You may recall, back at the turn of the millennium, a documentary that “counted down” the 100 most influential people of the previous 1,000 years.
The eventual “winner” was obvious, in my view: Johannes Gutenberg, inventor of the printing press and the man who made the printed word available to the masses.
The technology has evolved considerably, to put it mildly, but it’s still a matter of pressing ink against paper. And it’s still a wonder to behold.
Visitors to the modern newspaper will saunter past carpeted office cubicles and through quiet newsrooms punctuated with the click of computer keyboards.
Read Also
Crop insurance’s ability to help producers has its limitations
Farmers enrolled in crop insurance can do just as well financially when they have a horrible crop or no crop at all, compared to when they have a below average crop
Technology has effectively disguised much of the initial sweat that goes into newspaper compilation.
Aforementioned visitors tend to look bemused, perhaps even disappointed, to see that sophisticated electronic trappings have replaced typewriter clatter and that modern office culture has eliminated cigar-chomping editors who bark orders at copy boys. Nowadays, it’s all quite civilized, save for the occasional guffaw, growl or groan.
But over at the presses, the guts are still exposed.
The press, a stained metal giant, crouches on a concrete floor. Tonnes of paper sit at the ready. Ink lurks by the barrel.
A complex web of paper is threaded, over and under and around a series of rollers and plates and inks.
The warning bells ring, the press rumbles, the mechanism rolls Ñ slowly at first and then faster and faster, and miles of paper fly past, overhead and underfoot, collecting words and photographs and advertisements, all incredibly and ultimately collating themselves into a whole.
It’s a cacophony of colour and light and smell and sound. Cyan, magenta, yellow and black whirl around, combining themselves across the spectrum and trailing the astringent odour of ink that makes its bite just inside the nose.
The press units hum with a pulse that comes up through the soles of the feet and thrums out through the chest. It’s the rhythm of the newspaper.
I’ve seen it hundreds of times in different papers and plants, and the fascination remains.
Back in the calm of the office, the phones are in quiet use, the keyboards click confidently and the careful consideration of news collection, selection and placement carries on day by day.
Yet the whole thing doesn’t become “real” until the ink goes on the paper and all of us can hold it in our hands.
Thanks, Mr. Gutenberg.
