Hinson was an earlier brand of city editor, back in the sepia-tinted ‘60s, when an editor still might yell “stop the presses,” a term I actually heard once when the police were moving in on a big-time killer, and the bad guy would be on his way to the morgue in a matter of moments.
Thinking back, there really isn’t that much difference between the Sentinel newsroom then and the Kyiv Post today. Substitute computers for manual typewriters and a non-smoking policy for a veil of smoke hanging in the air and the differences are marginal. A newsroom is a newsroom.
The myths that surround the craft remain pretty much the same, as well. People still comment that “reporters only care about selling newspapers,” or blame reporters for asking “the wrong questions” when an interview goes badly.
I vividly remember Danny taking calls from people wanting the newspaper to cover their pet event. After quickly losing interest in the conversation, he shouted: “You need to talk to the city editor. He’s not in.” Hinson, the city editor, would then slam the phone down – and smile impishly. It was a daily occurrence.