One era ends and another begins for the AJC: A eulogy and a charge forward
As The Atlanta Journal-Constitution gets ready to say farewell to the printed form on Dec. 31, it seemed only appropriate to mark this moment with one part eulogy and one part commencement address: To say farewell with fondness, and to charge us all as we take another step into the digital age.
Any good eulogy is rooted in memory. As it might be for you, my earliest memory of the printed newspaper was in my home. I remember my father reading the newspaper, holding it with his arms stretched wider than I could reach, a cup of coffee in one hand. I’d wait patiently for whatever section had the comics and would often later find faint smudges of ink on my hands.
I remember in the second grade when my teacher, Mrs. Faulkner, told the class a story of a little boy reading a newspaper on a rainy day.
As she told us about the adventures that ensued, she folded the crisp corners of a black and white newspaper page carefully to reveal a sailor’s hat, later a fireman’s hat, then a boat and eventually she tore the pages to reveal what seemed like magic: the paper has transformed into a life jacket. All this with the words of the day.
I remember my grandmother would send me recipes clipped from the newspaper, eager for me to try. There was nothing more exciting than receiving an envelope with my name written in her distinct penmanship via the United States Postal Service.
I remember Labor Day weekend in 1997, when we were visiting family and my aunt woke my cousin and me holding the newspaper, the headline declaring boldly that Princess Diana had died in a car accident. This shocking news came to us on the doorstep while we slept.
I remember when each of my children were born at Piedmont Hospital and we made it a point to save the AJC from that day for them to look back upon years later. “This is what was happening all around you the day you were born.”
Going from nostalgia to living in the right now
It’s often said, with more than a bit of cynicism, that all newspapers are good for is to line a bird cage.
I disagree, but I do think there is something otherwise noteworthy about the printed paper’s many uses.
There is something about the regular rhythm of physical objects in our lives that breeds some bit of comfort, a connection with the outside world, a rhythm of receiving and making, using and reusing.
Perhaps my children will remember fondly the forts they make with cardboard boxes Amazon brings with near-newspaper regularity.
It is hard to have this same type of connection with an app or a link that you refresh. We have less waste, indeed, but we also have fewer physical reminders of what was yesterday, and what has happened since the trash was last picked up, and even what was happening on the day you were born. We are embodied creatures, and the loss of the tangible carries weight.
There is something to mourn in this loss. And yet I remember these things fondly as someone who has switched to digital media consumption years ago.
I love to refresh and find out what is happening right now, to scroll news and opinions in the convenience of a doctor’s office waiting room, in the carpool line at school and occasionally while on a conference call that has gone on a bit too long. Perhaps this eulogy for the printed newspaper is overdue.
We can find new ways to connect in the digital era
I don’t think I fully appreciated that the transition was happening. So, while it is already here, let me take a moment to mark intentionally what digital media might be. In all my memories of the printed newspaper, it is striking to me that people are at the core. What I remember fondly is not the object itself, but the shared rhythms, rituals, stories and moments of connection.
How does this translate to words on a screen? While I know I will consume news media at other moments, personally, I’m challenged to consume my digital news media with greater intention.
I imagine a more firm weekend morning rhythm of reading the paper, seated comfortably in my living room, iPad in one hand, coffee cup in another, to give my children the example of the ritual of attention.
When I read an article that makes me think of someone, I want to remember to send it on. And when big news happens, though I read it on my individual device, I want to process it with people I love.
As we shift here in Atlanta to a purely digital format, might we work to keep and create the human connections, however subtle, that made the printed paper a memorable part of our life.
Let us work to read thoughtfully, to continue to share stories, to tell the next generation, “This is what was happening all around you the day you were born.”
Hannah Heck, a lawyer, founded a public policy, advocacy and consulting practice. She lives in Atlanta and spends most of her time in board service, supporting her four children and writing about life raising a son with Down syndrome.
About the Author
Hannah Heck, a lawyer, founded a public policy, advocacy and consulting practice. She lives in Atlanta and spends most of her time in board service, supporting her four children and writing about life raising a son with Down syndrome.
