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In the neighborhood? Drop in

Yes, I still make the coffee, even though I’ve been named editor of this fine newspaper. So if you’ve something to talk to me about, and you’re a coffee drinker, stop in, because I can serve it as well as make it. That’s because in an earlier part of my life, I was a waitress.
Today, I am quite happy to be editor of The Corydon Democrat and invite readers to share their ideas for stories or improvements we might make. News tips would also be appreciated, because we don’t always hear about everything we should. We try to make the rounds to ask what’s going on, but we don’t always find out everything. And we can’t report something we don’t know.
As to another important question I think our readers might have, the answer is, ‘No.’
No, Jo Ann Spieth-Saylor is not my daughter, as at least one and probably more people asked when the newspaper hit the streets last week. ‘What’s with the mother/daughter picture?’ quipped one of our really funny press guys when he looked at the picture of the two of us …
Even though the answer is no, I would be proud to be her mother, but she already has a nice one. And I, in fact, already have a daughter who is a year older than Jo Ann. So she will be my quite capable assistant for now.
I’ve been asking myself a few other questions, like, ‘How did I get to this point in my life? What can I do about it?’
When I started at O’Bannon Publishing Co. in 1983, we worked on manual typewriters and used scissors and paste to move copy around, if needed. When we were finished with a story or copy editing, we brought the paper to the backshop (where the newsroom is now) and hung it on a nail, and our job was done.
The copy then went to one of several excellent, rapid-fire copy setters who worked in the backshop, and after the copy had been readied for print, it then went to the backshop foreman, George Hess. He and Joan Bush, proofreader, then checked the copy, word for word, for errors. Errors were corrected; then the copy went into a shoe box marked either for the front page, sports, page two, etc.
Then along came the composing department (the paster-uppers), like Doris Housel, who waxed the back of the copy and pressed it onto a page along with advertising. The front page was reserved for Hess to paste up. No one else dared touch it.
After that, the page went to the production foreman, Marvin (Buck) Longest, who took a picture of it, developed the negative, burned it onto a metal plate and sent the whole thing over to the guys (sometimes girls, too) who affixed it to the offset press and printed it! On Wednesday mornings about 9, the whole thing made it to the front office where people were usually waiting to buy copies. Thank goodness, that stilll happens today.
With the newsroom now full of computers, the two middle steps in production ‘ the typesetting and pasting up ‘ have virtually been eliminated. The newsroom now proofs and pastes its own copy. That means, basically, that any mistakes in the copy are (blush) ours.
Now let’s be fair.
Since I have been at this a few days longer than Jo Ann, you can no doubt understand why I look like the mother.