I have often written about The Courier Gazette on this blog spot. That office and that group of people were like a second family to me growing up. I was recently reminded of that family when I saw the beautiful pictures Glenn Billington, of the Free Press, posted on the Rockland History Facebook page. I was therefore inspired to tell you the rest of the story.
In this part of the story I will try to relate to you how it was to work at the Courier. My whole family worked there at one time or another. My father Ted Sr, was a compositor, usually setting up ads by hand, letter by letter, which appeared upside down and backside to so that when the paper ran over the bed in the press it would come out normal. My brother worked several jobs: as a “pig man”, sometimes a press man, and eventually as a linotype operator. My sister, mother and I all worked as inserters off and on and I had a steady gig in the summer working in the press room on the days when the paper came out as an addresser and mail sorter. I also inserted papers and was an occasional proofreader.
By the way, my brother, Ted, Jr. has been so busy this week I haven’t been able to reach him to verify my facts here. So if something is wrong, blame him. Let me also mention that I will also try to enlighten you as to the way “hot lead” was used to produce a printed product. I will try to explain the jargon as I go along.
First of all, let me mention some of the people I worked with. My father used to take me into the office as a baby in his arms, therefore, everyone knew me before I even started working there part-time as a teenager.
First of all, our leader’s name was Sid Cullen. He was the publisher of the paper. He was always interested in young people; how you were doing in school; what your future plans were. He always tried to find a place for his crew’s own families, even if it was only an inserting job. He was especially kind to college students who needed work in the summer, like me. He would say, “just come in when you can fit us into your schedule.” There was always something you could do on any given day.
As I remember, there was a small file box on the front counter that contained a card with your name on it. The part-time workers used it. When you came in to work, you just put down what time you came in and then what time you left. No time clock, no one to question whether you were cheating or not. No one ever did that I know of.
This is “Pink” or Mr. Pinkerton. I believe he is either setting up ads like my father did; or setting headlines or “heads” by hand. We called his wife, Ma Pink. She was in and out of the office often. She often brought us doughnuts and even hamburgers on press days.
This is George Heath, hard at work at the linotype. You could always tell a lino man when they typed on a regular typewriter because they typed sideways, which is how the keyboard was set up on their linos. A long narrow piece of lead was hung on the side of the machine and as they typed, letters would be pressed out of the metal. The whole machine took up quite a lot of room as you can see. As the metal went through the machine, it always sounded like a music box without a definite tune. I missed that sound later on in my printing career when they no longer used hot lead.
Jimmy Smith is making proofs here on the “proof press” for the proofreader to check out. You can see a tray of type in the front the size of a column in the paper. He would put a piece of newsprint slightly larger than a column width on top of the type, roll the inker over it, then give it to the proofer. The proofer would make his correction marks, using special "proofer marks," and give it back to the lino man.
I must also mention Raymond Anderson. We called him “Andy.” He used to give me a dime for an ice cream when my father brought me into the office as a child. He and his wife, Etta, a nurse, were good friends with my folks. Andy operated the job press, which worked by a hand lever. He printed up invitations, business cards and the like this way. You had to have real good hand/eye coordination. He was always quick with a joke. This picture shows a hand press, here operated by Dana Start. It may be one that was run automatically after you set it up. I didn’t work with him. He now owns Good Impressions.
Speaking of humor, we had the best ad man and cartoonist in town and probably in the state in the form of Everett Blethen. Please see the accompanying blog: “The Courier Company Picnic” to learn more about his story.
I spent my days at the Courier working whatever job was available that I was able to do. As you will remember, the Courier also published many other things besides the newspaper. They also published The Coastal Courier, cookbooks, and even books, including Homefront on Penobscot Bay…” Many jobs, such as the cookbook, required a skill called collating. Today they have machines to do what we did. Basically it involves gathering all the pieces of a product and making sure they are in the proper order.
The Courier’s biggest success when I worked there was a cookbook which I think was called “Coastal Cooking.” It was collated and then put into a spring binder. I spent many long afternoons walking around a long table gathering all the pages to this book. After a while I was able to gather it front to back then back to front so I didn’t have to retrace my steps to start over again. I usually had the company of my sister or another friend from high school.
I was also a proofreader at times. Eventually I got the job doing the addressing/mail sorting on press nights. I worked on a machine with a foot pedal I think we called the addressogram. That thing was put together with rubber bands and a wing and a prayer. On occasion, the paper plates I worked with would all come apart or “get pied” and I would have to sort them all out again.
On those press days, I worked at night until the paper was all printed. After all the pages were put together and laid down in the bed of the press, or the paper was “put to bed,” I would go to work.
Sometimes that night went on a little long because the “web” would break. The web is the roll of paper on the press that the paper is printed on. It’s called a web because it’s put on the press not unlike a spider’s web. Down there in the cellar it was hard to regulate the temperature so that the paper wouldn’t absorb too much moisture or get too dry so that it would split apart.
If the “web” broke you would hear a sudden clanging as the rollers dropped down. Then someone would run and hit the red “panic” button on the front of the press. Getting the press up and running again involved rethreading the roll or replacing it entirely and then getting the press wheels going again by forcing it up to speed with long iron rods. Lots of fun as you can imagine.
It could take up to two hours or more to get rolling again. On those nights, my mother would wonder where the heck I was; because I might not get home till two or three in the morning.
The panic button had another purpose. If something didn’t look right with the printed paper as it came off the press, the panic button could be pressed to fix the problem. On one such night, Sid was in the press room and I spotted a mistake on the front page. Two pictures had the wrong captions on them. I knew the subjects in the pictures and the captions obviously needed to be switched.
I pointed this fact out to Sid and he said “Are you sure?” When I said “Yes,” I was, he said “Why didn’t you hit the button then?” He trusted me enough, as a mere teenager, to make the right decision.
A note here about safety standards. OSHA, which didn’t exist in the 50s when I worked there, would probably have shut the place down. Let me count the reasons:
1. Lead dust and paper dust flying around in the air, as well as ink smells. I believe one of the female lino operators had to take time off from time to time because of lead poisoning. Many is the night I’d go home from the press room and blow black ink out of my nose, which is why I say I have “printer’s ink” in my veins.
2. The room downstairs next to the press where they re-melted the lead to make new “pigs” for the linotypes was hot and smelly too. You had to be very careful that something didn’t catch fire. As I remember, my brother and another worker once made paper hats for themselves while working in that room and they caught afire.
3. The noise factor. Put together the linotypes; compositors throwing lead around; the proof press; the job presses (worked by hand); and various other machines going, and you get a lot of noise.
4. Ventilation. Practically non-existent. I believe there were some side windows that pushed out, but it could be hot in the summer at times. Downstairs in the press room we opened the back bay door and let the ocean breezes in.
I could go on with many more stories of my time at the Courier office down on Main Street in the 50s. I hope I’ve given you at least a feel for those times and the institution that was The Courier Gazette. If a history of the place is ever written, I’d be the first in line to buy a copy. (Don’t forget to check out the Everett Blethen piece in “Courier Company Picnic.”)
Thanks for listening.
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