Sago and the Press: Bad Timing
I got caught right in the middle of the Sago mine disaster media debacle.
I work for a small city daily newspaper in eastern Pennsylvania. Like most newspapers more than 50 miles from the scene of the tragedy, we relied on wire services for our coverage.
It's a morning paper, which means it has to be on all the doorsteps and on convenience store shelves by 5:30 a.m. or so. That means the drivers who deliver it across our county-wide circulation zone have to be out on the road by about 3 a.m. That means the presses that have to print the 55,000 or so copies of this daily edition have to start rolling about 1:30 a.m. That means we in the newsroom have to have all our pages off the floor by about 1 a.m.
That means there's a window of two hours or so between the point in the news cycle that your daily newspaper represents, and the freshest possible edition you can read unless you're inside the printing plant.
It's that way every day. Most days, nobody notices. Once in a great while, a story changes dramatically in that two hour window. Then everyone notices.
Wednesday was one of those nights. I was on the wire desk. All day long, the Sago mine story hadn't changed much. You could have headlined it "prospects grim" or "hopes fading." And in fact that's what we had on the front page of the paper most of the evening, while we were putting it together. The story was long and full of details. We ran it big across the top of page 1, then jumped it inside where it filled about two-thirds of an inside page.
By 11:14 p.m., the Associated Press had moved 25 write-thrus of the story over its news wire. Each one added a little detail or another quote, or corrected a typo or clarified a sentence. The essential story hadn't changed all day. The AP's suggested head on the 25th lede writethru was still Outlook appears bleak for 13 trapped miners; one body found.
At 11:56 p.m., the story changed. AP ran an "urgent" bulletin, with the headline Family members report 12 trapped miners are alive.
At that point, you can't tear apart seven hours of work and start the paper over. But you can pull one story and substitute another. In this case, that would involve ripping out ("deleting," actually, since this is the computer age) the "bleak outlook" version and substituting the "alive" version.
Except the "alive" version wasn't a full story. At midnight it was just six short one-sentence paragraphs. Not even enough to cover the hole on A1. We had to wait for more.
At this point, I should say, my gut was telling me to hold off on the change. Something didn't feel right about the sudden eucatastrophe. Forty-one hours with no signs of life, then suddenly everyone's safe? The family members who have been up for days and clinging to shreds of hope and capable of hearing what they want to hear, as the main source of the story?
But those are logical objections, the kind of things that seem obvious after the fact. At the time, it was no more than a gut feeling about the story. That it was going to change again. But I don't deserve any credit for it, because I didn't say anything.
So now we can re-write the page 1 headline, but have to wait for a full story to move. You couldn't just tack the six AP paragraphs onto the head of the existing story, because that entire story was written to suggest bleak prospects and slim hopes. As it turns out, the AP was either skeptical or moving glacially Tuesday night. A full write-thru didn't come across the wire until 1:42 a.m. EST, about an hour after I went home and the paper went to press.
And so forth. Other outlets were rewriting much faster, to turn the "bleak" story into a full-length "alive" story. I saw a Chicago Tribune version move about 12:40, on the New York Times wire, and Cox News Service moved a full version, which ended up being the one my boss plugged in to our Wednesday edition.
Then the reversal came. At 2:57 a.m., AP moved a news alert: "Family members report that 11 of the 12 coal miners who were initially thought to have survived an explosion in a coal mine have died. The sole survivor is hospitalized."
Thirteen minutes later, they began to move the news in story form.
And that was it. As the last line indicates, it moved at 3:10 a.m. And again, not a full story, only a few paragraphs. A 39th lede at 3:23 a.m. expanded this to eight paragraphs. A full version of the story didn't arrive until 3:55 a.m., with the 41st lede writethru. The Chicago Tribune had its full version of the tragedy story at 3:35. That was the earliest I see on the wire, scrolling back over it today.
By that time, our presses were rolling and the trucks had begun to leave the plant. We were one of the papers that came out with the big, blaring "they're alive" headlines that later proved so heart-wrenchingly false.
What did you learn about newspapers? Nothing that wasn't always true. We try to bring you the latest news, but even when we do our best there's always going to be a time gap, and things can fall in it. Big-city newspapers like the Chicago Tribune have the luxury of replating during a press run. Some copies get out wrong, some get out right.
Honestly, I wonder why newspapers pretend to be definitive news sources in the age of the Internet and round-the-clock TV news coverage. We do better at analysis and long-view stories and continuing coverage. We can still give you a few things no one else can deliver as well: Local news, obituaries. But does anyone but the Amish pick up a daily newspaper to discover the current state of the world? What you get when you open it is a fossil of an assessment of what was believed to be known about what were believed to be important stories at some point between 3 and 12 hours before.
I work for a small city daily newspaper in eastern Pennsylvania. Like most newspapers more than 50 miles from the scene of the tragedy, we relied on wire services for our coverage.
It's a morning paper, which means it has to be on all the doorsteps and on convenience store shelves by 5:30 a.m. or so. That means the drivers who deliver it across our county-wide circulation zone have to be out on the road by about 3 a.m. That means the presses that have to print the 55,000 or so copies of this daily edition have to start rolling about 1:30 a.m. That means we in the newsroom have to have all our pages off the floor by about 1 a.m.
That means there's a window of two hours or so between the point in the news cycle that your daily newspaper represents, and the freshest possible edition you can read unless you're inside the printing plant.
It's that way every day. Most days, nobody notices. Once in a great while, a story changes dramatically in that two hour window. Then everyone notices.
Wednesday was one of those nights. I was on the wire desk. All day long, the Sago mine story hadn't changed much. You could have headlined it "prospects grim" or "hopes fading." And in fact that's what we had on the front page of the paper most of the evening, while we were putting it together. The story was long and full of details. We ran it big across the top of page 1, then jumped it inside where it filled about two-thirds of an inside page.
