COLUMN: The trees are still calling my name

Not long ago, in a galaxy not too far away, I kept a sign on my desk. It read, “Should Trees Die for This?”

It was my daily motivation and inspiration, both a gentle reminder and a noble call to arms.

Even as I watched newspapers start making the transition from print — thank you, Mr. Gutenberg — to digital platforms, I still held myself to those standards.

(I did allow myself some fun with my online signature as we plugged into this new world of technology. I replaced “Should Trees Die for This?” with the disclaimer: “No electrons were harmed in the publishing of this email.’’)

Printed newspapers have been my daily bread. I have spent parts of the last six decades embedded on the frontlines of headlines and deadlines. 

My life has been invested in ink. I was once a paperboy. It was my first job in journalism. When I was 9, I published my own family newspaper on Blue Horse notebook paper. I would write the stories and headlines. I even created my own comic strip. I would staple it together and sell it to my mom and dad for 10 cents. My mother, bless her, saved every copy.

I still get a thrill when I pull out those aging, yellowed papers from high school that carried my first bylines. In the building where I began my journalism career, the floor would shake when the presses would start up, and we could feel the rumble beneath our feet from two stories below. It was exciting, like being on the launchpad at  liftoff. Gosh, I miss those days.

When the stories I wrote and reported became yesterday’s news, I’m sure I housetrained a few puppies. I once saw my NIL (name, image, likeness) at the bottom of a chinchilla cage at the Museum of Arts & Sciences. (I’m not sure if I ever was a fish-wrapper, although I heard old-timers chuckle over that worn-out line.)

On the flip side of the printed page, my words have been framed and laminated, literally cut and pasted, clipped and mailed in stamped envelopes across the miles. A lady once told me she carried around a column I wrote in her pocketbook. 

I’ve parked on a few refrigerator doors, too. I’ve always maintained that making somebody’s refrigerator magnet is the highest honor in journalism.

But now, the familiar rustle of someone reading a newspaper in the next room is being replaced by the swiping and scrolling of thumbs on a screen. 

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution — the newspaper I once delivered on my bicycle in my neighborhood — announced on Aug. 28 that it will cease its print edition at the end of the year. The newspaper, which dates back 157 years, said it was “accelerating its digital transformation amid a rapidly evolving media landscape.’’

When the news broke, I was standing a few feet from Joe Kovac. Joe is a longtime colleague who now works for the AJC. He is an excellent writer and reporter. He lives around the corner from me. 

The news bulletin was one of those reality gut checks. You can claim you’re not surprised, but you’re still stunned and saddened when the news comes.

Atlanta is the newspaper whose nine-point font and 54-point headlines gave us the printed words of Henry Grady, Ralph McGill, Lewis Grizzard, Furman Bisher, Celestine Sibley, Jim Minter, Jesse Outlar, Gene Patterson, Mike Luckovich, Paul Hemphill, Dave Kindred and Margaret Mitchell.

Now, the newspaper whose motto once was “Covers Dixie Like the Dew” could be refined to “Click Here To Download App.”

I once asked a man about his morning ritual of reading the newspaper.

“It’s like this,’’ he started. “I go out and get the paper, bring it inside, pour myself a cup of coffee and turn to the obituaries. If my name isn’t there, I pour myself another cup of coffee.’’

A friend once told me she preferred the orderly process of reading a printed version of the paper from the front to back.

“When I try to read it online, I never know when I’m finished,’’ she said. “All I’m doing is clicking.’’

I’ve heard other traditional newspaper readers talk about the tangibility of something they can hold in their hands. It’s the same way with books. They would much rather feel their fingers pressed against the spine of a book. You can’t get the dog-ear experience from a Kindle or iPad.

I was stubborn about embracing the digital evolution until an older, wiser friend pulled me to the side and told me to stop fighting windmills.

I am not opposed to online newspapers. It’s the only way I can read many of them. But there are times when it feels like I’m falling down a rabbit hole, with clickbait and pop-up screens coming at me from all directions, like I’m trapped in a video game.

Sigh. I pray the day never comes when the only place you can find a printed newspaper is in museums and antique stores. I hope the famous “All the News That’s Fit to Print” on The New York Times masthead doesn’t morph into “All the News That’s Fit to Post.’’

My wife and I just finished binge-watching all 10 episodes of “The Paper.’’ It’s a mockumentary that premiered on Peacock last week and has already been renewed for a second season. 

It’s a spinoff of  “The Office’’ and uses the same fly-on-the-wall camera crew that followed around the characters at Dunder Mifflin Paper Co. for a decade. 

The Toledo Truth Teller is a slumping Midwestern newspaper trying to resurrect itself. The editor has never worked for a paper and has been dealt an inexperienced staff of volunteer reporters. It shares its newsroom with a company whose flagship product is toilet paper.

The show is wildly funny at times, and those of us at The Melody who have watched it are trying to figure out which character we represent. (It makes me want to go back and relive old episodes of “Lou Grant.’’)

 In my days at The Macon Telegraph, I once served as advisor for the “Teen Page.’’ It was made up of young journalists from local high schools. We published a page of stories and photographs every week and changed the name to “Fresh Ink.’’

Some of those kids I worked with are attending their 20-year high school reunions this year. They now have kids of their own.

Will their children ever experience the satisfaction of fresh ink? Will they enjoy the smudge of newsprint on their fingers? 

I hope so. I’ll save some trees for them.

Write columnist Ed Grisamore at gris@maconmelody.com.