When The Pages Turn Again

It turns out, newspapers still make a sound when you open them.

I had almost forgotten it. That little crackle when you pull one from the stack. The way the fold never quite goes back the same way once you’ve opened it. The smell of the ink on newsprint.

And for the first time in nearly three years, Cedar Springs heard that sound again. At least with a newspaper bearing our hometown’s name.

I was standing in the Cedar Chest Resale Shop the other morning when they were put out, trying not to hover but definitely hovering. You can learn a lot by pretending you’re not watching. One gentleman walked up, picked up a copy, flipped it over, and then grabbed two more. He didn't say much. He just placed a few “ones” on the counter and walked out with the papers tucked under his arm like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Later that day, inside Kelly’s Restaurant, I heard it from across the room before I saw anything.

“We have our paper back!”

I don't think she intended on making such a loud announcement, but she did with genuine excitement. It caught me off guard in the best way.

There were about ten patrons in that restaurant, all varying in age and all holding the Bugle wide open, discussing its content. Sitting quietly in the corner with a paper of my own, as if only to blend in, I overheard people giving their opinions and speculating over the information they were reading.

"Wow, we're getting a boardwalk now?" "Look at all the graduates this year." "The museum is doing the Celebration of Lights now? Glad we're keeping at least one of our events."

What was most pleasantly surprising wasn't hearing about how, “there’s a paper" again. Not how “someone started it up again.”

No, what I enjoyed overhearing the most was "We." "Our."

"We have our paper back!" "We are getting a new boardwalk" "We are keeping one of our events."

Because the truth is, it really is our paper. It belongs to us, the community. Those reactions are exactly what we hope for when we talk about fostering connection and capturing the heartbeat of Cedar Springs. I sit on enough boards and in enough community meetings to know that towns function on shared information. You don’t realize how much you rely on it until it’s gone. For a while, we did what everyone else did. We pieced things together from posts and comments, from neighboring and regional news outlets. We tried to sort out what was accurate and what just sounded confident.

Even those of us who grew up alongside social media, who watched Facebook go from Farmville to Rumor Mill, can admit it’s not quite the same as something that’s been verified, written, edited, printed, and delivered to the community for anyone to pick up.

You can have a town without a newspaper. We've done it before. It is possible. Though, you don't get the same kind of community connection. Take the school events, for example. There was a time when if you wanted to check the scores of the local games, or read about the marching band and FFA, you needed only turn to one place: The newspaper. Now, you have to navigate Facebook and check each individual page for each team and age group.

And when information gets isolated like that, so does attention.

That might not seem like much, but over time, you feel it. Fewer shared conversations. Fewer moments where everyone is reacting to the same thing.

I’ve spent nearly all of my life in this town. I’ve lived here. Served here. Got married here. Built businesses here. Covered stories here. I’ve seen Cedar Springs at its best and at its worst (let’s not even bring up the events of 2012). Through all of it, one thing has always mattered: we like knowing what’s going on. And we like knowing it from someone who lives here too.

For nearly three years, that piece was missing. Today, it isn't.

And if you listen closely, you can hear it.

Right there between the turn of the page and the moment someone looks up to share what they just read.