Gentle Readers: Putnam Town Crier is on the Move
By Linda Lemmon
Town Crier Editor
After 34 years, this is the last edition of the Putnam Town Crier & Northeast Ledger in your mailbox. This community newspaper will be moving to Facebook.
The U.S. Postal Service (in Washington, D.C.) in the last year-plus raised the rate for mailing the Putnam Town Crier, um, significantly. Unfortunately continuing to print/mail the paper is unsustainable.
The local post offices had NOTHING to do with it. Please DO NOT yell at them.
As the paper and I are not separate entities, this old-school journalist (and proud of it!) will now proceed to break a rule — use first person.
My Path
Key to me is: le mot juste.
Picture a 9-year-old tomboy sitting in a tree writing poetry. Writing, writing, writing. Diaries, journals. High school: Assistant editor for the literary magazine. Majored in English/history (and earned a secondary teaching certificate). I started to sense I have “special sight” when I got an A+++ on my paper, “The Use of Flowers in Hamlet.” The professor said it was brilliant; no one had ever seen that before in the play. I said, “Um, it’s obvious.”
At UConn (master’s in ed psych) I was a broke out-of-state student so I worked as a typesetter for the Daily Campus. Typing thousands of stories, I saw how the professional wire services wrote stories and how the UConn student editors changed student reporters’ stories (it actually involved cutting and pasting – for real). Election night – teletype bells screaming. The atmosphere was electric. I was hooked. There can be no higher calling. Never did take a journalism class.
Worked as a part-time reporter for the Willimantic Chronicle and then became a full-time reporter for the Norwich Bulletin. Then I wore some editor hats there (I actually got to pick up the phone a couple times and yell STOP THE PRESSES – it was awesome). Turned down the fast track with Gannett. Moved on to a family newspaper group, Worcester County Newspapers, serving as editor of the Webster Times for 7 years. Won awards. Then I was publisher of the Observer Patriot in Putnam. In 1993, the company decided to have the publisher of the Webster Times also serve as publisher in Putnam. I was laid off.
Crossroads: Do I A.) Call any friend in the New England Press Association (I had been president) and get an editing job or B): Start my own paper?
Creating the Putnam Town Crier
Scary as the thought was, I picked B. Then I went to the movies every single day for three weeks until my heart and my head caught up with each other. I asked a graphics friend to create the "look" of the newspaper (typefaces, etc.). He said “I’ve never done a newspaper.” I responded “Exactly!” I picked the typeface for the "body" (stories etc) because I liked how the question mark was upside down. The masthead on page 1 is influenced by the show “Northern Exposure.”
The journalism world is awe-inspiring. I visited friends at newspapers all over New England for help creating the Town Crier. One busy publisher spent the whole day with me, calling different department heads into her office to answer questions. As is my obligation to the Fourth Estate, I paid it forward later, helping two other weeklies get started. I offered my help to journalism classes at Woodstock Academy and Putnam High.
That is the obligation of the Fourth Estate. It’s the highest calling. Highest responsibility: Watch Dog. Protector. Connecting the Generations. Making a Record. Bearing Witness. Doing the right thing.
I’m as serious about this as … (not a heart attack) ... the First Amendment!
It might be competitive (might? haha) but from The New York Times to the smallest weekly, all are resolute in protecting, nurturing the role of newspapers in society --- the greater good of the Fourth Estate.
This special "club" is deadly serious. I am proud to be a member. Doing this important work.
Once lightning knocked out the presses at the Norwich Bulletin. The Bulletin was printed that night by its “arch enemy,” The Day of New London. That's what you do for the greater good.
The paper comes out no matter what. Blizzards, Ella Grasso’s decree that it was illegal to be on the roads, power out. Pffft – the paper comes out no matter what! And competition is fun and who benefits? The reader.
My first paper was as close as I could get to Bastille Day. Never mind it was in the middle of July - historically the second worst month to start a paper. I couldn’t help it that my lucky day was in the middle of July. It had 16 pages and 12 advertisers.
I spent nearly a year explaining that it was a newspaper — not a shopper. News, obits, sports, calendar, police. All of it. It was of more value to advertisers that they knew they went getting into to every single mail box rather than selling subscriptions (besides, with the exception of sports writers, the staff has always been – running joke — "microscopic." No staff for subscriptions or classifieds).
Through the years the Town Crier had amazing local sports coverage. Some wonderful columns, too: “The Saint Sez” (Jerry St. Jean – history), RPC sports, a cooking column, “Because I Had to …” And I hope to continue on the PTC FB “Hometown Heroes” and “Aspinock Memories.”
