John Mariani addresses his colleagues during a party in his honor at Kelley’s in Syracuse. (Photo by Karen Miller Bialczak)
A man who worked more than 30 years in a Syracuse newsroom wore a Hawaiian shirt proudly, worked the barroom like he owned it, shook hands, told stories, hugged people, told more stories, hugged more people, confidently gave a speech, choked up just a bit, listened to a little whisper in his ear, and thanked his wife.
John Mariani said goodbye just like he said hello so many days as a reporter, editor, NewsLine specialist and online community engagement guy at the big daily and the media group that followed. Oh, and I must not forget, as many of his co-workers brought up last night at the pub and restaurant on Syracuse’s west side, leader of the Lobster Shift Players, too.
Mariani was one of the magnets of the newsroom.
He is a Syracusan.
He graduated from Henninger High School in 1975. His father, Louis, was a Syracuse judge. His wife, Vicky, is a Syracusan, and their two children, Louis and Rose, were so naturally Syracusans. When dear son Louis contracted a sudden illness as a teenager and passed away so suddenly and tragically and heartbreakingly in a hospital, each and every one of us in the newsroom, I believe, in the whole newspaper building, it seemed, from the community, in spirit, were at the calling hours and funeral services to hug them and cry with them and grieve with them.
John Mariani is loved and respected because he treats people and life with knowledge and honor and curiosity and a good sense of humor.
Everybody in the newsroom knew that’s how he treated his stories, too.
But he decided, some 16 months after the completion of the digital-first initiative and reduction to three-days-a-week home delivery, the Syracuse portion of the newspaper evolution that’s marked the industry nationwide, he’s retiring.
There are no more stories to tell for John Mariani.
“I don’t care if I ever write again,” John told me during my five minutes with him last night.
He looked happy but sounded tired.
I hugged him hard, and thanked him. I told him that of course I was proud of that project we’d worked on together some two decades ago, he on the business desk and me covering arts, the analysis of how and why the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra went out of business, a team package that won first place in The Associated Press’ state contest for best business story. And then I told him that what I most appreciated, though, was Murray.
Murray was the repeating North Pole character he’d written for me in the scripts he produced annually for three or four years. A cast would read his stories 12 days in a row leading to Christmas on NewsLine, then a cutting-edge feature in which readers could punch in telephone numbers for at-hand news and features. (Until the web site took over, I contributed a song clip and voice review every day on NewsLine.) John’s 12 Days of Christmas script every year concluded with our publisher, Steve Rogers, reading a message to the children of Syracuse, as Santa Claus.
After NewsLine gave way to syracuse.com, the Lobster Shift Players provided John with an outlet to write scripts for a handful of brave newsroom colleagues to act and sing and dance in front of anybody who wished to cram into the exercise room and clap along with their performance. A couple times a year, a flier would appear around the building. Show tonight. 6 p.m. Standing room only.
Of course Kelley’s was packed with people to pay tribute to John last night, a lot of people who still worked with him up until yesterday afternoon. Esteemed columnist Sean Kirst and I shared a big hug, and this man who won the national Ernie Pyle Award and I talked about how wonderful our newsroom was, about a 25-year stretch in which we all trusted each other like a family and felt pride about every page of the paper that showed up on all those doorsteps around Central New York.
There were those who’d left over the years.
Jennifer Jacobs, a reporter who left several years ago, made it from Iowa.
Mike Connor, the former executive editor, moved to France when he retired a year ago. He returned to the States recently, but eyes opened wide to see him back.
There were a number of us who were among the 100 or so laid off on Jan. 31, 2013, the last day that I consider The Post-Standard the big daily.
There was a handful of people who were hired on by Syracuse Media Group, the digital-first company that drives syracuse.com and The Post-Standard, the company that employs my dear wife Karen in advertising.
People laughed and drank and ate and told John Mariani stories. I do believe he is the man who brought Aloha Friday, the treasured event when a feeling of lagging wintertime spirits could cause that phrase to echo around the newsroom on a Thursday and, voila, an island shop’s worth of colorful shirts would show up the following day. Yes, even executive editor Mike Connor would wear his Hawaiian shirt, albeit over his dress shirt so he could take it off when he was summoned to meet publisher Mr. Rogers in the corner office, or if the governor or mayor or county executive were dropping in.
