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“When you read your daily paper, are you reading facts or propaganda?” Upton Sinclair asked on the jacket of “The Brass Check,” in 1919.The Huffington Post paid most of its writers nothing for years, upping that recently to just above nothing, and yet, despite taking in tens of millions of dollars in advertising revenue in 2018, it failed to turn a profit.
“Watergate, like Vietnam, had obscured one of the central new facts about the role of journalism in America,” Halberstam wrote.
“Only very rich, very powerful corporate institutions like these had the impact, the reach, and above all the resources to challenge the President of the United States.”, a paper that used to have a rule that no piece should ever be so critical of anyone that its “writer could not shake hands the next day with the man about whom he had written.” After journalism put up its dukes, my father only ever referred to the as “that Communist rag,” not least because, in 1967, it became the first major paper in the United States to come out against the Vietnam War.
In “The Disappearing Daily,” in 1944, Oswald Garrison Villard mourned “what was once a profession but is now a business.” The big book that inspired Jill Abramson to become a journalist was David Halberstam’s “The Powers That Be,” from 1979, a history of the rise of the modern, corporate-based media in the middle decades of the twentieth century.
Halberstam, who won a Pulitzer Prize in 1964 for his reporting from Vietnam for the New York and the publication of the Pentagon Papers, in 1971.
In a newer trend, so did about a quarter of digital-native news sites.
Buzz Feed News laid off a hundred people in 2017; speculation is that Buzz Feed is trying to dump it.The wood-panelled tailgate of the 1972 Oldsmobile station wagon dangled open like a broken jaw, making a wobbly bench on which four kids could sit, eight legs swinging. “I wouldn’t weep about a shoe factory or a branch-line railroad shutting down,” Heywood Broun, the founder of the American Newspaper Guild, said when the New York went out of business, in 1931.Every Sunday morning, long before dawn, we’d get yanked out of bed to stuff the car’s way-back with stacks of twine-tied newspapers, clamber onto the tailgate, cut the twine with my mother’s sewing scissors, and ride around town, bouncing along on that bench, while my father shouted out orders from the driver’s seat. “But newspapers are different.” And the bleeding hasn’t stopped. We’d deliver our papers—Worcester —and then run back to the car and scramble onto the tailgate, dropping the coins we’d collected into empty Briggs tobacco tins as we bumped along to the next turn, the newspaper route our Sabbath.Between January, 2017, and April, 2018, a third of the nation’s largest newspapers, including the Denver , reported layoffs. The newspaper mortality rate is old news, and nostalgia for dead papers is itself pitiful at this point, even though, I still say, there’s a principle involved. ” As the car crept along, never stopping, we’d each grab a paper and dash in the dark across icy driveways or dew-drunk grass, crashing, seasonally, into unexpected snowmen. Its pages rolled off giant, thrumming presses in a four-story building that overlooked City Hall the way every city paper used to look out over every city hall, the Bat-Signal over Gotham. Between 19, the year the American Society of News Editors quit counting, five hundred or so dailies went out of business; the rest cut news coverage, or shrank the paper’s size, or stopped producing a print edition, or did all of that, and it still wasn’t enough.In the nineteen-eighties and nineties, as Christopher B.Daly reports in “Covering America: A Narrative History of the Nation’s Journalism,” “the big kept getting bigger.” Conglomeration can be good for business, but it has generally been bad for journalism. ” He kept a list, scrawled on the back of an envelope, taped to the dashboard: the Accounts. Bush, the paper was steadfastly Republican, if mainly concerned with scandals and mustachioed villains close to home: overdue repairs to the main branch of the public library, police raids on illegal betting establishments—“,” as the old Washington press-corps joke about a typical headline in a local paper goes. The Worcester was founded in 1884, when a telegram meant something fast. It was never a great paper but it was always a pretty good paper: useful, gossipy, and resolute. The poet Stanley Kunitz was a staff writer for the in the nineteen-sixties before writing “The Selling of the President.” From bushy-bearded nineteenth-century politicians to baby-faced George W.