The sad demise of an American Newspaper, today…

This is the last day for this paper.


The day I packed my cubicle I had two boxes to carry from the building.

I still have my pica pole.  The web will never replace what the feeling of working for a paper was — the buzz and hum before the sterility of these boxes took over.  Lose the paper, and you lose the community.  All the little things that make up a town  or a geographic area in America.

My town no longer has a paper — not a real one, anyway.

The owner has no idea of how many lives were devastated.

A newspaper isn’t something that can be replaced, not ever.  Losing even one is devastating to the fabric of American culture — and our democracy in this country.  A song came on the radio while I was looking at their last front page.  My heart goes out to everyone in the place this morning — and I dedicate this one to them.  I bought this record when I was 13 — along with some Elton John, James Taylor and Woodstock.

I think we need to revisit what the 70’s meant — town to town — pretty soon in this country.

America needs its newspapers, again.

When the San Francisco Chronicle and the Los Angeles Times go?

My state will look like yours does this morning.

It’s wrong.

3 thoughts on “The sad demise of an American Newspaper, today…

  1. Hello Bonnaire,

    Stopped by to see how you are, hoping you are fine. I left a few comments awhile back but had changed my name and icon…so they are in moderation.

    I saved the post for you with the birds in the wind, because i know how much you enjoyed that. And I included the poem..

    just so you know


  2. Hi again. Hey where is your blog?

    Hope you are well. Oh these times…..whew….

    take care & let me know when the blog will be back?

    I’ll just wait till you have it up again…..


  3. “I was singing all alone in a corner, and the melody caught your ear. You came down and stood at my cottage door.
    Masters are many in your hall, and songs are sung there at all hours. But the simple carol of this novice struck at your love. One plaintive little strain mingled with the great music of the world, and with a flower for a prize you came down and stopped at my cottage door.”


    “When I bring to you coloured toys, my child, I understand why there is such a play of colours on clouds, on water, and why flowers are painted in tints—when I give coloured toys to you, my child.
    When I sing to make you dance I truly know why there is music in leaves, and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth—when I sing to make you dance.
    When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands I know why there is honey in the cup of the flowers and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice—when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.”



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s