A ‘stop the presses’ moment

Twenty-five years ago tonight was the closest I’ve ever been to delivering the iconic line “Stop the presses!”

It was a Saturday, and I was news editor at the Fort Dodge Messenger. On weekends, I usually worked in the editor-in-chief’s office, because it was the only place in the newsroom that had a TV. I was probably watching baseball or college football that night.

Late that evening came an AP bulletin that Princess Diana had been in a car accident in Paris. Details were scarce, but the wire service pulled together what it could and I pulled a story off the front page to run it.

More details emerged. She was with her boyfriend, Dodi Fayed, and others in the car. Now AP was saying Diana was injured. I yanked the earlier story, replaced it with new details and moved it up to the top of the front page. I updated it a few more times before deadline.

Our printing press was in Webster City. The old one in the basement of the Messenger had been shut down years ago. The old press was an eerie, interesting place. The last crew that worked the press had simply shut it down, walked up the stairs and tuned off the lights. Pop cans still sat where they were left. The last Fort Dodge edition was scattered around.

Printing in Webster City meant laying out pages and stacking them in a van for the 28-mile trip to the press.

I looked over the front page one more time. It carried a story saying Diana had been seriously injured and was in surgery. I placed it on the pile of pages ready for the van.

I walked back into the newsroom, thinking about where I might grab a late after-work beer. I glanced at CNN before turning off the TV. Princess Diana was dead.

I turned and ran through the newsroom, through the paste up department and down the back stairs that led to the alley. When I reached the alley, the van was rolling toward the street. I shouted and ran behind it, waiving my arms. As it slowed to turn I caught up with it and banged on the back doors.

I may have yelled, “Stop the van!” I can’t be sure.

It stopped, the driver looked at me, clearly annoyed. “Princess Diana died. I have to update the front page.”

So the van parked. I ran back up stairs and grabbed the latest story from the wire and printed out a new page. It took me about 10 minutes. Back to the van. The driver rolled out, probably nervously checking his mirrors for any lunatics who may be trying to stop him again.

So when I awoke Sunday morning, there were two newspapers on my doorstep. There was a Des Moines Register with a headline explaining that Diana had been injured. And there was the Messenger, with a headline reflecting the far more tragic scope of the accident.

Of course, those were horse and buggy days, or maybe editor and van days. Now, details of the accident would flash around the world at the speed of social media. Some accurate, some less-so, but hardly anyone would get the news on their doorstep. One buzzing bulletin on their smartphone would tell them what they needed to know.

And that’s a good thing. But, unfortunately, a lot of presses have been stopped in this country. And no one even had to yell.

(319) 398-8262; todd.dorman@thegazette.com