Lary Bloom
Writer, Editor, Teacher
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Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Knight Days
When I read that Knight-Ridder was bought by the McClatchy chain, I thought of two things. The first course, was how this would affect me. When I turn 65 in just over two years, Knight-Ridder has an obligation to send me a check for $314 every month for the rest of my life. This represents my reward for 14 years of service to the company. And it means that my retirement payments will add up, if I am correct, to one million dollars -- provided that I live to the age of 336. I suspect, however, that the McClatchy chain, known for its economies and this exposure to what may be laughingly called my pension, may undertake an evil plot around the time I am 225, and send out a hitman, or at least coupons for McDonalds in the hopes that I will fatally clog my arteries.The second thing I thought about was how John S. Knight would take the news that McClatchy, in its grand plan, intends to sell off 12 newspapers of the chain, including the Akron Beacon Journal. This was the newspaper that was John S. Knight's flagship. It was there where he wrote his Sunday columns that earned a Pultizer Prize, and presided over that paper and others he purchased with his brother James -- all of them earning respect around the nation as places where serious journalism was practiced.
I was a young man in Knight's last years, and, as such, I knew I should press for a chance to see him one on one, so that someday I could say I sat at the foot of a master. I called his secretary, Libby, one day in 1975. She said, "Sure," and put me down for a time. The old man was sitting behind his desk. I had no idea if he knew my name, or that I was editing his Sunday magazine. I didn't know what I expected -- perhaps some wise observation. Instead, he asked me a question about the newspaper's managing editor. "Do you think," he said, "Bob Giles is a cold fish?" Gads. A giant of journalism needed my opinion on this? Of course the guy was a cold fish, but could I say that and not sound like a whippersnapper? I replied, "Yes, a little." Mr. Knight smiled. "You can't always tell about a person, you know." "No, you can't, Mr. Knight." (The cold fish, by the way, now runds the Neiman Foundation at Harvard.)
I saw Mr. Knight one last time before he died. I was working for the Miami Herald, and I followed the same procedure with his secretary. By then he was a sixth wheel -- kept an office, but had nothing to do except perhaps count his money and mourn the loss of his murdered grandson in Philadelphia. He seemed tired to me. Even so, I thought of him as a grand master, among the last of the legendary journalists I had read about in college. I thanked him for his time. When I left, he said, "Good luck, son."
Posted by:Lary Bloom at 12:13 PM
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