Yesterday at Bob's News I stood by the pile of Playboy's and Penthouse's and paid for my New York Times.
"Enjoy your paper," the cashier said as he handed me my change.
"Thanks," I said. "I read it for the articles."
My friends and old Sun-Sentinel colleagues John and Greg performed in the open mic portion of the monthly Songwriters Showcase at the Broward Center last night, interrupting the fairly steady stream of guitars with a little piano music. Like true professionals, they wanted a beer when the evening was over, so I led them down Andrews to Tap 42.
They knew it as Brownie's. Taking a seat in the garden, John remembered Ernie's (which is still around) as the place people would go - even the editor-in-chief - after Sunday afternoon softball games. Mention of the old Cajun House brought up more names: The Governor's Club, Banyan's (now Chima), Dancing Bear and La Brasserie (now YOLO), Bar Amici (M Global Tapas Bar) and the more recently departed O'Hara's. Most of the bars are replaced; the journalists aren't.
This morning, reading the front-page Herald story on the Golden Anniversary of Belen Jesuit Preparatory School, I learned that the lot where I park in downtown Miami for my Monday evening travel writing classes once held the parish school of Gesu Catholic Church in which Belen began its life in the United States. And that the school, which was founded in Havana in 1854, counts among its alumni Fidel Castro.
Three years ago this week I was laid off from the Sun-Sentinel. I was in Australia, speaking at a travel writing festival, when I got an e-mail from a woman in the newsroom I rarely spoke to. She asked me to call her immediately. I called her when I got home - I wasn't going to phone from halfway around the world to learn that I was no longer employed - and was told that the position of travel editor had been eliminated.
The next morning I drove to Deerfield Beach for my exit interview. The jet lag made it seem even more surreal. I handed over my parking garage pass, my ID badge, my corporate credit card. I had forgotten my camera, so I told the woman in human resources that I would bring it to the newsroom.
Downtown I turned in my camera (which still used film), cleaned out my desk, received a disk containing all of my files and e-mails, and said my farewells. Then I walked out of the newsroom for the last time.
No mention was ever made in the Travel section - where my picture had appeared above my column every other week for 19 years - of my departure. Like in the old Soviet Union, I simply disappeared.
I ran into an old colleague from the Sun-Sentinel the other day who gave me the latest. Soon all the copy editing is going to be done from Chicago, leaving only "content providers" here in Fort Lauderdale.
You could argue that newspapers began their descent when management started referring to reporters and writers as content providers. Yet, as my friend noted, there are no feature writers left at the Sun-Sentinel; there are just people covering specific beats - entertainment, fashion, restaurants, etc. - who are primarily providing consumer information. Sometimes very stylishly, but it's still information. There are no stories about interesting people in the community, no columns about local culture, no humor pieces. Management has taken the readers' desire for news they can use and bled it - and the readers - dry, giving them nothing that can uplift or inspire or edify or amuse them.
The Sun-Sentinel was never a great newspaper - though its name appeared in every edition of The Best American Travel Writing from the anthology's inception in 2000 up until 2008 (a little-known fact). But for many years it provided thorough, thoughtful and often lively coverage of its community (especially its sports) and even (as noted) the world. It's sad to watch its cold evisceration.
The elegant, white-haired woman at the checkout desk said,
"I think of you a lot, Mr. Swick."
"Thank you," I said. "I really appreciate it."
"Especially when I'm thinking about traveling."
"I'm not at the paper anymore," I told her, not sure if she knew that I'd been laid off. (She knew.) "But I'm still writing."
"Are you still traveling?" she asked.
"Yes. I'm going to Key West next week."
"I went to Key West for the first time in a long time," she said. "It was a BLAST."
"I'm doing a story on the Casa Marina hotel. It's mentioned in this book." And I pointed to the cover of The Contemplated Spouse: The Letters of Wallace Stevens to Elsie.
"I should get that," she said. "I love Wallace Stevens."
This was my downfall: My readers were readers.