Old School
Every morning I wake up and say out loud “make a record.” I am writing for those who are not born yet. Like the storyteller, but in the Native American sense — making a record for those who follow. The intent of the paper was that it would look like someone cut out paper dolls the day after it arrived. Menus, honor rolls, sports, obituaries all cut out and stuck on the refrigerator with magnets. And then off to the scrapbook.
That “make a record,” writing for those not born yet, will make moving the paper to FB exceedingly sad. The airwaves/cyberspace/social media, to my mind, are vapors. It has the lifespan of a mayfly (1 day). Printing that honor roll off the computer won’t have the same gravitas as the newsprint honor roll placed in a scrapbook.
I feel the responsibility of protector every day. Protect the language, our history. Make a record. I look over a crowd at any event and the following plays in my head: “Linda, you’re responsible.”
Professional dress, always. Why? Sloppy, casual dressing = sloppy with the facts? Nope. Never let up on the highest standards, even if it’s old school. Even if I’m the only one doing it.
For part of what shaped me, strict Old School, see the Orange Soda story on page 4.
Newswriting is difficult, given we’re human. It’s a constant challenge to be maintain neutral, be “Switzerland.” You should never be able to tell how a reporter feels. No ego. Be a mirror, a tape recorder. It’s a given that "human" will creep in and it’s a never ending challenge to knock down the bias. i.e. a reporter writes “claimed”(bias is showing).Change to “said.”
Vigilance.
What I’ve learned: How to spell drug paraphernalia, all the place names, there’s no “g” in Belding Heminway, Mashamoquet (hilarious to listen to Channel 8 anchor pronounce that), the old tradition of family names spelled backwards to name their farms, roads (i.e. Mantup, Selah). What makes me wince: Hearing “irregardless,” “firemen” for “firefighter” (firemen stoke boilers – like on the Titanic), buses with two s's (that's an old Victorian word for kisses).The worst? The strange New England habit of using an apostrophe “s” to make something plural. Acccckkkk! Stop!
I’ve also learned to look both ways before crossing the one-way Main Street, Putnam. That the snow plow dudes make two passes - wait for the second pass before shoveling.
Points of Pride
Not letting up on professionalism, high standards. Even if I'm the only one. Till I’m in the grave.
#1, in addition to the “special sight,” is, for lack of a better phrase (and apologies to Mr. Spock,) my “mind meld” ability. I focus intently on the person I’m interviewing. I listen with all my senses. I step "inside" them. And hundreds I’ve interviewed, after reading the story, say “You got me. You really got me. It’s like you were inside me.” (creepy yet meaningful)
A reader calls me at home and asks, “Is this the Putnam Town Crier?” Yup.
Shoppers leaving a store, seeing me walking toward the store to drop off papers and turning around and following me in to get a paper.
I can run in heels. I can "speak Southern" when it's helpful.
I only got flipped off a couple times in 34 years when I was out of my car taking photos near the road. And people love my photos. I said to my Dad, I think I've inherited your "good eye" (he was a great photographer). He said, "I think you have two."
I went from “scum press” to “Oh, you’re the photo lady?” Photos draw the eye, help tell the story and and and and FEEL.
Other duties as assigned: Fixing a Christmas tree for a customer, helping move cars/clean snow off cars, swim as the ringer for a customer competing in the Lake Alexander triathlon.
Looking down onto Front Street, from my first office and seeing some rails from the trolley line. When Putnam used to be THE hub, long ago - maybe now again.
Working with a shoehorn every week getting an impossible number of news stories in the paper, beautifully. “I'm getting the hang of it. Ha." "I’m not making this up.” “TGIF? So? – owners work 7 days”. "Take pity on me - I'm an English major" to any tech person. Business owners eating their lunch at 3 p.m. Customers watch me get shorter when I step out of my heels while talking. Me to customers: "I hate it when work gets in the way of socializing" Watching any event and knowing I helped readers understand that these events, etc. don't just drop from the sky. It’s NOT magic. From everything from River Fire pots to any parade/event/PTO event or program — Hundreds of invisible volunteers work their tails off to make this “magic” happen.
Watching people pull together to help others. We're placed here to take care of each other.
