In September 1977, I saw a brief article in the now-defunct Philadelphia Bulletin stating that Quebecor, the largest media and telecommunications company in Canada, would soon be starting a daily newspaper in Philadelphia, the Philadelphia Journal. The end of the article listed a phone number to call for more information.

A daily newspaper in a major city was obviously going to need dozens of new employees, so I called and made an appointment for an interview. The day after the interview, I got a return call saying I was hired and should come to work the following Monday morning at 3010 Market St., right across the street from the Bulletin.

The next Monday more than 100 new hires and I were told we should start working on general feature articles, not “hard news,” and not time-sensitive pieces, because the first issue of the paper would not be published for two more months, on Dec. 7 (Pearl Harbor Day). The editors wanted a huge backlog of articles, because once the paper started, they would be used up quickly. 

We were also told that the first half of each issue of the tabloid layout would hold news and features. The second entire half of each issue every day (except for Sundays) would consist of sports articles. The newsroom would include about 25 news and feature reporters and 25 sports reporters. This was completely unheard of. But we were told Quebecor had taken a massive survey of major U.S. cities and concluded that Philadelphia was the most sports-crazy city in the country.

“Our plan is to have more sports coverage than every other paper,” an editor explained. “Diehard Philly sports fans can never get enough coverage. They're fanatics. Just listen to sports radio stations. They could argue about the local teams all day long.”

A different kind of line editing 

On that first day in the office, a management rep apologized that not nearly enough of the telephones and typewriters that were ordered actually arrived, so we had to stand in a line of five or 10 reporters to use one of the precious telephones. When you finally arrived at a phone, you were allowed to make one call, hopefully to do an interview. If you were lucky enough to actually interview someone, then you stood in another line to use a typewriter and type up the results of the interview. It reminded me of movies in which prison inmates had to wait in line to make one phone call.

Needless to say, this was absolute insanity. Never did anyone see so many angry, frustrated reporters. On the second day of this craziness, I told the editor I was going home to make calls and type up the results. I thought, “If this scene was put into a TV sitcom, nobody would believe it.”

A few days later, all the phones and typewriters arrived, preventing a riot. About a year or so later, we got computers, but they were downright prehistoric compared to today's machines. You could type in a story, delete things, and move around sentences and paragraphs (which was thrilling), but that was all. There were no emails, no photos, and of course, no Googling to look up information. 

When we finished an article, we could call a phone number, which would produce a very loud fax machine screech. Once you heard the noise, you would place the phone receiver into an attached cradle. Then you'd hear a loud “humm” for about 30 seconds to a minute. When that was finished, it meant you had successfully sent the article to the printing department in the basement of the Bulletin building across the street. 

Another aspect of the job that would seem positively antediluvian today was that cigarette smoking was allowed everywhere. I asked the managing editor if we could separate the newsroom into smoking and nonsmoking sections, and he laughed. “Smoking is a fact of life, especially in newsrooms. You just have to accept it.”

The next day I placed a “Thank you for not smoking” sign, which I obtained from the American Lung Association, on my desk. The following morning, when I walked up to my desk, all my drawers were wide open, and all the papers in them were thrown on the floor. I thought the cigarette smoke went to someone's brain instead of his lungs.

After a couple years, we fought a nasty nine-month battle to become unionized as members of the Philadelphia Newspaper Guild. We finally signed a contract that gave all reporters and photographers significant raises in pay and more vacation time and medical benefits.

Disunion in the union

The reporters and photographers were like children given the greatest toys on Christmas Day. However, the victory turned out to be a two-edged sword. In fall 1981 we were informed that because of the country’s recession, the Quebecor stockholders voted to force us to accept a 16% pay cut across the board. The workers huddled with our union reps, who turned the proposal down flat. Management then returned and said, “Okay, you all have to accept a 12% pay cut. If you do not, we will have to close down the newspaper, and we will all be out of business.”

The union reps insisted, “They are bluffing. Don't give in. This is a typical management tactic. We have seen it before. There is no way they are going to close down the Journal after investing millions of dollars.” I got up and said, “We should accept it because 88% of something is a lot better than zero percent. And remember, we all got significant raises when we signed the contract.”

When the vote was taken, I believe I was one of only three staffers who voted to accept the 12% pay cut. When that news was given to publisher Pierre Peladeau (who I thought was a great guy), he announced, “You all have one hour to clean out your desks. Today's issue (Dec. 16, 1981) will be the last ever for the Philadelphia’s Journal.”

In the weeks to come I saw several of my former co-workers on the very long line in the regional unemployment office at 5000 Wissahickon Ave. in Germantown. More than one came over and said, “I wish we had listened to you.”

Len Lear can be reached at lenlear@chestnuthilllocal.com