by Kerry Dougherty
What happens when corporate bean counters drive out all of their experienced workers and replace them with fresh-faced kids right out of school?
Bad things.
In the case of newspapers, it means hiring reporters who are unfamiliar with the area. It means all of the curmudgeonly grammarians are gone and there’s no one around to catch mistakes in copy.
And it means that when beloved newspapermen from an earlier era die, no one in the newsroom remembers them.
That may explain why it took The Virginian-Pilot — where I worked for 34 years — about a week to mourn the loss of Marvin Lake, the first black reporter ever hired by the Pilot and a man most of us admired and found to be a thoughtful sounding board for story ideas.
It also means that as I write this it’s been five days since the death of beloved metro columnist Larry Maddry — who retired in 2000 — and the newspaper has yet to print a word about him.
Maddry’s family shouldn’t have to buy an obituary from the newspaper where he delighted readers for more than 30 years to note his passing.
I’m hoping to wake up this Wednesday morning, find a front-page story on Larry and feel a little foolish for writing this.
Even if that happens, this little tribute is what I want to offer:
It’s rare that a person who worked for decades in a bustling newsroom with its over-sized egos and terrible tempers leaves with no enemies. But it was impossible not to like Larry Maddry, the columnist with a soft Southern drawl, dry wit, and the ability to write like an angel.
I don’t believe I ever heard anyone — even the most hard-bitten journalists — gripe about him. Continue reading
by Scott Lingamfelter
by Michael Giere
