Letter FromrnChicagornby David A. GoiakrnReal Daily NewsrnThose who work for what today pass asrnnewspapers often deserve the criticismrndirected at them for their lack of objectivity,rnsloppy reporting, and elitism.rnHaving long abandoned the singularrnmission of informing their readers sornthat they may be able to make informedrndecisions about complex issues, these papersrnhave degenerated into nothing morernthan corporate profit centers and lapdogsrnfor many special interest groups.rnIn all fairness, however, it must be saidrnthat the greed and pandering may not bernthe only forces at work within the industry.rnPerhaps a once noble industry is onlyrnresponding to our growing demand tornbe entertained rather than informed.rnHow else can we explain the proliferationrnof vacuous television “news magazines,”rntalk shows, celebrity interviews,rnand anything else that requires little orrnno intellectual effort?rnThere was a time when accurate,rnstraightforward news was the norm,rngrammar was emphasized, and reportersrnwere all too willing to make that “one lastrncall.” I was reminded of all that oncernagain—of how good it was, how excitingrnit was—when I joined former colleaguesrnat the 17th annual Chicago Daily Newsrnreunion held in June at Chicago’s legendaryrnBilly Goat Tavern & Grill.rnA dimly lit place on lower MichiganrnAvenue that reeks of cooking grease andrnbeer, the Goat once was a favorite gatheringrnplace for the legends of Chicagornjournalism, and its walls are covered withrntheir photographs. And thanks to thernlate actor/comedian John Belushi and hisrnwake crew during the early years of SaturdayrnNight Live, even the most reclusivernamong us knows that “Chiz-burger!rnChiz-burger!” is a daily refrain echoed byrnthe Goat’s short-order cooks.rnToday, however, the place is frequentedrnmostly by marketing, p.r., and MBArntypes whose primary goals in life are instantrngratification and a quick buck. Notrnone of these “new communicators”rncould probably tell you the differencernbetween hot type and a hot tub. Knownrnas a “writers’ paper,” the 102-year-oldrnNews died in March 1978 with 15rnPulitzer Prizes to its credit. Beginning inrnthe late 1960’s, this great newspaper sufferedrnthe indignity of repeated stylernchanges in hopes of satisfying a new generationrnof readers who now preferredrntelevision news to the written word.rnMany of us have seen the routine before:rnprofits begin to slip and in come thern”consultants,” to urge switching to newrntype faces, harebrained features, and incorporating,rnoh yes, plenty of pictures.rnBut it was too late, and all that was leftrnfor then publisher Marshall Field, whornknew as much about the business as Irnknow about piloting the Space Shuttle,rnwas to pull the plug during a little speechrnhe delivered while standing on someone’srndesk.rnI joined the News as a copyboy when Irnwas 17 and right out of high school. Itrnwas a time when an editor’s only responsibilityrnwas to get the very best from hisrnreporters and publish a paper that gavernits readers their money’s worth. Theserneditors cared deeply about quality andrnread nearly every column of the city’srnother newspapers that worked diligentlyrnto scoop everyone else. God help the reporterrnwho missed a fact that made usrnlook as though we had been asleep at thernswitch.rnOn those occasional Friday nightrnshifts, my job included two trips in arnNews circulation truck to a newsstandrnseveral blocks away to pick up severalrncopies of the competitors’ “rags,” whichrnour editors jumped on and pored overrnlike a kid attacking his presents onrnChristmas morning. In the winter,rnspeeding along Madison Street in thatrntruck with both doors open was just plainrncold; in the summer, it was great. Thosernearly-morning rides often includedrnwatching the dawn break over the city or,rnon a more somber note, the fire departmentrnas it dragged the Chicago River forrnthe body of some poor wino who staggeredrnoff a loading dock, or that of someonernwho just decided that enough wasrnenough.rnIt was also a time when columnistrnMike Royko was just another nightsidernreporter, and nobody really got bent outrnof shape if you drank your lunch now andrnthen, provided that you didn’t miss arndeadline. But most of all, it was time forrnpeople like the late writer Eddie Eulenbergrnand copy editor Angelo “Angie”rnBiondo.rnEddie, a large, pleasant man who alwaysrnhad a nice word for everyone, isrncredited with coining the phrase that editorsrnused to warn young reporters aboutrntaking what they hear at face value: “Ifrnyour mother says she loves you, make herrnprove it.” (He later said that was wrong;rnwhat he really said was, ” . . . kick her inrnthe knee and make her prove it.”) Angiernworked in the Sports Department and,rnlike Eddie, never was too busy to stop byrnthe copyboy’s bench to say hello or ask ifrnwe might want a couple of tickets to arnbaseball game.rnDuring the reunion at the Goat, Angierncame over to where I was standing,rnstuck out his hand, and asked if I rememberedrnhim. He seemed pleasedrnthat I did and said, “My eyes aren’t sorngood anymore, but I recognized yournright away.”rnI doubt that the caliber of people withrnwhom I worked will ever again be givenrnleadership roles in tomorrow’s cityrnrooms, because their kind are out ofrnplace in a society that has become selfabsorbedrnand shortsighted. So here’s tornthe Eddie Eulenbergs and Angie Biondosrnand the rest of those wonderful DailyrnNews people, ordinary people who oftenrndid extraordinary things that resultedrnin a product worth far more than what itrnsold for on the newsstand.rnDavid A. Gorak writes from Lombard,rnIllinois.rnLIBERAL ARTSrnTHE LAUGHTERrnPOLICErn”Thomas Grosse, the Madison policernofficer faulted for laughing when anotherrnofficer allegedly urinated in arnhomeless man’s whiskey bottle, hasrnbeen referred to the Deferred ProsecutionrnProgram. Grosse was chargedrnwith disorderly conduct. Throughrnthe program, he will likely performrncommunity service and the chargernwill be dismissed, said his lawyerrnLester Pines.”rn—from the Wisconsin State Journal,rnSeptember 28.rn42/CHRONICLESrnrnrn