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Some of this fits

In many ways this describes life as a small town editor to a tee. Thought I’d share it with you.
–Until then,
Ken
You’re a country editor when …
By Jim Hamilton
reprinted from AWNA’s Buffalo (Missouri) Reflex
You know you’re a country newspaper editor when:
You take a personal call and it turns out to be your parents’ next-door neighbor with a classified ad
The mayor needs to talk to you right away and it turns out to be a party for the police chief.
The county line grocery mistakenly got a bundle of last week’s papers. Can the delivery boy bring some new ones out? You grab a bundle and head out the door.
A little post office near Lake of the Ozarks didn’t get any newspapers. Same solution.
An elderly lady comes up to you at the drug store, addressing you by your first name and gives you a story about her granddaughter’s graduation from college. You accept it graciously, though you’ve never met the lady, because you visit with her every week in the newspaper, and she does know you.
Two teenage boys show up at your doorstep near midnight. “Want to see a big fish? We saw your light was on and thought you might like a picture for the newspaper.” You load your camera while they drag a monster catfish out of their truck.
The only press pass you need at local ball games is a camera.
You get more opportunities to free potluck suppers than a preacher to fried chicken dinners.
Your chicken house is patched with old aluminum printing plates.
You sometimes wear barn boots to the office.
Your “official press car” is a pickup truck, which sometimes sits outside the office with a load of hay or cordwood.
You seldom wear a tie to work because you hate to explain why to everyone you see at the post office.
The subject of your top front page story is someone in your Sunday School class. On good weeks, it might be a story about a champion bull or getting a job promotion. On bad weeks, it’s a story of scandal or personal tragedy, and your heart breaks with each word you write.
You hate sirens. It’s almost always someone you know.
Harvest season means more tomatoes, cucumbers and green beans than the help can carry home.
You readers never confuse you with “the media” and apologize if they do.
You apologize if you ever give them reason to confuse you with “the media.” You’re not. You’re their “country newspaper editor.”
No matter who signs your paycheck, you know who butters your bread. They do, too.
[Jim Hamilton is editor and publisher of the Buffalo (Missouri) Reflex.]