The Town Crier

Small town newspapers are cool. You get personal interest stories that the big dog city newspapers would ignore. In my hometown paper, if someone grows a giant string bean or a spectacularly large squash, you can bet that that the paper will publish a picture of the person who grew the prize winning vegetable. One time my neighbor's cat gave birth to nine kittens. The local paper published a large picture of the proud mama and a full length article about the blessed event. I tell you, the New York Times can't compete with that!

Sometimes a really big news event happens. One time some woman was taking her road test to get her driver's license. Somehow in her nervousness, she managed to drive her car up the court house steps. This earth shattering event made the front page. It actually took three men to get the car down the steps. Did she get her license? Probably. The way people in my town drive, Stevie Wonder could get his license. He could undoubtedly drive as well as anyone else in town.

Oh, did I tell you that this newspaper has won an award for journalism? For real! We are tickled pink proud of that accomplishment. Now you are probably wondering if it was the string bean, the cat, or the car story that landed the paper the prestigious journalism award? None of the above. The local paper did a series of articles on education in our county. Unfortunately, the county education system is troubled, and the paper covered this information in a way that was to the point without unduly condemning the county citizenry.

My small town newspaper garnered national and international attention when some nationally syndicated talk show asked George Wallace what his favorite newspaper was. Wallace named our town paper which is published once a week. A few days after the telecast aired, the newspaper editor received a telephone call from some big wig from Pravda. That Russian newspaper person wanted to order a year's subscription to our small town paper.

In spite of all the paper's magnificence, occasionally little mistakes occur. Once upon a time many years ago, the paper printed something about my cousin. There was a sentence about him that was supposed to read,
"Earl H, son of Mr. and Mrs. Barnett H..."
Instead it proudly proclaimed, "Earl H, sin of Mr. and Mrs. Barnett H..."
I can't help but wonder what the people of Pravda thought of that?