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Many of Atlanta's old newspaper people put together books from the 1940s up to the 1980s where they sort of petered out as far as I can tell. One of my favorites was an old Journal guy named Ernie Rogers. One of my favorites of his books is Peachtree Parade from 1956 where he tells a bunch of great stories about the culture of the papers back in the day highlighting how compact the media folks were back then and their sense of playfulness. Too bad all the TV stations didn't end up in the core of downtown, maybe something of that would still be with us. Here's a great story he tells about breaking in the new kid: In news parlance a "Bulldog" is an edition of the paper that is predated. In other words, the "Bulldog" edition of the Sunday paper is printed Saturday night but carries a Sunday dateline. So, with this brief lesson in newspaperese, we may proceed to the case of the outraged copy boy. It was not unusual during my days in the city room for office boys to undergo a bit of hazing during the first day or two they were on the job. They would be sent on this wild goose chase or that and the resultant merriment from the youth's discomfiture would lighten the tedium of a tough day in the typewriter pits. When a large, awkward office boy named Cecil had been on the job only a short time, it occured to one fo the ocpy readers that he should be sent over to The Constitution, then located across the railroad tracks from The Journal, to obtain a paper stretcher, of which there is no such. "What's that?" inquired Cecil when told the item he was to get. "It's a device for stretching paper," the copyreader explained. "Sometimes the paper on which The Journal is printed comes in rolls that are too narrow, in which case the paper must be stretched." With these words of explanation in his ears Cecil set out for The Constitution building to get a paper stretcher, but unfortunately there wasn't a single one on the premises. But said The Constitution fellow, there was a good chance that one could be found at The Atlanta Georgian office. At the Georgian office, though, they had just run out of paper stretchers but, in all likelihood, one couuld be found at The Ruralist Press. And on it went. Finally, although it took some time to do it, Cecil got wise to the fact that he was being suckered and came on back to the office, where he joined, although somewhat feebly, in the general laughter. Of one thing he was certain, though. He wasn't going to fall for any more gags. But hardly had the resolute copy boy made himself comfortable in an office chair before there was a call from Major Cohen's office for a copy boy. Cecil was elected. "Yes, sir," Cecil said as politely as you please when he entered the office of the editor. "I wish you would go down to the pressroom and get me four Bulldogs," the Major requested. Cecil, who wasn't the kind of fellow you could catch napping a second time, drew himself up to his full height and gave the editor an publisher of The Journal a withering look. "And just who do you think you're kidding?" the enlightened copy boy said in tones of extreme disgust as he stalked out of the Major's office. Discuss this article on the forums. (0 posts) |
