• Conscientious editor dreams of the day’s raw copy

I gave the Monday Trib a stare
And met the man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today.
I wish, I wish, he’d go away.

His absence haunts the Tribune, and a lot of other papers too. He (or, very definitely, she) is remembered as an editor. Not the lofty editor who designs and leads the great campaigns that win the coveted prizes. And not the obsessive who can lecture an hour about the comma. I’m speaking of the minions who once formed the protective layer of surly common sense that insulated a newspaper’s daily report from the reporters’ illogic, muddled language, and failure to think through what they were trying to write about.