Community, Memoir

Mourning the loss of local newspapers

I have a new cause.

I want to revive small town newspapers.


I know that’s beyond my capacity, and that hometown papers are quaint relics now,  but I wish I could wave a magic wand (or hit an old typewriter key) and restore them in all the small towns across America.

The demise of these papers has left a void that large newspapers (also sadly failing) and social media can’t fill.

Social media doesn’t create or sustain a sense of community like a town newspaper.

Scrolling through a Facebook feed and seeing an occasional, brief newsy post does not come close to holding a newspaper in your hands and reading about everything happening in town.

Now, keep in mind, I majored in journalism back in journalism’s heydays, right after Nixon and Watergate, Woodward and Bernstein. Back then, strong, robust, independent newspapers were the norm.


Every town had its own newspaper. Seems quaint now — like back in the “olden days.”

If you can imagine it, we even learned about things like “objectivity” in journalism classes.

It was drilled into our heads that reporters should tell both sides of a story.

We learned the difference between news stories and opinion pieces.

Yes, it was a different world then.

While a student, I spent a summer as the editor of The Springville Herald, my hometown newspaper. Then, I became the editor of the university’s student newspaper — The Utah Statesman.  

Yes, that’s Geraldo Rivera back in the 70s, teaching us about journalism as the institution of social change.
This is how The Statesman looked back in the 70s. 

I loved the newspaper world — all of it.  I loved the concept of gathering news, trying to present it fairly, and making the university or the town seem smaller, more intimate, more unified by keeping people informed about what was going on where they lived and worked.


After college, I worked in the press department for U.S. Senator Jake Garn from Utah. One of my favorite parts of the job was traveling around the State of Utah, visiting small-town newspaper editors. It gave me a sense of not just what was happening, but what mattered to people in different parts of the state.

It was always abundantly clear by these visits and by reading the different papers that what people cared about in Beaver, Utah was different than what mattered to people in Tremonton. Each different newspaper captured the essence of its people, its geography,  challenges, and unique personality.

After I quit working on the Hill, my mom always gifted me an annual subscription to The Springville Herald. I loved when it showed up in my mailbox.

I loved knowing about everything happening in my hometown —  who was celebrating a first birthday, who was getting married, the issues before the town council, who won the local golf tournament or football championship, which couples were celebrating big anniversaries, and who was running for office.

This is a photo from The Springville Herald of the football team — Snow Dairy — that my dad sponsored and coached. My dad is in the upper left corner. My brother, Kelly, is #62 in front of him.

Since my mom passed away a few months ago, I keep running into old family friends who didn’t know she died. They all say, “I miss The Springville Herald. That paper always kept me updated on things like that.”

I miss The Springville Herald too — and all the other newspapers that have folded. I miss the local flair, the feature stories that capture the flavor of a town and its people.

When I worked at The Springville Herald, I wrote a feature story about a local character named Ivan Tryfonas. I called him “the town crier” because he roamed the town keeping everyone informed about what was happening.

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“At a glance,” I wrote, “Ivan looks as though he could fill a doorway with ease and take on the biggest of athletes without hassle. But, Ivan uses his strength to work for the betterment of the community.”

His size and omnipresence on Main Street often made him an intimidating figure in town. But, the article personalized him, and helped people see the gentle side of someone they may have feared.

I heard he couldn’t stop smiling after that article was published. He died five years later of a heart attack. I’m glad I captured his one-of-a-kind presence in our hometown.

Personalizing a man like Ivan is just one of the benefits of a local newspaper. I always liked reading about the new businesses, art exhibits, and plays in town. All of that often seems to go unnoticed now. A banner across Main Street hardly does the same thing as the full story and photos in a newspaper.

Some towns have tried to make up for the loss of newspapers by putting a few local stories in a newsletter that’s tucked in with the city bill. But, that hardly serves the same purpose, and is of no worth at all to those who pay their bills online.

When we first moved to Herndon, Virginia, there were at least three newspapers — The Observer, The Connection and the Times. They made our town tucked into the sprawling Washington, D.C. suburbs seem homey and unified. It gave us a separate identity from the broader D.C. metro area. But, one by one, they all went out of business.

You can still get a taste of the value of old newspapers, by visiting

You’ll be surprised at the gems you can find there. (It is primarily a genealogy site.)

I found the actual story about Ivan and a lot of stories about my family — including a story about my parents’ wedding that described my mother’s dress in great detail and even listed everyone in her wedding party. These are priceless gems.


Yes, I’m mourning the loss of newspapers.

I know it’s unrealistic to hope for a revival of  small town newspapers, but an old journalism student from the 70s can hope and reminisce, right?

Anybody with me on this?



H-Town Pride

Yesterday was election day in Herndon and I almost forgot to vote.

credit: Leslie Perales, Herndon Patch

Doug called me about 30 minutes before the polls closed to remind me.

I hurried over to the community center, knowing it would be hard to find a parking place, so I took the first one I saw.

I walked past a softball game, a couple boys’ soccer practices, a playground full of kids and parents, and a pavilion full of teenagers.

I love my hometown.

I thought of my daughters working for the Town of Herndon — having lunch in those pavilions and leading summer camp activities on all the fields.

I walked past the tennis courts and remembered early morning boot camp drills that had me sprinting up and down those courts.

I remembered taking my kids to tennis, swimming, rollerblading, and gymnastic lessons.

I walked into the front doors and waved at a friend I used to work with on PTA projects.

Then I saw several friends from church, the neighborhood, and from soccer teams and lacrosse teams.

A boot camp friend, who also was a waitress at one of our favorite local restaurants, stopped to visit.

Unfortunately, the restaurant, Tortilla Factory, closed this year so I don’t see her as often.

Our last dinner at Tortilla Factory. The entire town showed up!

“You need to come to Virginia Kitchen now to see me,” she said.

“I will! It’s one of Doug’s favorite breakfast places,” I told her.

I ran into a friend whose daughters went all through school with my daughters

so we caught up on each other’s families

and complained about how hard it is to keep in touch when we don’t have sports and school events bringing us together.

Oh, and even with all that socializing, I voted.

Most of the candidates personally visited our neighborhood.

Congratulations to our new mayor, Lisa Merkel

Then I hurried over to the high school for the girl’s lacrosse senior night game.

I met Annie and her friends and then roamed around the bleachers greeting parents I don’t get to see anymore.

Part of Annie’s gang

We all hugged and talked about how much we miss each other.

We shared updates on our kids, cheered for the team, yelled at the refs, and coached from the stands…

all the things we used to do together.

I looked out at the sunset, the ball fields, and all the red and black flags, and I yearned to have all those years back.

I loved seating in the bleachers at the high school with all the parents who became my friends.

I miss them all.

When you prepare team dinners, travel across the county to one game after another, attend sports banquets, fundraise, and cheer together for years, you develop a bond.

As I left the field after the game I thought about my hometown Herndon day and how much I love being part of this community.

Doug and I talk about moving closer to DC or getting a different house somewhere, but as I left the community center, drove to the high school, and then drove home, I thought about how much I love our hometown traditions — the Herndon Festival, the farmer’s market (that started today!), Friday Night Live concerts, fireworks, the homecoming parade, the walking trails, the pools and swim teams, the sports, the great neighborhoods, the slices of Great Harvest bread, and the warmth and friendship of a small town tucked into a busy, crowded metropolitan area, I thought I’m happy right here.

Herndon is the perfect hometown.