A Short Story

Nina's comment on yesterday's post reminded me of a story.  

She wrote that her parents consumed  30 minutes of national news, filtered through the professionalism of Walter Cronkite.  I replied that I grew up with that kind of news, too. Just as there were Chevy families and Ford families, there were ABC and CBS and NBC followers, but everyone knew that Cronkite was the voice of the evening news.

It was a big deal to read an out of town newspaper, but Daddooooo read the NYTimes on the train into the city, Newsday was delivered to our house in the late afternoon, and Uncle Abby (who lived next door) brought home the Post.  

Nobody read the Daily News.

Newsweek and Time gave us depth and a chance to respond.  I once had a letter published in Newsweek.

Timing was everything.  I took the magazine out of the mailbox and read the movie review in the elevator going up to our apartment.  I finished reading it at the kitchen table and wrote a response on a postcard and dropped it into the mail slot for the afternoon pickup.  

So many differences from today - a magazine you could hold in your hand, a postcard readily available, two mail deliveries a day.  No one even imagining sitting at a computer and ranting at an e-zine via email or tweeting a criticism before the pixels were dry on the page.  

The movie was Superman.  I wrote I'll still see the movie, but it won't help that David Ansen told me the ending... or something like that.  

I was snarky then and I'm snarky now.  If I'm peeved, you'll know about it.  I've never had a letter published in the NYTimes, but that doesn't seem all that relevant these days.  The Arizona Daily Star seems to like what I write, and has published several of my letters in the last few months.  

But since 2009 I've had 4,153 opportunities to rant and rave to the general public.  Every time one of you reads a post, I feel like I've won the lottery.

Thanks for being here.