Hanging by a thread

Okay ... this is my whine time, when I'll talk about the newspaper industry. I'll move on to cheerier posts after this. Promise.

Twenty-five years ago, I was slaying dragons as a financial reporter at the Springfield, Ill., Journal-Register, writing newspaper stories about how politically connected real estate developers were getting sweetheart deals from the then-governor and his administration.

Today, as a Kansas City newspaperman, I'm making a quilt.  

Huh?

'Tis true. Odd as it seems, me and my department at The Kansas City Star symbolize the sea-change under way with newspapering -- a change that I'm convinced many Americans don't understand nor appreciate in terms of significance or permanence.

The quilt thing? I'm making a quilt to get closer to our quilt-book customers. You can check it out here.

Let me explain: About 10 years ago, I chose to head down a different path at The Star -- to move from daily journalism and launch instead a book-publishing arm of the newsroom. I felt there was a lot of content there that could take different, profitable forms. I guess it was an outgrowth of my business-editor days, plus the MBA I picked up in the mid '90s.

Today, we publish more than 30 books a year -- most by us, some by other newspapers that use our services. We are welcomed as a small source of "non-core" revenue at The Star. That's because "core" revenue -- dollars from the newspaper product itself -- continues to shrink. Most of the books we publish are quilt books. It's a great business to be in, and we're doing quite well with it. (How we got into quilt books is a long story best left for another day.)

Newspapers ... in the news

Last Monday, my employer laid off 50 people -- the third reduction of the year that now totals about 300 positions. All things considered, The Star is financially sound and has lots in its favor. (In fact, combined readership of our newspaper and Web sites is at record levels.) But I predict some of our peer newspapers won't fare as well. I'm betting that one or more major cities in this country will be without a newspaper within the next couple of years.

There are lots of reasons why. Some of the industry's injuries are self-inflicted; others not. It's been a perfect storm for newspapers for awhile, and the recent economic distress only adds another hurricane or two. (If you're really curious, go to the Poynter site that follows the industry daily.)

Readers may be shocked, though, when the big headline in their town is "No More Headlines." And when that happens, I suspect in-depth local news coverage -- including reporting on local government -- will dry up or be replaced by a crop of opinionated blogs. Local news, after all, is the strength of a metro newspaper. Sure, TV will still cover local government ... but with its usual sound bites and its own diminishing news resources.

I'm not one to bemoan the passing of traditions. I love the Internet. Heck, I'm blogging. And newspapers have been moving successfully to the Internet.

But the painful fact is that newspapering's business model will no longer support the vast cadre of professional journalists whose job was to ask uncomfortable questions of our most sacred public and private institutions.

Some people on the far right are celebrating this fact, saying the public and advertisers are leaving newspapers because of our alleged liberal leanings. They say other news sources will fill the gap. Frankly, the "liberal" argument is simple-minded horse-hockey. The reasons for the industry's shift have to do with technology, mainly, and changing demographics.

I'm definitely not convinced, though, that other "news" sources will fill the gap. Will important stories go uncovered? I fear yes. And if so, what wrongs will go unseen?

And don't forget all the good news that is spread through a newspaper. Does the community's fabric fray a bit more as fewer stories are shared?

Among the 50 let go last Monday were some of our most seasoned journalists -- folks with a vast knowledge and love of Kansas City. I don't quarrel with the decision to let them go. This transition is painful but necessary.  And I mourn nonetheless.

Fearing the phone call

On that morning, we all were a bit paranoid. We were aware that layoffs would be announced that day. We knew to fear the phone call asking us to "come upstairs."

While driving to work that morning, I got a message from the publisher's assistant asking me in a serious voice to call her.

In my mind, this is how I knew it would play out: The publisher would call me to his office, talk at length about my 20-plus years of dedication and hard work, then explain my severance and bid me goodbye.

Sweaty, my heart pounding, I called her back. Turns out she was wondering if I'd seen a colleague -- one of those seasoned journalists -- because the publisher had to talk to him and they couldn't reach him. "Do you know where he is?" she asked.

"I don't," I said. "He usually arrives later than I do."

In the end, I survived; he didn't.

Don't get me wrong. I love what I'm doing and find it ironic that something as far left-field as quilt-book publishing is now considered vital revenue. Despite my fears, we get much support from "upstairs." But survivor's guilt accompanies our success.

I've also decided that my goal ahead is to protect those who work for me. And the best insurance there is for us to be successful.

Later that day, a co-worker asked me how I was doing given all the bad news. I joked: "Hanging by a thread!"

By now you know the pun: Quilts ... thread. The sad thing is, it's not a joke.

It is a mighty thread, though. And that counts for somethng.