Anyone who has spent much time in the Boston area must be used to a certain amount of grousing about newspapers. Peter Braestrup, a Nieman Fellow here last year, gave the Boston papers a well-deserved pasting in a Harpers article last fall, and, periodically, gazing at the text of a news conference in the New York Times or at a particularly excruciating four-color picture of Cardinal Cushing on the front page of the Globe, someone will exclaim how bad the Boston press really is.

But the problem of the newspapers is not confined to Boston alone: there are scarcely a half dozen readable, informative daily papers in the entire United States. One Cambridge resident prominent in public affairs, who is particularly distressed about the Boston newspaper situation and its effect on the city's civic life, says he reads the Times of London to keep up with international news. The American daily newspaper is dying at an impressive rate: 76 papers have gone out of existence in the past five years, with three major dailies--the Cleveland News, Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph and Detroit Times--and nine smaller papers folding in the past year.

Monopoly Press

Today, the death of a newspaper often leaves a city with a monopoly press: Pittsburgh, for example, had seven dailies in 1923; now there are only two, one morning and one evening. Cleveland, another city of more than a half million, is in the same situation, while Albany, the capital of New York State, has two papers, both under the same ownership. Along with the death of the dailies and the spread of one-paper towns, the past few decades have seen the rise of absentee ownership of newspapers, as the older chains like Hearst, Scripps-Howard and Gannett are joined (and occasionally superseded) by shrewd newcomers like Samuel Newhouse.

The apparent decline of the American press as shown by the statistics, and the very real decay manifested by the quality of the papers that survive, have aroused serious concern among all those who believe in the daily newspaper as something more than a financial venture. Carl Lindstrom, for 40 years a working newspaperman and now a professor of journalism at the University of Michigan, is very clearly one of these believers, and, in The Fading American Newspaper, he tells the press that much of the fault lies with itself, not with technological developments and the competition of television.

Lindstrom's indictment of the American daily is sweeping and complete; he defends newspapers on only one count, that of writing. The newspapers, he says, are the last home of clear, simple English, although he does not approve such journalistic fetishes as the "pyramid style" and the "five W's" leads which second-rate newsmen consider the heart of journalistic form. Lindstrom's difficulty is that his indictment is too broad: not everything is wrong with the daily newspaper, and not all the decay is entirely the newspaper's fault.

In shooting at everything, Lindstrom hits many deserving targets, but he has not taken the trouble to consider carefully why all the evils he points out have come about. Thus, he is unclear about the relationship between the newspaper and its readership, about whether the nature of the society determines the nature of its newspapers or whether the newspapers can mold the tastes and interests of the society. (If the former is the case, there is little point in giving newspaper editors hell for providing the public with what it wants.) And he devotes insufficient attention to the problem of the newsmagazines--how they have responded to a public demand and what they have done to journalism.

Emphasis on Bigness

Instead, he emphasizes the pressure speed the major concern of the newspaper. "The news-room clock is the master of all--and the master excuse. There is always the deadline; there is never time to do the job as well as it ought to be done. If there are typographical errors, misspelled names, or missing facts, it is always because the creation of the modern daily newspaper is a so-called 'miracle' of speed, and the 'wonder' of it all is that there are not more mistakes." Here Lindstrom is pointing at a real mistake of the contemporary press! Why must newspapers go through so many editions? Why, for example, must even the New York Times send up to Boston an early edition in which the coverage of late-breaking stories is farcical, when it produces such an excellent newspaper in its Late City Edition? Why on earth must an "evening" paper have an edition that comes out at ten in the morning?

Pressure of Television

It is technically impossible for the press to compete with radio and television on the question of speed, but it can compete easily and successfully in telling the story well. Television news coverage, except in those cases where the viewer is shown the entire event (with some limited commentary), is inevitably sketchy and incomplete. In fact, the television networks, recognizing this difficulty, are currently attempting to broaden their coverage with news "specials." The newspaper, if it concentrates on presenting a good story rather than on getting something new for each edition, can provide the equivalent of a television special on every major event. Instead, with their last-minute "Bulletins," most newspaper editors give their readers something just as sketchy as an hourly radio broadcast; and if, as the editors apparently assume, the readers have been listening to the radio, the papers are giving them something they have heard already. "A story is a story anytime and will wait for the proper and the best telling. . . . The unbeatable air waves are always there first with their meager most; but first."

All that Lindstrom says about the futility of the newspapers' race with radio and television is quite true: the networks have seen the wisdom of imitating the airwaves. But radio and television, I think, are not the cause of the newspapers' troubles--the competition between the two media is largely illusory. Those who want to know what is going on in the world look to television only for events like national conventions, coronations and inaugurations; on other occasions, except for the specials, television makes no pretension of being an adequate news medium, and interested people must and do look elsewhere.

The problem for the newspapers is that not enough people want to know what is going on in the world, not enough people want an adequate news medium. Thirty years ago, in his Public Opinion, Walter Lippmann noted that news was one commodity for which no one was willing to pay a fair price: "Nobody thinks for a moment that he ought to pay for his newspaper. . . . He will pay a nominal price when it suits him, will turn to another paper when that suits him. Somebody has said quite aptly that the newspaper editor has to be re-elected every day." This casual economic relationship has not changed; most readers place no particular value on good news coverage. In his book on the Washington press corps, The Fourth Branch of Government, Douglass Cater writes that the Washington correspondent is the most expendable man on most newspapers: he does not add to circulation, he exists by indulgence of the publisher, few readers would care if he were replaced by wire service dispatches.

Press and Democratic Process

Now, what both, Lippmann and Cater are concerned with is the relations of the newspaper to the democratic process, and this indeed is the problem of the daily newspaper today, a problem to which Lindstrom pays too little attention.