The big daily was a constant in my life for 29 years, five months.
Yes, my nickname for my former place of employment and the paper that got tossed on the steps of the Little Bitty shared by my dear wife Karen and I here in the Syracuse city neighborhood of Eastwood crossed my mind reading the seventh assignment for Photo 101. Cheri addressed the concepts of big and scale.
How appropriate, I thought, as I grabbed my iPhone 6 early this morning to capture The Post-Standard from two angles, mine out my kitchen door and what the delivery person must see looking up toward our side porch after tossing the plastic bag that contains the newspaper.
I debagged the news and placed it on our kitchen tabletop as I poured my first cup of morning coffee in my mug the size of my head. First, though, more morning chores.
On the way to leading Ellie B aka Dogamous Pyle out into the backyard personally — we’ve smelled skunk these past two days, and I must clip her leash to her and be ready to pull her away if any signs of too much curiosity near the fence or a black–and-white flash surface — I dropped the big daily off on my office chair in the living room, aka the recliner, open to the sports section, my usual first read.
Now, I knew these photographs of a newspaper that is only published for home delivery three days a week and thus is not really a big daily at all were not going to satisfy me as fulfilling the assignment.
So midway through my day, I drove my Chevy Cruze the still-auto-piloted 3 1/2 mile route to the very big building on Clinton Square that used to house the big daily.
The printing presses are still housed in the addition that was build when the company bought them brand spanking new about 15 years ago and immediately proclaimed us the most colorful newspaper in America. Yes, I thought from my position as entertainment writer and music critic, we did indeed look big and grand every single morning, The Post-Standard did. (The evening Herald-Journal looked sweet, too, until, like most p.m. papers in this country, it was folded by the company, shortly after 9/11.) The people who run the presses and the journalists who prep the stories and designs for print still work in the building, too.
But the journalists who concentrate on the online stories and advertising staff, including my dear wife Karen, have been moved to a different building one street, a couple blocks and a whole new world away.
That all makes my time spent here before the company-wide layoff on Jan. 31, 2013, seem far away to me.
I cannot say that I feel particularly welcome walking the perimeter, checking out my perspective.
The loading dock is still in use, but this scene makes me recall the newsprint-arrival days when the haulers would be parked around the block awaiting their turn to drop off the big rolls. Now the sign says this is Advanced.
After 6 p.m., the main lobby would close, and all employees would enter and exit the single Clinton Street door. Many, many, many for me, right past the smokers in the last two decades, and through that door.
The plaza was the hub of activity during daytime hours, where the public would enter and exit to visit for interviews, waiting for the reporter to come down to the big lobby. Inside the sacred words of First Amendment adorned a whole wall, and framed work from talented staff photographers entertained visitors, always.
Oh, how I held this building and all it meant to my life in high esteem, for 29 years, 5 months.
Which daily papers did you or do you read, and what drew or draws you to them? Did my photo essay in total work for you, and why? What’s your favorite photo here, and why?