I’ve heard it said that newspaper editors don’t die; they just run out of ink. In this computer age of building newspapers where editors seldom have to get ink on their hands at the press, perhaps it would be better to say, “Newspaper editors don’t die; they just run out of words.” Of course, there are plenty of other fitting substitutes, such as running out of random access memory or RAM.
Sometimes I think I’m beginning to suffer from one of these ailments, especially when it comes to remembering everything I’m supposed to get into the newspaper and coming up with new ideas for columns. I like to call it “congestive mind failure.” Sometimes,I even have to go a little beyond the normal - that could be called paranormal - to come up with a new column.
Anyway, once the ink gets into a fellow’s blood- whether it be from the old presses or the digital kind that is sent over the wire to a press somewhere else - it’s kind of hard to stop thinking about getting the next newspaper printed and out on the racks. As a result, I often spend late nights before press deadline to get everything done.
Something strange happened late Monday night while I was putting together the pages of this issue. You might find it unbelievable - I must admit that I find it a bit questionable myself.
It often happens when in the office late at night that a person hears all sorts of strange noises. That used to happen a lot in the first newspaper office where I worked. The office connected through some old sliding doors to the old press room and, though most of the big presses were gone, there were often noises and groanings in the back room as if someone was there andgetting things ready for the next run. Of course, when I’d venture back into the old dark rooms to check, no one was there.
Sometimes, even now in our Gravette office, there are some strange noises in the night. It could be the wind blowing and making something rattle ... or it could be something else. I’ve gotten used to it and usually just go on about my work.
Well, on Monday night I heard some of those old noises. It sounded like someone digging through drawers of old type and putting it in a form. I looked but, of course, there was no one there and nothing unusual was going on. Yet, somehow, I just felt like someone was there. Occasionally, a chill went up my spine - you know, the kind that makes the hair stand up on the back ofyour neck.
The noises continued but I ignored them and finished my page-building work on the computer and got ready to go home in the wee hours of the morning. I shut off the lights and went out the door, making sure everything was locked up tight.
Not a soul was out on the streets of Gravette. A cool wind was blowing out of the northwest and it even howled a bit as it blew past the buildings and signs on a deserted Main Street.
“The cold and dark of winter are coming,” I thought as I climbed into my car.
I started on my trek home - sometimes I have to fight off sleep during the drive after such a long day. As I reached the bottom of the hill at Spavinaw Creek, I realized I had forgotten my camera. Even though I doubted I’d need it during the night, I turned around and went back for it, just in case.
When I pulled up in front of the newspaper office, I saw it. The lights were off, but something was glowing in the back of the building near the old presses. I walked up to the front office windows and peered inside. It looked like an old lamp burning in the back of the office, but that’s not all I saw.
Illuminated by the old oil lamp, I saw the figure of a bearded old man standing at the press. It looked like he was wearing wirerimmed glasses down onthe end of his nose and had on an old pressman’s apron. And the old press: Its gears were turning and sheets of old newspaper were being pressed against the type.
What should I do? If I called the police, they would never have believed me. Quietly, I slipped my key in the door and turned the locks. As I turned the knob and opened the door, it squeaked and groaned as it usually does. The shadowy figure quickly blew out the lamp. And when I switched on the lights, he was gone. Everything appeared normal.
“I must really be tired,” I thought as I grabbed my camera and headed back out the door.
I went home a little spooked, got a few hours of sleep and headed back to work early in the morning to make sure I hadeverything to the press on time. As I drove back to work, I recalled what I had seen during the late night hours.
“This congestive mind failure is getting pretty bad,” I thought. “Now, my mind is playing tricks on me and I’m seeing things that aren’t really there.”
And, of course, in the daylight hours, nothing was amiss at the office. The old presses still sat motionless without even the dust disturbed.
“It must all have been a dream,” I thought ... until I picked up this crumpled up news sheet from the trash can!
The ink was a bit light and faded on this single sheet, but I could still read most of it.
“Gravett News,” the old newspaper banner read, and the date on the issue was “Wednesday, October 31, 1894.”
Editor’s note: Being the final week of October, all of the above is entirely fiction except, of course, working late nights, hearing strangenoises and sometimes seeing strange things when I’ve been working too long. Gravett News was one of Gravette’s first newspapers, and it was started in September of 1894. And that crumpled up broadsheet? I seem to have misplaced it.
Randy Moll is the managing editor of the Westside Eagle Observer. He may be reached by e-mail at rmoll @ nwaonline .com.
Opinion, Pages 6 on 10/27/2010