Sound of silence
The atmosphere in newspaper offices has changed dramatically in the past 50 years.
When I was learning my trade the newsroom was a noisy place. Typewriters were rattling, instructions delivered were easily audible to all, there was noise of traffic in the busy street outside the windows and we had Bill Bradley who believed the longer the long distance call the louder one had to shout into the telephone. Every hour or so news editor Cal McGregor would turn on the CBC radio news to see if Lorne Green knew something we didn’t. We could hear Norma Thompson calling down to the mailing room on the intercom and Crick Irvine wise-cracking a reply. One learned to put all that in the background and concentrate on overseeing one’s own Underwood.
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Recently I walked into the newsroom of The Western Producer. Silence. Reporters were in padded cubicles peering at television monitors and twiddling their fingers across virtually noiseless keyboards. Lighting was subdued. No traffic sounds could penetrate this sanctuary and everyone talked in modulated tones as though they didn’t want to disturb the corpse in the next room.
When I drew a travel assignment in earlier days and had to write my daily takes in a hotel room I found it difficult to cope with the quiet. I used to open the window to traffic noise or turn on a radio to Mantovani or Frankie Yankovic before sitting down to translate my handwritten notes into typewritten copy.
Today’s reporter listens to a replay of a taped interview or speech and drafts a story that appears by magic on the news editor’s computer screen. The quiet of it all overwhelms me.
