
silence. Tolerance won the day, perhaps assisted by huge donations to
would-be squeaky wheels. Many a hack experienced a blossoming gut in those
milk and honey days.
Whether or not the money was otherwise well spent is of course open to
debate. While we tossed innumerable thunderbolts at the Commies, rarely
missing an opportunity to demand they cease and desist from their evil
ways, it is widely believed they did not take our instructions to heart.
One also suspects that our own government would have followed the same
policies had the paper never existed. Ronald Reagan, after all, hated
Commies long before he came to Washington. Yet if it pleases some to believe
the Cold War would not have been won without their largesse, that might
not be the first questionable belief to put a smile on their faces.
In the cause of fairness it is also worth pointing out that almost all newspaper owners are slightly crazed. Or, to put it more kindly, their minds work in wondrous ways. My best newspaper days were spent at a small weekly whose proprietor was nothing short of a genius, especially in the area of accounting. Watching him calculate the paper's circulation was a mystical experience. In traditional minds and boardrooms, that number is easily deduced. One looks at the number of papers sold in newsstands and by subscription and adds whatever copies might be circulated at no charge.
Yet as our boss fondly pointed out, each of those readers is quite likely to have two eyeballs, so it is only right and proper to multiply the base circulation figure by two. In addition, he said, it is also true that each of those readers has ten fingers, all of which are used to turn the paper's pages. That, too, was undeniable. So now multiply by ten. Now we are getting somewhere. Summon the advertisers!
It is safely assumed that the Sun will pursue journalism on a different plane, and focus its genius in other ways. All of which is very risky, but let us hope for the best.
— Dave Shiflett is coauthor of Christianity on Trial.