This arrived in yesterday’s email. I think it is enlightening.

        I venture to say I am someone who has one of most extensive “institutional memories” of The Courant. In 1961 and 1962, when I was a student at Antioch College, I worked as a co-op student  (intern) at the paper  for two respective three-month periods. From 1964 until 1969 I was a reporter.  Later, over the years, as a freelancer I contributed extensively, including op-ed pieces and articles in Northeast Magazine. I still actively operate as a freelance writer. And until recently was on the board of contributors to the Place section.
       That is a huge scope. And for most of the time I regarded the paper as part of my identity. For some years in the beginning I thought of it as a middling enterprise–not great. But still it had a certain prestige in town.  Often, whenever I would write pieces, I would have widespread responses.  It seemed as if everyone read the paper and took in every word.
       In the 80s when Lary Bloom came in to create Northeast, I truly had a sense of pride, being involved. At the time the magazine was rotogravure printed. It was well edited. Had striking photos. People used to say it was comparable to the New York Times Sunday Magazine.
       I had memorable experiences. Many of my stories were first person chronicles. It was such a pleasure to be edited by talented people. I used to say an editor was a combination coach, psychiatrist, cheerleader, movie director. They brought out the best in you. And they wouldn’t let you get away with B.S.  Everyone pored over the “book” before it was sent out to Providence to be printed. I remember one time actually being in the office until 8 p.m. on New Year’s Eve. Jan Winburn kept urging me on, by plying me with donuts.
       Eventually the enterprise folded, as they say. But I still regard my time with Northeast as a journalistic highlight.
       The paper changed hands a number of times–first Los Angeles, later Chicago. I more or less stayed identified with the operation. I contributed dozens of op-ed pieces. And particularly liked working with editor John Zakarian and Carolyn Lumsden. (The latter, of course, is still in the picture.)

       Then a high point came when Jack Davis, the new publisher, inaugurated a new section called Place. I think it was in late 2002. The section was a centerfold in the Sunday Commentary. It was introduced with a splash. And I was pleased to be invited to be on the board.
       This was amazing. For years I had ranted about things in op-eds–about everything from tree-cut downs to utility poles with mast arms poking into General Lafayette, etc. (I call what I do “sensibility journalism.”)  Now they actually wanted me to write that stuff–this time in a setting I deemed prestigious: a serious critique of the built-environment.
       Well. All this is history, of course. Because in recent months, so much has been chipped away from the newspaper I hardly recognize it. No longer am I proud to be “seen” in it.  I almost am embarrassed.
       When the latest new format came out–was it  in September –I did e-mail Cliff Teutsch (a fine guy) and said I liked it. But I spoke to soon. What I appreciated was, for a moment at least, was the fact there seemed to be a consistent, A-Z format.  Earlier, for example, editorials had little insets in them which I termed typographic zits.  The were like op-art for the eye. Big figure/ground problem.  The words were centered in a contrasting typeface. It wasn’t like a regular pull-out quote–more like an optical distraction. It drove me crazy.
       It turns out I spoke too soon about liking the new format. For in a matter of days, it seemed, everything got bigger and horsier. Also busier. The oversize heads and pictures brought to mind a junior high term paper assignment.  In order to meet the page requirement, you did double space typing, wide margins, and other tricks to fill up space. More significantly, there is no sense of mission at all.
       I try not to be mad at anybody in particular. For obviously what’s happening at The Courant is part of a countrywide phenomenon.  But nevertheless I am shocked at the tactics. Often I wonder: Why don’t they just fold?  What is the point?  Take away good writers. What have you got?
       So much canned info; reviews from afar. And all that jumbly stuff!
       I did cancel my subscription. But I could not break ties entirely. After all, my connection goes back 47 years!  What I do is this….My neighbor saves one week’s worth of papers.  I pick them up out of her recycle box Monday mornings. I read each day in succession: i.e. Monday on Monday; Tuesday on Tuesday, etc.  It’s just that I’m a week behind. Hint of jet lag. But I don’t miss much.
       I am an avid news fan. I listen to angry white man talk radio; NPR radio; and even public radio from Wesleyan University, which is so to the left, it’s laughable sometimes.
       With my arrangement with my neighbor, I feel indeed I am reducing my carbon footprint. Also I do not feel guilty when I skim through an edition of the paper in five minutes. My favorite sections are Zippy, and the crossword puzzle.
       I was interested to stumble upon this  Courant alumni site.
       I still have appreciation for what The Courant imparted to me. One piece of advice was from old-time city editor John Cummiskey. (This dates practically back to the green eyeshade days).  When you’re stuck in how to start writing a story, just do this:  Make believe you’re on a caboose of a train. The train is pulling out of the station. You have to tell a person on the platform what happened before getting out of earshot.
       Works every time.
       I learned how to go to a meeting. Come back at 10 p.m. And write the story by 10:20. This ability to sum up has served me in good stead.
       Despite the ancientness of this tale, I’m still alive and kicking. Work as a middle magnet school sub. Go to health club  almost daily, etc. Only problem:  On Jan. 30 I broke my ankle on black ice. Need weeks of recuperation. Have heavy cast. Must hop around. Can’t drive, etc. But thankfully I’m told the injury is 100 per cent healable. So that is why I have time to write this entry. Hope it is of use to all the other alums out there.

– Linda Case