From paper routes to free food: Local news evolves to stay afloat
| Mansfield, Ohio
Noah Jones is working. The young reporter for the Richland Source, a local news startup in the heart of Ohio鈥檚 Rust Belt, listens to the jazz quartet warm up and eyes the crowd. Then he takes the mic.
鈥淭hank you for coming out tonight,鈥� Mr. Jones intones, in his best master-of-ceremonies voice. 鈥淣ow let鈥檚 welcome the Mansfield Jazz Orchestra quartet!鈥澛�
The small concert, with free beer and food for the public, is in the middle of the shared-space newsroom of the Richland Source, an online site started by a businessman who thought his city needed more news.聽 聽
Why We Wrote This
鈥淣ews deserts鈥� are a reality, and big revenues a thing of the past. To keep providing a public service, local news publishers are using unconventional methods to forge individual models of success.
The monthly Newsroom After Hours concert 鈥� from jazz to pop to hip-hop 鈥� is just one of the unfamiliar roles for some journalists and publishers trying bold experiments to buck the wholesale die-off of local news sources around the country. Like mad inventors, they are furiously writing and rewriting plans to find what works, often in small-scale, community efforts.
鈥淭his is how we make connections between people. This is how we roll,鈥� says Carl Fernyak, founder of the Richland Source, lounging in bluejeans against a newsroom desk. Jazz singer Kelly Knowlton, with new-age orange hair and an old-age lusty voice, wraps up with 鈥淭ake the 鈥楢鈥� Train.鈥�
For much local news, the train is at the end of the line. The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill last year found that in the past 14 years, 1,800 newspapers have closed 鈥� 1 in every 5 across the country 鈥� creating a U.S. map spotted with 鈥渘ews deserts.鈥� A Pew Research Center analysis in July showed newspaper circulation since 1990 dropping by half, to 31 million last year. Pew noted jobs in all newsrooms plunged by one-quarter in the past decade. A Wall Street Journal study published in May said Google and Facebook have sucked up 77% of digital advertising revenues from local markets. 聽
And of the 400 to 500 online news startups that were supposed to replace newspapers? A 2016 analysis sponsored by the Knight Foundation found only 1 in 5 startups had the visitors and funders to be self-sufficient.
鈥淟ocal news looks pretty grim,鈥� says Dan Kennedy, who has written two books on media models and teaches journalism at Northeastern University in Boston.
For years, observers have warned of the effects of this loss of news coverage: paralyzing partisanship, lower voting rates, government corruption, little accountability among public officials, less civic engagement. But the bulk of the industry has not been able to stop the diversion of advertising to Craigslist, Google, and Facebook, or slow the flight of readers to social media and free online news feeds. Equity firms have bought up many local news outlets at fire-sale prices, often slashing staffs and coverage to drain the last bit of profits, with what Mr. Kennedy calls 鈥渢he dead hand of corporate ownership.鈥�
Dotting this bleak landscape, though, are stubborn reporters and creative entrepreneurs. Some use guilt and civic spirit to garner support for news outlets. Some have found deep pockets in local owners. Some get help from foundations or philanthropists. Some just start reporting and hope to find the money. 鈥淭here are reasons to be optimistic,鈥� Mr. Kennedy says.聽
Experiments in survival
Many, like Mr. Fernyak, acknowledge they are figuring it out as they go. He says he knew 鈥渮ero, nothing鈥� about news publishing when he began the Richland Source six years ago, but predicts the organization is now within 18 months of breaking even.聽
Five reporters cover surrounding communities and Mansfield, a town of 47,000 reeling from shuttered industries. The town鈥檚 daily newspaper, the Mansfield News Journal, with roots 134 years deep, has shriveled in circulation and staff, and 鈥� in the eyes of Mr. Fernyak 鈥� does not offer much to the community. 聽
In 2013, Mr. Fernyak joined a Chamber of Commerce study of the sagging Rust Belt town. 鈥淲ithout fail, each one of the businesses said we have an image problem, a self-esteem problem,鈥� he says. 鈥淣inety-five percent of the coverage was crime.鈥澛�
Mr. Fernyak was in the office equipment business, but within six months he had hired a president, a veteran managing editor, and a few journalists, and started the Richland Source. 鈥淚 decided it was time to make an impact on the community, by talking about what was right, what was working, and talking about our successes.鈥�
The site, which Mr. Fernyak adamantly keeps free to readers, offers up a smorgasbord of hard news and homespun stories. A recent front page included a shooting-suicide next to news that Barb Weaver had once again won the county fair鈥檚 lemon meringue pie contest. The site has local sports, summer parades, short features on business owners, and occasionally a deep dive into a social problem. 聽
To support this, and to bond with readers, the Richland Source and its owner do some decidedly untraditional things. There are the newsroom concerts, trivia nights at a local brewery, movie nights, and roundtable discussions with high school students 鈥� all staffed in part by Richland Source employees.聽
The Source has a marketing arm that crafts social media strategies and ads for businesses, the editors are trying to sell an artificial intelligence program they use to generate short stories on high school games, and the staff solicited $70,000 from businesses and community groups to pay for two extensive reporting projects. Reporters are expected to make an 鈥渁sk,鈥� through email and social media appeals, for readers to sign up for memberships at $5 to $20 a month.
