LITMIR.BIZ

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who read the business pages can still afford a dime.”

      “Where are they going to cut?”

      “The soft stuff. Not sports, that’s sacred. Not City and Region, can’t afford to lose Joe Sixpack or Westchester. We may use wire services more for national news, close some bureaus – that’s a possibility.”

      “Not international, I trust.”

      “No, but we’ll be more selective. What does Sidney or Rio contribute we couldn’t get cheaper some other way?”

      “I’ve been talking with Alan, same story. It’s been a pretty grim day around here.”

      “If you’d just take my advice about that editor’s job. Maybe you could help us get through this mess if you were in management.”

      I shook my head. “Not ready for that.”

      As advertised, the next week saw a very uncomfortable Tom O’Connor standing on a packing crate in the City Room, telling the largest assemblage of Gazette employees I’d ever seen what management was doing to save the paper. A ten percent pay cut for officers and management for starters, five for other non-union staff. He’d asked the unions for the same. Twenty management jobs axed and if the unions didn’t agree to cuts, thirty news staff as well. An early retirement package was being readied.

      Fred must have been clued in ahead. Wednesday’s Food section would go, the twice-weekly Fashion spread. Society pages, Weddings and Engagements, Interior Design, to be combined in a new Sunday “Life and Living” section. Music & Dance would be reduced, but Obits – the “Irish Sports Pages” – were untouchable. We’d close ten cities, cover them from the nearest surviving bureau. Others would be downgraded – Rio, Sidney, Nairobi, Johannesburg. We’d rely more on AP, UPI, syndicated material.

      Frank Flaherty stood up. “The wire services are expensive,” he groused, “and you never know what you’re going to get.”

      “When we need depth we’ll still send our people. I hate to do this,” O’Connor went on, a sad expression on his face, “but we need to tighten our belts. On the bright side, the move to computers,” he waved his arm around the construction, “that’ll mean significant cost savings for production, not to mention streamlining our newsgathering and editing. We’re also counting on a big boost in classifieds. They’ll be a lot easier to use.”

      “That does it for the cuts?” Flaherty asked.

      “For now, if things pan out. Otherwise, I won’t lie to you, we’ll be back here again.”

      “Keep this up,” Ed Foley complained, “you won’t recognize what the hell’s left. Whatever it is, it won’t be the Gazette.”

      “We won’t let that happen, Ed. We’ll shut it down first.”

      “What about selling the paper? I mean, that’s a lousy idea, but if you could find somebody who respects what we stand for...”

      “Somebody with a pile of money,” Ed Fiore shouted. Nobody laughed.

      “We’re finding those two qualities to be mutually inconsistent,” O’Connor replied, “but yes, we have feelers out. We’ll keep you posted, to the extent we can.”

      As the meeting broke up, I went over to Fred. “You had it pegged.”

      “Tom has the mistaken idea I have something to say, so they rope me into these discussions. They are no fun, I’ll tell you.”

      “Since you’re on the inside, let me bounce something off you. About who might be our White Knight, if I can call it that.”

      “What are you hearing?”

      “Rudolph Latimer.”

      A wan smile flickered across Fred’s face. He shook his head. “We’ve known each other how long, Paul, ten years?”

      “Sounds about right.”

      “The day that bandit goes on our masthead is the day I walk out of here. He is the absolute antithesis of everything the Gazette stands for. At least that’s my going-in position.”

      “Hey, I’m not promoting it,” I said. “The walls talk. Latimer has come up.”

      “I won’t say there haven’t been conversations. Give that editors’ job some serious thought. The timing might be right. When things are in flux, people move up.”

      “Battlefield promotions. Been there, done that, but thanks for the advice.”

      I hadn’t yet told Diane about the turmoil, but Tom’s announcement was going to hit tomorrow’s page one so I figured I’d better. After the kids were in bed I laid it out for her.

      “Do you think they’ll sell the paper?”

      “It’s a possibility.” Then I mentioned Latimer.

      “I just don’t see you working for someone like him.”

      “Me either.”

      Diane got up and checked on Paul who’d been fussy the last few days with a cold. She came back with two nightcaps. “You’re under a lot of strain, I’ve noticed it recently.”

      “It’s a tough time. When the organization’s going bad it affects everybody.”

      “There’s more to it than that. I think you’re getting bored.”

      That took me aback. “I didn’t know it was so obvious.”

      “I can read you. Sometimes.”

      I nodded. “Lately I’ve been thinking about things. Whether I’ve gotten as much out of this place as it has to give.”

      “Some people can do the same thing day after day, year after year. Not you.”

      “How you would feel about my becoming an editor?”

      She sat back. “What an interesting idea. That’d be a promotion, wouldn’t it?”

      “It’s management. It’d mean more money.” I was quiet a moment. “I’m not sure I could take the hassle. The politics of reporting are bad enough. That’d be a hundred times worse.”

      “Why do you ask? Has somebody mentioned it?”

      “A couple of people.”

      “Who?”

      “Fred. Tom O’Connor.”

      “O’Connor! If he wants it to happen it’ll happen!”

      “I have something to say about it too.”

      “Of course. How could I forget? You like your hands dirty and your feet wet.”

      “My simple and deprived upbringing, no doubt.”

      “When did this all happen?”

      “Today. Last month. Last year.”

      “And what did you tell them?”

      “Said I’d think about it.”

      Diane lit a cigarette and sat smoking silently. “I’m really upset you didn’t tell me. This is not just about you, you know, it’s our family, it’s our life together.”

      “It wouldn’t mean that much more money. Anyway, we’re not hurting.”

      “I don’t mean the money. It’d mean less traveling. You could be home more.”

      “Maybe yes, maybe no. Depends on the position.”

      “And the prestige...”

      “Agghh!” I lit a cigarette myself. “What I do has plenty of prestige. A fancy title wouldn’t add a damn thing.”

      She

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