Moments I know print isn't dead

Last week our anniversary edition went to print and thus, a convoy of Pioneer staff members made the long trek to Madelia’s House of Print to pick up more than 10,000 newspapers to be delivered to various post offices. The drive was pleasant. Due to construction, I ended up taking a route I had never taken before. Much of the drive I was familiar with, outside of the last 20 minutes of twists and turns. As a teen, one of my jobs for a period of time was newspaper route driver. It was a relaxing task, driving the back roads to Madelia, followed by the back roads to Hartland, Geneva, Clarks Grove, Ellendale and Waseca, where I would drop off papers for news stands at various gas stations and stores.

 

The person who has been driving that route for the Pioneer since its inception has been out of commission, in the hospital recovering from necrotizing fasciitis. He’ll be recovering for at least another three months before he’s able to return home. 

 

As a result, Ben Revermann has been delivering newspapers for the past month or so. I cannot speak highly enough of Ben’s dedication to the Pioneer. He is a tremendous asset. You may notice when you see him out in public, he’s often in a hurry, rushing from story to story, event to event, often with his children along for the ride. 

 

While doing the newspaper route, Ben takes his son Alex. When I learned that, I was immediately taken back to my childhood when my own dad would have me help with the newspaper route. It made me feel like a grownup who was part of the everyday business of the newspaper. I liked it, even though I had to get up early to go along. One of my core memories was stopping for lunch at the former Hope restaurant after one of these routes. This little–but excellent–hole in the wall, to my young imagination, anyway, had the feel of a prohibition era bar from the 1920s. It’s an abiding memory for me that that was the place I had fried ice cream for the first time.

 

We still deliver newspapers to the Hope, Minnesota, gas station, next to Krause’s, because I remember going there as a youth and enjoying the experience. It was a neat  little station with its own brand of charm. My dad always told me not many papers were sold there, so I might have considered removing it from the route, except for another memory. One fateful afternoon while I was there, I mentioned the slow sales to the attendant at Krause’s. He said, “Give me a minute.” Moments later, a young woman in her twenties came rushing to the counter and bought every remaining paper. She said she was excited to send the paper to relatives because she was featured in that week’s edition. I can still remember seeing the excitement in her bright, smiling face. 

 

When folks ask me whether newspapers are dying, that memory and many like it give me hope and faith that print is in fact, far from dead.