Newswriting Today and Yesterday…

Johnny-on-the-Spot … by John Foster …

As I sat down before my computer to bang out this blog, the message on my screen said I needed to log in with my user name.

Normally, my screen just automatically goes to my blog site but this visit required some words and numbers.

That meant I had to find our little red book which contains all that information.

I found what I thought I needed to enter, but even as I tapped the keys, I was wondering if this was going to do the trick.

Fortunately, what I found and entered was correct.

But, there was still a bit of trepidation until the user name was approved as was the password.

There was a time when I didn’t need a password to use my keyboard.

I just sat down before my electric typewriter, grabbed some sheets of paper and then started my “hunt and peck” process.

I’d type it out and then get the script to the editor who was see that it got into the newspaper.

Years ago, I remember sitting before an old Remington manual typewriter that was black and industrial-looking.

If the script was faint, you didn’t replace a cartridge.

This required a typewriter ribbon which was impossible to change and not get black ink on your fingers.

My experience was a ribbon never needed changing until you showed up wearing a long-sleeved white shirt.

It wass a near-impossible task to not get black ink somewhere on that shirt.

You see, shirtless ribbon-changing was frowned upon in the newsroom where I worked.

The only thing worse that changing a ribbon on the typewriter was changing one on the Associated Press news teletype machine.

In addition to another black ink risk from the ribbon, you had paper dust.

Lots of paper dust.

On the machine and on the floor beneath the teletype.

That made it a bad day to wear a white shirt and black slacks.

You could hide the ink on the trousers and the paper dust on the white shirt but there was always black ink that migrated from your hands at least to the shirt sleeves.

The paper dust was magically drawn to the dark pants.

The paper came in boxes about 2 feet long and a little over a foot high and I guess they weighed at least 20 pounds.

The box sat on the floor below the printer.

You had to guide the paper from the bottom of the teletype machine and up into the housing to feed it through the carriage, and over the rubber roller behind the keys.

There were newsroom types who would resort to braille before they’d change a ribbon or add a new box of paper.

But, I gotta tell you, there was no greater feeling of accomplishment when you changed the ribbon, fed the paper through and turned on the teletype.

Those crisp, dark letters on that paper almost read themselves.

By the way, mechanics used that creamy goo to clean grease from their digits.

We had the same stuff in the restroom that we’d used to clean up with after wrestling with a new ribbon or a box of teletype paper.

The good thing was, we didn’t need a password to access the news or to type, so a computer crash was something that never concerned us.

For on-air copy, if you made a boo-boo, you just “X-ed” it out.

In the newsroom , there were nails on the wall with the labels “International, National, Regional, State, Business, Weather, Sports and Features” above them with clips on each nail.

You had to “clear” the wire and divide the news by those categories and hang stories on the appropriate nail.

Back in those days, there were several folks in a newsroom, so the copy got used frequently and was always tossed since there’d be hourly updates on most topics.

But the best part of the old teletype machines were the alarm bells.

A certain number of chimes would signal something other than a normal news update was coming.

I was in the newsroom one afternoon years ago when I heard a lot of bells.

I ran to the teletype to read that Yugoslav president Marshall Tito had died.

Soon, stories started to appear about him until another flurry of bells announced, “Tito Is Not Dead. Repeat. Tito Is Not Dead.”

In the old days, when a celebrity or world leader was near death, wire services would send background material out so news agencies could have more to say when the Grim Reaper actually arrived.

I always though that to be a bit morbid.

One of my prized possessions is all of the Associated Press wire copy for the Space Shuttle disaster on January 28th, 1986.

I saved all the wire copy from the actual launch until late that afternoon.

It’s chilling to read what was reported as information became known.

So here I sit before my computer keyboard, tapping away, without any ink on my fingers or paper dust on my pants.

It’s still news but it’s not really cleaner today than back in the old days.

Cue Jack Webb on “Dragnet”.

“Just the facts, Ma’am.”