Soon after John gave his goodbye speech, though, Karen saw a certain look in my eye, and she was right. It was time to go home.
I was sad, and starting to get upset all over again.
I grew up in a time when people grabbed the newspaper off the front step before they poured the first cup of coffee, and journalists filled newsrooms all over the country knowing those pages needed to carry smart, entertaining, knowledgeable, accurate, wise stories every day.
Clocks ticked toward an hour when reporters and editors and photographers and graphic specialists and computer programmers all had to have their work done and completed and perfect and in concert so the press could roll, ink could spread, trucks could drive, bundles could be delivered, papers could be tossed, people could read, 6 a.m., all at once, a community being informed.
That connection made something in me hum.
Now publish buttons are clicked, alone, on a laptop, a tablet, a phone, in a car, on a street corner. I will do it momentarily on my recliner in my living room.
And headlines are clicked, alone, on a laptop, a tablet, a phone, in a car, on a street corner.
I know, the world changes.
Some people say this way is faster, easier, better. The delivery system sure is cheaper.
But I am forever a child of the newspaper age, as a reader from age 5, as a journalist from when I wrote a story for my junior high paper. And when John Mariani retires and says he never wants to write again, it makes me sad.
Do you still read a newspaper? Do you prefer your news online? What’s your favorite way for getting news?
Mark Bialczak 
He’s a great writer, and I’ve been a fan of his for all these years. The online generation is a killer, and it’s a vision killer as well. I love print. Will always love print, and sometimes I cannot wait for all this “convenient” technology to implode one day, if it should.
It’s a bummer, because I cannot wait to get away from the computer lately; hence my being behind on reading blogs. Cracked, SNT, Kinani, and other editing ventures have me staring at the computer, and my eyes definitely burn from it.
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It is much harder on the eyeballs. I guess there’s anatomy and physiology to explain it, but darn if I know the exact reasoning, Chris. But pixels are tougher in the long run, they sure are!
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John Mariani is a wonderful guy. I know Dave enjoyed working with him. John will be missed. We left Syracuse in 1999, but we are still saddened by the Syracuse Newspapers downsizing. Excellent journalists and editors there produced many riveting stories.
We still have two newspapers delivered to our door – “Florida Today” and the “Orlando Sentinel.” Yes, we also get our news online, but – as you stated – life would not be the same without the morning paper with our cup of coffee.
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Good for you with two papers each morning, Judy. FYI, the Syracuse Newspapers company name hasn’t been such for a decade, or since the Herald-Journal went the way of too many afternoon dailies of our nation, leaving only The Post-Standard to carry the everyday banner here.
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Change and growth all can be pretty sad.
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Yes, Kim, when you are one of those left off the list, without a doubt.
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This I understand.
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I remember the days when I followed certain columns and really wanted to know what their takes or thoughts on subjects were. I can feel the tears almost coming. in your eyes, Mark. I would be sad, too, to have been part of an ‘era’ and another one of my colleagues leaving the field. This was well thought out and very sensitive to the subject matter. I miss having a daily paper, when I visit my Mom. They only go every other day during the week and weekends. My Mom misses this, too. Oh, and our little Columbus Dispatch is like the size of our Delaware This Week paper, too little to be of any consequence! Oh oh! Missing the “Good Old Days” means we are getting older, Mark!! Smiles and hope you are having a great weekend! Robin
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We are getting older, Robin, The good old days were. No arguing.
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Wonderful post, Mark.
Regarding your story about the musicians: In 1971, when I entered the newspaper building for the first time as a member of an Explorer Post that had just been launched, I think it was the smell of the ink — and the copy paper — that helped attract me. Many, many years later I could stand in the lunchroom late at night and just stare in wonder at the presses rolling.
There are some very talented younger people now at what’s known, I guess, as SMG. Just as you and I are members of the first generation that doesn’t know what life is like without TV, they probably can’t fathom what life was like without computers; the Internet is second nature to them, and more power to them, and I wish them well. But to me, the Internet will never have the romance — yes, the romance — of a rolling, thundering press.
