PASSING through Yellow Springs, Ohio, not long ago, I couldn't stay out of the alley that leads to the News office. I had to see for myself that the Miehle was really gone after the big reshuffle. The renovation had eaten up the old back shop where for the past thirty years the Yellow Springs News had been printed by the Miehle, a sheet-fed flatbed-cylinder press manufactured around 1907. The Miehle, which started with a bang and had an electric motor the size of a beer keg kicking over a cast-iron cylinder the diameter of a wagon wheel, certainly took up space. The News, a fiercely independent weekly in a small college town near Dayton, certainly needed new offices -- and the revenue from a new retail tenant. Still, I was disoriented. The cavernous pressroom had vanished in a maze of new Sheetrock. The Yellow Springs News now goes to press in another town. It took some squinting around partitions to figure out where the Miehle once stood, but no effort to recall it.
Once, the press had a whole estate -- the Fourth -- to itself. "WORKING PRESS" read the badge that let reporters through the barricades at fires, elections, and executions. Electronics was still a sideshow as late as 1960, when the New Yorker press critic A. J. Liebling coined the dictum "Freedom of the press is guaranteed only to those who own one." What guarantees remain is an interesting question, yet until I tried to give away an honest-to-goodness working press, I didn't realize how far the terms of the debate had shifted.
Long ago I saw the first words for which I was paid emerge from the Miehle's inky heart. A letterpress, a machine that printed from raised metal type, was a mechanical wonder of moving rods, rollers, and cylinders. Truly hot off the press, the printed sheets floated down into the Miehle's receiving box, copy after copy -- my words, my words. So when Amy Harper, the editor and a part owner of the News, called a few years ago to ask if I knew anyone who wanted a printing press as big as a good-sized truck, I felt obliged to help put the Miehle safely out to pasture. The News had persisted with the Miehle and the traditional craft of "hot-lead" printing long after virtually every other American paper had gone over to computers and offset printing. When Harper called, the Miehle had already been retired for two years from its weekly press run. It would be free to a good home, she said, provided the new owners would take it away. Otherwise it would go to the junkyard.
Over the next months Harper and I spent far too much time imploring complete strangers to take in an old newspaper press. We badgered museums, historical societies, printing experts, hobbyists, and the Smithsonian Institution, without luck. We had near misses: the Miehle was exactly thirty inches too long to fit into a new display at the Ohio Historical Society, in Columbus; it was seven years too young for a nineteenth-century historical village near Cleveland; it was too common a model to interest the Smithsonian's Division of Graphic Arts. And we had one disaster: an offer from a printing museum in Keithsburg, Illinois, was washed out by the Great Mississippi Flood of 1993.
The Miehle was not just another obsolete machine; it represented an entire technology -- indeed, a way of life for 500 years. Around 1450 Johannes Gutenberg discovered how to cast lead printing type from metal molds. The individual letters could be assembled and reassembled into words, sentences, paragraphs, even an entire Bible. Fastened tightly together, the letters could be inked and pressed into paper over and over. The letterpress spread across fifteenth-century Europe faster than anything else except the plague. One expert has calculated that in the forty-five years after Gutenberg printed his famous Bible, 1,120 printing offices in 260 different towns in seventeen European countries turned out 10 million copies of 40,000 different works.
Presses, typesetting, and picture reproduction improved over the centuries, but Gutenberg's root technology -- printing from raised metal letters -- remained the same right up to the late 1960s, when I first walked into the back shop of the Yellow Springs News. In retrospect I can see how the News became an industrial anachronism, but at the time, the back shop looked the way most newspaper back shops did -- noisy, dirty, and on deadline.
The News was edited by a Christian pacifist who abhorred racism and the sale of packaged liquor, and was printed by a Quaker war resister whose wife had spelled him at the press while he served twenty months in federal prison for his beliefs. Kieth Howard, the editor, and Ken Champney, the printer-publisher, saw their newspaper as being of a piece with their beliefs. They put their business faith in a dying technology because it suited them perfectly. It needed little capital and much labor. What was obsolescent elsewhere made their lives easier in Yellow Springs.
Indeed, over the next few years the News snapped up some amazing machines -- scarcely worn but suddenly obsolete -- at fire-sale prices, as bigger newspapers abandoned letterpress. The News was sustained by the fact that investment in this obsolete equipment required only a small amount of capital and by the willingness of its "mechanical" employees to put in long hours at lower wages to use it. "What one makes per hour at work is not the key factor," Lynton Appleberry, a legendary typesetter at the News, told me. "It's how many hours you do work. You don't have millions of dollars tied up in presses. You divide up any money that's around and you do it because you like to do it."