KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY NEWSPAPER!

By: Joe Strupp Our Columnist Says 'Buy Your Own Copy'


There I was, perfectly positioned at the bar inside The Dugout in Alameda, Calif., ready to tackle a plate of baby-back ribs, a tall Budweiser draft, and the Jets-Dolphins game -- with The New York Times' sports section close at hand. Within moments, the roar of the crowd on TV drew my attention from the newspaper to the kickoff. But before I could cheer on the Jets and dig into my food, I realized that the hulking truck driver seated next to me had helped himself to the front section of my paper. Instantly, I felt my blood boil.

It took all my self-control to calmly, quietly request that he return my property. Luckily, he obliged, avoiding the potential for fisticuffs.

I can't tell you how many times I've been in a similar situation -- at a lunch counter, on a bus, even at a ball game -- where some crumb decided to grab my paper as if it were his own.

OK, I know I've got a problem. It's not alcoholism or drug addiction, thank God. Still, my problem is something that can often spark resentment from others.

I am, you see, a newspaper miser.

That's right. I admit it. I cannot stand to have anyone else touch my newspaper.

And, while I gladly accept -- and even pride myself on -- my respect for the untouched, unthumbed, uncontaminated daily news sheet, I remain disgusted at how many people openly help themselves to someone else's newspaper without even the passing courtesy of asking if they can read it.

As Oscar Madison would say: What am I? A library?

Would you ever appropriate any other piece of personal property directly in front of its owner's eyes? Of course, you wouldn't!

It's amazing that people will plunk down hundreds of dollars for sneakers, thousands of dollars for Super Bowl tickets, and millions of dollars for summer homes, but they can't stick a crowbar into their pockets to pry out a lousy 50 cents for a daily paper.

It's ridiculous. At a time when gasoline is surpassing $2 a gallon, a cup of coffee can run more than $3, and movies are up to $10 a showing, a couple of quarters for a newspaper isn't going to break anyone.

Still, I know my problem is getting, well, a bit excessive. I realized that it was hitting crisis level on a cool, foggy Friday in San Francisco some six years ago. At the time, I covered city government and politics for The Independent -- a thrice-weekly owned by the same Ted Fang now running the San Francisco Examiner.

Like most city-government reporters, my regular routine at week's end included picking up the agenda for the following week's meeting of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. Preoccupied with thoughts of hitting a blues bar that night, I trekked to the board clerk's office with little interest in what lay in the agenda, knowing it wouldn't matter until Monday.

Clasping that day's edition of the Examiner in one hand and my trusty pen and pad in the other, I barreled into the clerk's office and requested a copy of the agenda. In doing so, I placed the Examiner on the counter and turned momentarily to flip through my notebook while the clerk tended to handling my request.

As I reviewed my mass of note-taking for the day, I barely noticed out of the corner of my eye when someone else approached the counter and took a spot next to me. I hardly glanced at him until the stranger dared to step forward and, yes, pick up the Examiner -- my Examiner! -- as if it were his own.

"Hey!" I snapped, reaching out to retrieve it. "That's mine!"

A bit startled, but apologetic, the man let go of the paper and said quietly, "Sorry."

Still miffed that this cheapskate would dare touch my personal property, I mumbled some response and went back to reviewing my notes. Only after the clerk brought my copy of the agenda, and I turned to walk away, could I see who the evil perpetrator had been: the one and only Tom Hayden.

Yes, the former "Chicago Seven" defendant, ex-husband of Jane Fonda, and, at the time, candidate for governor of California, who happened to be in San Francisco for a Democratic primary debate that night.

When I realized his identity, the surprising thing was that it still didn't matter to me. My only concern was that this person had the nerve to take what was mine. The moocher!

So, now that I think of it, maybe I am right. Maybe this problem is not my problem. It's yours.

Yeah, sure, so it was only a newspaper. I know what you're thinking: I should get a life, get my priorities straight, get real. To that advice, I respectfully say: Buzz off! And keep your hands off my paper!



Joe Strupp (jstrupp@editorandpublisher.com) is an associate editor for E&P.



Copyright 2001, Editor & Publisher.