I was often fascinated by the idea that I would come into work in the late afternoon and somehow, over the next eight hours, you and me and so many others would produce something out of nothing — a newspaper. The fact that we could do it at all — given the time pressures and the frailties that no human is immune to — was amazing. And “amazing” doesn’t begin to describe what would happen when major breaking news would send us into high gear and we, given the same pressures and frailties, would rally to produce documents that people might actually keep to remember the shooting of a president or pope, the explosion of a space shuttle, the bombing of a flight carrying SU students or, on a much happier night, a local team making to the top of the Final Four.
Years ago, my longtime friend and former P-S colleague Paul Kocak put it best when he described what we did every night:
The Miracle of Clinton Square.
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Wonderful comment Mark. Thank you so much for putting a bow around those nights of hard work, singular efforts and ultimate team achievements.
All of those nights of which you spoke caused a peak in emotions, and with less time and more adrenaline, we had to work with cooler heads to produce headlines and paragraphs around photographs that, as you said, people would stick into drawers to pull out decades later to remember the pain and the glory, point it out to children and grandchildren.
Wow. Paul Kocak surely coined a great phrase. The Miracle of Clinton Square indeed.
I was glad to see you there last night, Mark, remembering those nights when the “desk” was a bunch of separate desks pushed together into a clump and Tom and I and Larry and Roger in sports would look over at you and Jinx and Pat and Pinky on news and know that all was well.
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mark, this is one of my favorite posts of yours ever. my heart goes out to him and all of you, whose lives were so closely aligned with the newspapers of the world and who put heart and soul into them each and every day. they were not only places of business, they were small communities, writing about community, and the people and places within, both near and far. i still love the feel and smell and look of the real papers, i get mine 3 days a week now, and miss the daily comfort of sitting down with a cup of coffee and reading at a leisurely pace each day. kudos to all of you and to those who now write and create and report on the world, each in your own way )
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Your Ann Arbor paper, Beth, and MLive … our Syracuse paper and syracuse.com … same ownership, three days a week home delivery, appearance to the web sites … we are practically twins.
Thank you for your kind words about this post and the journalism industry as a whole. I know you worked closely with a lot of people in the business when you were in the movie and entertainment public relations field, so that makes it even more significant to me.
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I’m sad that the newspaper world is fading fast. There’s something about it that implores people to stop, take time, read. Feel the work of others in your hands as you get the ink on your fingers and the smell of the paper in your nose. I’m sad that some day kids won’t understand where Clark Kent worked and what the “Press” card in the hat band meant…..I guess kids today don’t know that. But many of us feel like kids when we think of it.
What a loving tribute Mark. I miss him and never read his articles!
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The paper was a product, not just words on a screen. Such a difference in my eyes, and I can tell in yours, too, Colleen. Thank you for your kind words, and I like your reference to the old press car in the hat band.
You would like John. He’s quite the guy.
One last word. Whenever I had musicians come up to the white studio to play for the video series, when we’d walk past the printing press, I’d tell them to stop and take a deep breath and smell the ink. It made every one of them smile, every time.
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I would have smiled too. How many mornings did I go get the paper for mom/dad. Then have to wait until I could get it. NOt that I read much in it at the time. Comics. Dear Abby. Something that caught my eye. 🙂 I would smile too.
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That’s the grand thing about newspapers, Colleen. Done right, there’s a little something in there every day for everybody.
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I hope they make a return. Along with some other good things in society that have been going by the wayside.
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So sorry I missed the party. John’s a good reporter and a good person. I hope he finds fulfillment in whatever he does next. If the Lobster Shift Players go pro, I’m in.
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One vote, Lobster Shift Players going pro. Noted, Chris. I’m not sure if John was considering such a notion …
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You honor your friend nicely here, Mark. I find journalists extremely inspiring. I hope for our sake you all continue to write.
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Thank you, Audrey. I, too, think the world needs journalists to write.
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Does that mean we’re old school, Mark?
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Yes we are, Audrey, old school wordsmiths.
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I’ll take that all day long, Mark. Pass me my quill, please.
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Ink well over here, please.