As “helper organizations” like the tourism board, plus, moved to southeast Connecticut (and the NE corner dropped off their radar), instead of whining, our “Quiet Corner” quietly (most of the time) said “fine” and then worked with integrity, resourcefulness, creativity and the independence endemic of New Englanders to make our own future happen. The arts now flourish here. We honor our history and our future, senior citizens, farmers, veterans and more.
So there.
Little Things that Brought Joy
Walking up a Putnam sidewalk and watching birds nesting in the awnings and the signs. Gingko leaves in the fall, little yellow fans on the sidewalk. The embrace of fall leaves on Rt. 44, just past Hull. The squeak of the (now gone) Joy’s Stand metal sign. The smell of Kettle Corn. The scent of fresh produce at the farmers market. Food Shares. Then and Now. Watching a small child tentatively approach Santa or the Easter Bunny and then decide he's OK! The smell of exploded fireworks. Running “Twas the Night Before Christmas” on page 1. Little editor jokes like the photog (me) reflected in the chrome of an old car, or in a mirrored outside Christmas ornament. Placing two particular stories side by side - some people catch the joke. My sign at the office: “My job’s not hard but I do need to know the whole alphabet. Vanna White.” (pg 4) Watching the Hallmark Christmas movie being filmed in 95 degree weather at The Inn at Woodstock Hill during COVID. Murals (past and FUTURE). The solar eclipse. New buildings. Revamped buildings/commuter lot. Regional trails. The Veterans Park reborn. Rotary Park flourishing. Solar panels on everything. , EV vehicles. New or revitalized organizations, too. New Vanilla Coke’s national launch from The Vanilla Bean Café. Watching East Putnam retail explode. I'm sure I've missed a bunch --- it has been 34 years!
The Challenges
Quid pro quo. The good ole boys' club. Petty, childish egos. Selling ads (or as I like to call it, “the necessary evil” ha)
Occupational Hazards/
1 of a Kind Life
Wearing black (newsprint rubs off on everything). Standing in the wrong spot and getting sprayed with mud at the E. Woodstock Jamboree firefighters muster competition. Soot/smoke on clothing. “I need a cloud/sun” (said out loud to the sky as I'm trying to take a decent pic). Two parades at the same time, 8 miles apart. No one likes you/thick skin. Staying in the doorway of an office, no further, with some customers/officials. Writing by the light of an emergency vehicle strobe light. Using a pencil outside in the winter (ink freezes). "Shoot first, ask questions later." Never having time to eat on Mondays, deadline day. And most Monday holidays were "fake holidays" for me. Still getting printed Monday nights.
Scary Times
Right after picking choice B. To start a newspaper.
Having my life threatened a few times.
Covering an international story: The only journalist there when the president of Lithuania visited the Immaculate Conception nuns in the fall of 2024. His press secretary said, “Call him Mr. President.” On my way up to him, a fierce screaming match was going on in my head. One side “OMG I can’t do this. He’s the president of a country!” The other side: “Linda, you’ve done thousands of stories. You got this.” Can’t. Can. Can’t. Can. When I got up to him I put my hand out and said, “Hi, I’m Linda.” Oops. I did fine. And by the way, none of the Homeland Security, Secret Service, Connecticut State Police nor his own security team, (all in Black Suburbans and all wired for communications) ever asked me for an ID.
A Heavy Mantle
- 9-11. I was paralyzed. The doors of St. Mary's Church were open. It was empty. I watched dust swirling in the light near the stained glass windows, repeating to myself “Do your job. Make a record.” I remember talking my printer into giving me color so I could make one whole page an American flag. I asked the local priest to write something for the paper. I left a page blank and urged readers to write what they were feeling so they’d never forget. I made a record. I grieved later.
- COVID. I had to make a record. At that point I was the caregiver for a loved one, too. I made the tough choice to charge for obits. They had been free — part of being there for those who weren’t born yet. I agonized for a month and decided to charge a minimal amount. Often the paper was only four pages but the Putnam Town Crier did come out every week!
- Awareness of the power that a newspaper has and controlling the inclination to abuse it. A journalist is an ordinary person. Check your ego at the door. (I do, however, have trouble controlling eye rolls. Ha)
- The saddest thing is watching a person’s dream die (i.e. folks who use their entire retirement fund to buy a business and it fails.)
See You on FB
The Putnam Town Crier & Northeast Ledger will see you over on Facebook.
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100032190912194
. No more downtown office.
Our email and phone number remain:
(putnamtowncrier.com will probably become an archive)
And a Memory: The lighted homemade "Peace on Earth" sign around Christmas time off Rt. 44 in East Putnam.
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