It was a cold and bitter day that Saturday, the 11th of January, to be ex-act, when I found myself standing outside the Daily World in Aberdeen, Wash-ington. I never expected to be heading into the town’s leading paper on a day like this, or any other day for that matter. Then someone came and unlocked the doors, so I tightened my belt, took a swig from the bottle of water I carried, and entered the building.

     As I stood in the entry of the Daily World, I discovered I was not alone. To my surprise, I was surrounded by several students from The Evergreen State Col-lege. It seems that I was not the only one waiting for an interview and tour from Doug Barker, editor of the paper. I could hear the students muttering among themselves about various things, from the snow storm the area just experienced to the due date of one young lady who appeared to be pregnant. The chattering came to a stop when Barker came out to greet us.

     Barker spoke with the sound of authority and experience. From the tone in his voice, I could tell this was not the first time he had been in this situation, nor the last, I imagine. He quickly took command of the crowd, getting them organized and ready for the tour. As he walked us back to the first room, I could not help but notice the empty desks and wondered who occupied them, if anyone at all.

     Room by room, hall by hall, the crowd drudged along listening to the sound of the narrator’s voice as he spoke of each room’s function. Soon there was a chemical smell in the air, as we advanced toward the room with the printing press. And once outside the door, I could even taste the chemicals in my mouth. The door opened wide, and there it stood with its flaming orange color and its hardened steel frame – the press itself, the machine that feeds on miles of paper,devouring it like a beast devours its prey. I knew that this being the climax, the tour was about to end. So after a quick rally of questions from his audience, Bark-er ended the tour.

     With my collar turned up, a scarf around my neck, I stepped back out into that bitter cold day in January. With a fistful of notes in hand, from the experi-ence I just encountered, I returned to my car and headed back to report my find-ings.

~Reflection by
Loren Nann