A WEEK ON AN AMERICAN NEWSPAPER.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 2710, 23 November 1889, Page 5 (Supplement)

A WEEK ON AN AMERICAN NEWSPAPER.

AMUSING EXPERIENCES. " 1 \vii,L nover forget my fir>t and last, experience iu th ■ newspaper busiuess," (•■aid a smooth-faced and mild-mannered young man in a connival group where experiences were beiug recounted). " It was 011 tho reportorial staff—l was the entire staff myself for one week—on a feeble little daily iu a mud-bound village iu western Illinois. I made and lost a journalistic reputation iu that week, but escaped with my life. I was born in the town, and at an earlv age was apprenticed to learn a trade, but eloped with tny imagination before the trade was fini-hed, and eventually went to »ca. After a long absence, aud shortly before returning, I wrote a letter home containing a thrilling account of my adventures on the sobbing sea, which was published in the paper, as I hoped it would be. A few days later I arrived, and when my feet got better, called on the editor, who sized tne up and said he thought I was cut out for a journalist, and tendered me a position on his staff. My father, who had grown grey trying to keep me located, slapped me on the back and said, " My boy, you're on the right track now, so sail in, and one of these days somebody will wantyou." Prophetic words. Little did I think how soon they would be realised. ins PIRKT DUTV. The first assignment, I had was to write the obituary notice of an old gentleman who had died at the advanced age of seventy, fifty years of -which had been passed as an active, earnost womer iu tho church. So, accompanied by a note-book and some misgivings, I called at the house, interviewed the family, and then went out and strolled around trying to think of some of tho pretty things editors always print in their papers about good old sel tiers when they die. But my life iu tho fo' castle and before the mast had unfitted me for this office, for at tho end of three hours I had got no farther than '"Doubtless there are many in tho community who " and was nearly ready t,o resign and return to the old life on the rolling deep. After about threo hours more 1 ground out, " will bo pained at the sad intelligence." The gloom deepened, but a short time afterwards reason returned, accompanied by a flash of inspired deviltry which tempted me to write the notice in the following style : — " BEACHED." " t'inr.O B. DUNKS. <l All hands will he pained to learn that our esteemed fellnwsbipinate, Philo B. aged 71, has slipped his hawser and piled up on his beam ends on a lee shore. Some time ago hit hull, vnuninsr and steering gear, were overhauled and found unseaworthy, and last night at seven bells in the after doc-watch he quietly doused his running lights, let go his head-sheets, backed and spilled his main topsail, and jamming his wheel hard down, he hauled his head sharp rip in tho wiud's eyo aud lay to. He has held a steady course through life, sometimes with a paying cargo aboard, but more often with naught but light hallast in hi* lower hold. When running free before tho sou'east trade wind* of prosperity he always carried a full set of drawing canvas and with his copper clean he stood on his course with never a break in bis . white aud silvery wake. Aud at all times when bucking tho howling nor'west gales of adversity iu life's tempestuous yoyago ho either scudded uudor bare poles or stripped to closereefed lower topsails and a double-slieetod storm staysail ho hovo his drag astern, aud, holding liis head fearlessly to tho seas, lio kept his bilges dry. But now, alas, he is beached. Strenuous efforts were made to skid him off into deep water, but without avail, for his timbers wore rotten, tiie oakum had dropped out of hi "beams, and his sheet-anchor had gone by the boaid and run the cable out. " To-morrow morning at 1 bells in the for'ard watch all hands will rip''d on deck and the remains stowed in Davey Jones's lockor below. (Eastern papers please copy). TIIE (iOL'V BID NOT SUIT THE EBITOR. When iny copy was submitted to the editor he said that he wasn't running a ship-yard, and hereafter he would attend to tho obituary depanm<i:t himself. That night 1 wa so;it. du\Yu to repot t a small reooption given by

Miss Birdie Staithayer, at which the thte of the town (she attended all the parties) was I started out in wood shape with " Despite the inclemency of the weather, &c., got a full list of names, jewellery, dress goods, &c., making a column, which was printed. This would have been the effort of my life had not the bcistly printer at last made me say : —"The table fairly groaned beneath its load of delicacies, and Miss Birdie entertained her guests with her usual " voracity.''' Of course it should have read " vivacity/' THE REPORTER JJECAME HOLDER. Then 1 wrote some items like the following, and grew bolder as I progressed : — " Our public-spirited fellow-townsman and leading giocur, Mr Mizzel, has erected a new hitching post in front of his nice store. Mr M. is fully up to the times, and we are pleased to note that tile new post is a great improvement over the old style, being fitted with an iron ring and staple in place of the oldfashioned augur hole bored horizontally through the top. Profiting by past experience, lie has nailed some tin on the post to prevent horses from eating it. Bulk oysters received daily." HIS LAST ITEM. With all these smooth compositions to my credit I felt that I was indeed a reporter, but I got excited and into trouble again over the following, which was the last item I over wrote: — 'Last evening at sundown tlie report came into town that the corpse of a dead man was lying- in the road near tho old Law school-house, one mile north of time. In twenty minutes the entire populaco was on the spot, but found, to their intense disgust, and the supposed corpse was none other than Bill Bottles, and he was only dead drunk. We think it about time a stop was put to this thing. Bill Bottles, as everybody known, is the onriest, most contemptible, dead-beat and bloated, beery, bar room buzzard that ever foisted'itself into disreputable notice, and the aoonor he burns himself out the better it will be for the community.' A " riiEBLE MINDED" SALARY. The publication of this work, written under the stress of a great disappointment, recalled to mind with painful distinctness, my father's terse remark, ' Sail iu, and one of these day's somebody will want you.' Somebody did want me. Mr Bottles wanted me himself, and wanted me bad. When I got back two days later, Mr Bottles was in gaol for throwing a live dog through a church window iuto the midst of a protracted meeting, and I prepared to resume the broken tenor of my journalistic career. It was on a Saturday, and the editor, calling me into bis private office, placed .something in my hand which he said was my week's salary. He was an old-time newspaper man, and I took his word for it, but it was the scraggiest, most measly, weak-spirited, broken down, and feebleminded salary I ever handled. Using all the politeness I could remember in thanking him I pocketed the alleged salary, and then said I guessed I wasn't cut out for the business after all, and even if I was I would rather live and die unknown, unhououred, and unsung in the role of a horny-handed mechanic with a round and aggressive abdomen than perish of slow starvation or violence as a reporter ou a country daily. We then parted and have remained so ever since.—Chicago Times,