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So not on the carpet…dang.
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You can quill wherever you’d like, Audrey. As B.B. sings, the Quill is Gone …
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Love it!
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A beautiful story about a beautiful man, Mark. I read your story with a tear in my eye, so sad for today’s children always with their heads down looking in their laps to talk to their friends. As for the paper, I still look forward to that comforting feeling I get when I open those big pages and sit back and relax and read from front to back.
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Thank you so much, JDonigan. John is quite the good man. And having that paper feel to rustle is quite comforting to some of us.
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Mark, what a touching testimonial to your friend and colleague! I think each generation laments the loss of their era. I was so caught up in your description of how every little thing had to fall into place so that as one unit, all at once everyone would be reading the paper at 6 am.
Diana xo
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Thank you Diana. That was the magic of being a newspaper worker, to me, a piece of a puzzle that had to come together all at once, every single day.
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Great description of John and why everyone who knows him likes and respects him.I hope he does write again. Sad is the accurate description of the end of the magic and excitement of a newsroom.
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Yes, Amber, John is a good soul. And newsrooms could sweep you away.
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Beautiful tribute..didn’t get to talk to you last night..so many people there! John will be missed!! Really nice column
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Thank you Liz. So many people there is how is should have been for Mr. Mariani. I was glad to see you, though!
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That is sad! 😦 I like my paper to be paper. I bet he’s just burnt out right now and will be writing something again soon. How could he not? Great post! 😀
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Paper does need to be paper, Rachel. We will see if John gets the urge to write sometime in the future.
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I hope so. And in accordance with another comment between you and someone else, you can’t put Silly Putty on the computer monitor and get the same effect. 🙂
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I find it really sad that no one from the Post-Standard let people know about John’s party.
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It was all over Facebook, Debra.
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Very good post Mark 🙂
Have you heard anything from Angie in the last weeks? I haven’t been much online in last week.
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She is not writing anymore, Irene. Her decision.
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Thanks for your answer Mark. I will try to contact her by mail instead.
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Reminds me of the Miranda Lambert song, “It all just seemed so good the way we had it back before everything became automatic” I can’t take it as far back as you can, but my childhood weekends were always omelets at brunch restaurants, with piles of Sunday papers on every table–folks reading news, comics, etc–and I would grab the “Show World” to see what would be on TV and what movies were playing. Plus, you can’t put silly putty on a laptop and get Dagwood eating a hoagie on it.
P.S. Everyone needs an Aloha Friday. Doesn’t aloha mean both hello and goodbye? You say ahola, and I say aloha. Aloha aloha! You can wear it both coming and going.
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Yes, silly putty on the comics so could stretch it to your liking, indeed, Kerbey. Sunday papers so you knew what to watch all week long. And yes, aloha coming and going. You nailed it, my friend. You are one of us.
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Touching. Moving. Poignant.
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Thanks, Mark. You were there then. Wish you could have been with us last night.
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Great story, Mark – albeit sad with his remark on never writing again. You’re right though, there was a kinship connected to just one story. A collective effort of success or failure. A kinship Generation Y will never understand in their isolated, yet jam packed world. ~Karen~
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The all-for-one effort, it was like being in a band. I loved that aspect of it, Karen. Thanks for sharing your insight.
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Aw man. That was both sad and beautiful, Mark. John is a great writer, Syracusan, and Eastwoodite. I’ve got an affinity for old-time newspaper guys: ink-stained, coffee-smelling, hair askew, laser-focused on a deadline while utterly oblivious to everything else in the world… The journalism world has given up a good one.
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You do know John Mariani, Jim, all the way around. Thank you for this wise comment, fellow Eastwoodite.
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Well done, Mark. John is a great guy who always gave everything he had to the paper. It was an honor to be there last night and be part of a proper sendoff.
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It was great to see you and the lovely Michelle G, Jim, floating in with the entrance you deserve.
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It makes me sad, too, Mark, for him and others , too. I feel lucky and gratefull you continue to write here, for us, so often and so well. Thanks for this amazing post, which made me think and feel.
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Thank you for your kind words, Ann. I think you are fortunate to have the Boston Globe in your city, trying, trying, trying.
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