By 11:14 p.m., the Associated Press had moved 25 write-thrus of the story over its news wire. Each one added a little detail or another quote, or corrected a typo or clarified a sentence. The essential story hadn't changed all day. The AP's suggested head on the 25th lede writethru was still Outlook appears bleak for 13 trapped miners; one body found.
At 11:56 p.m., the story changed. AP ran an "urgent" bulletin, with the headline Family members report 12 trapped miners are alive.
At that point, you can't tear apart seven hours of work and start the paper over. But you can pull one story and substitute another. In this case, that would involve ripping out ("deleting," actually, since this is the computer age) the "bleak outlook" version and substituting the "alive" version.
Except the "alive" version wasn't a full story. At midnight it was just six short one-sentence paragraphs. Not even enough to cover the hole on A1. We had to wait for more.
At this point, I should say, my gut was telling me to hold off on the change. Something didn't feel right about the sudden eucatastrophe. Forty-one hours with no signs of life, then suddenly everyone's safe? The family members who have been up for days and clinging to shreds of hope and capable of hearing what they want to hear, as the main source of the story?
But those are logical objections, the kind of things that seem obvious after the fact. At the time, it was no more than a gut feeling about the story. That it was going to change again. But I don't deserve any credit for it, because I didn't say anything.
So now we can re-write the page 1 headline, but have to wait for a full story to move. You couldn't just tack the six AP paragraphs onto the head of the existing story, because that entire story was written to suggest bleak prospects and slim hopes. As it turns out, the AP was either skeptical or moving glacially Tuesday night. A full write-thru didn't come across the wire until 1:42 a.m. EST, about an hour after I went home and the paper went to press.
BC-Mine Explosion, 34th Ld-Writethru,0770
URGENT
Twelve miners reported alive after more than 41 hours trapped underground
Eds: UPDATES throughout with one ambulance leaving mine, hospital on high alert, comment from mining expert, other details. UPDATES photo numbers, ADDS contributing line.
AP Photos WVKS113-116
AP Graphics MINE EXPLOSION, MINING ROBOT
By ALLEN G. BREED
Associated Press Writer
TALLMANSVILLE, W.Va. (AP) — Twelve of the 13 miners trapped in an explosion in a coal mine were found alive late Tuesday after more than 41 hours underground, turning a community's worst fears to unbridled joy. Family members streamed from the church where they had kept vigil, shouting "Praise the Lord!"
Bells at the church rang out as family members ran out screaming in jubilation. Relatives yelled "They're alive!"
"They told us they have 12 alive," said Gov. Joe Manchin, leader of the nation's No. 2 coal-producing state. "We have some people that are going to need some medical attention."
The miners' conditions were unknown, and several ambulances with flashing red lights were parked at the mine entrance. At least one ambulance departed the scene, and a local hospital was on high alert and called in all employees.
And so forth. Other outlets were rewriting much faster, to turn the "bleak" story into a full-length "alive" story. I saw a Chicago Tribune version move about 12:40, on the New York Times wire, and Cox News Service moved a full version, which ended up being the one my boss plugged in to our Wednesday edition.
Then the reversal came. At 2:57 a.m., AP moved a news alert: "Family members report that 11 of the 12 coal miners who were initially thought to have survived an explosion in a coal mine have died. The sole survivor is hospitalized."
Thirteen minutes later, they began to move the news in story form.
BC-Mine Explosion, 37th Ld
URGENT
Families say 11 of 12 miners reported to have survived have died
Eds: UPDATES with comment from mine executive, family member
By ALLEN G. BREED
Associated Press Writer
TALLMANSVILLE, W.Va. (AP) — Family members learned early Wednesday that 11 of the 12 coal miners who were initially thought to have survived an explosion in a coal mine have died.
Families learned of the deaths from mine officials more than three hours after Gov. Joe Manchin said he had been told 12 of the miners survived the disaster. The sole survivor of the disaster was hospitalized, a doctor said.
International Coal Group Chief Executive Officer Ben Hatfield told the families that only one miner, Randal McCloy, had survived the explosion.
Hatfield told the families gathered at the Sago Baptist Church that "there had been a lack of communication, that what we were told was wrong and that only one survived," said John Groves, whose brother Jerry Groves was one of the trapped miners.
At that point, chaos broke out in the church and a fight started.
AP-ES-01-04-06 0310EST
And that was it. As the last line indicates, it moved at 3:10 a.m. And again, not a full story, only a few paragraphs. A 39th lede at 3:23 a.m. expanded this to eight paragraphs. A full version of the story didn't arrive until 3:55 a.m., with the 41st lede writethru. The Chicago Tribune had its full version of the tragedy story at 3:35. That was the earliest I see on the wire, scrolling back over it today.
By that time, our presses were rolling and the trucks had begun to leave the plant. We were one of the papers that came out with the big, blaring "they're alive" headlines that later proved so heart-wrenchingly false.
What did you learn about newspapers? Nothing that wasn't always true. We try to bring you the latest news, but even when we do our best there's always going to be a time gap, and things can fall in it. Big-city newspapers like the Chicago Tribune have the luxury of replating during a press run. Some copies get out wrong, some get out right.
Honestly, I wonder why newspapers pretend to be definitive news sources in the age of the Internet and round-the-clock TV news coverage. We do better at analysis and long-view stories and continuing coverage. We can still give you a few things no one else can deliver as well: Local news, obituaries. But does anyone but the Amish pick up a daily newspaper to discover the current state of the world? What you get when you open it is a fossil of an assessment of what was believed to be known about what were believed to be important stories at some point between 3 and 12 hours before.
