Centennial-year
recollections included long hours, low pay, drinks all around
�Three
hangovers a year are legitimate absences,� insisted retired copy
editor George Bousu in 1976, when kidded about not showing up for
work once after a staff party.
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Bousu
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Curry
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Davis
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Martin
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McDonald
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Not
that we�re prone to stereotyping, but there might be some reality
behind the image of the hard-boiled, hard-drinking, chain-smoking
newsman � at least judging by the accounts of six old-timers rounded
up in 1976 to reminisce for The Flint Journal�s Centennial.
�When
I worked the police beat, I�d work 80 hours a week,� said Colin
J. �Mac� McDonald, a former assistant city editor who put in 46
years at The Journal, starting in the days of Prohibition. McDonald
also upbraided one of his old colleagues as �gutless� for not even
looking at the bodies after a murder-suicide case.
He, too, acknowledged an interest in imbibing, lamenting that �every
time a good booze joint would open, the police would close it down.�
Former editor Ralph B. Curry wrote in a memoir that reporters on
a breaking story might work 50-60 hours at a stretch, fueled by
desktop catnaps, wolfed-down sandwiches �and sometimes a stimulating
chaser that we fondly called our sleep substitute.�
Roland �Bob� Martin, a retired managing editor, said the average
work week for a reporter was 60-70 hours � and this in a field with
notoriously low wages.
Curry said during the Great Depression, Journal pay was cut by about
two-thirds, the balance being doled out in scrip redeemable for
groceries and goods.
Asked if they ever received overtime pay, the panel of retirees
answered as one with an incredulous �No.�
�That�s
the funniest thing I�ve heard in a long time,� added Keith Davis,
a former assistant city editor.
Knowledge passed from one generation to the next. Bousu, starting
as a cop reporter in 1942, learned the ropes from McDonald, who
started in �27. The times might have changed, but some lessons remain
unchanged. Bousu said McDonald taught him that when it comes to
reporting, �you cannot assume one damn thing.�
�
adapted from Centennial reports
by Lou Giampetroni and Ralph B. Curry
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