鈥淲e try not to talk about it like 鈥榯he business side鈥� and 鈥榯he news side.鈥� We try to think of ourselves as one team that鈥檚 pulling together,鈥� says Jay Allred, hired by Mr. Fernyak as president.
All of this is being done under the banner of saving not just the news operation, but Mansfield. 鈥淥ur role is to show Mansfield and our audience the way forward. Not the way, but ways forward,鈥� says Mr. Allred.
Serving community, beyond news聽
That goal is ambitious. Vacant and broken-window buildings still glower darkly over Mansfield streets, but more than 800 empty structures have been torn down, the city鈥檚 mayor says. Yes, big industry is long gone, but the toxic empty lots it left behind are being cleaned up and made into green spaces. Sure, one can walk the length of Main Street on a warm summer night and pass no one else, but you should see the crowd at the 鈥淟ast Friday鈥� monthly music jam downtown, they say.聽
鈥淟ook at this,鈥� says Mr. Fernyak, leaping to open his laptop. He shows pictures of Mansfield decades ago, scenes of decrepit, foreboding buildings, many now brightly refurbished, like the 102-year-old space that houses the Richland Source. His father dreamed up the idea of putting a colorful carousel in the middle of town, displacing massage parlors and seedy bars. Now the pump of organ music and whirl of hand-carved horses rule the square.
鈥淭his city was dead,鈥� says Mr. Allred. 鈥淒OA. Nothing. No hope. And with no help, and by ourselves, the citizens of this community and other communities in Ohio have just sort of collectively said, 鈥榃e are not going to die.鈥� 鈥�
And that, say the folks at the Richland Source, is why the local news site is needed, and why it is unapologetically promotional. People in Mansfield seem approving. 聽
鈥淚 like it,鈥� says Cheryl Moore, a clerk at the 111-year-old Hursh Pharmacy. 鈥淚t鈥檚 current, it鈥檚 true, and it鈥檚 factual.鈥�
The mayor of the town concurs. 鈥淭hey鈥檝e been a breath of fresh air,鈥� says Timothy Theaker, who was first elected in 2011. 鈥淚f the news is always negative, it starts tearing down the community.鈥澛� 聽
A more traditional approach
About 100 steps from the Richland Source, in an imposing two-story brick building that takes up most of the block, the News Journal remains, largely inaccessible to its readers. All the doors are locked, there鈥檚 no doorbell, and calls to its posted number enter an endless automated vortex. In one of the grimy windows, someone has posted a puckish fake headline: 鈥淢an Indicted for Everything.鈥�
But inside, editor David Yonke bristles at the 鈥渋f-it-bleeds-it-leads鈥� image of the newspaper鈥檚 coverage. Finally reached by email, he unlocks the door and escorts a visitor to the second floor, past dark and empty rooms. His staff has shrunk to nine, and daily circulation has plunged to 15,000, he says. He doesn鈥檛 know how high either was; he was just named editor in January by the owner, the Gannett chain now being merged with GateHouse Media, another chain known for its brutal staff cuts. Mr. Yonke commutes two hours each way from Toledo.
鈥淲e do a lot of other stuff besides crime,鈥� says Mr. Yonke, who spent a career at the daily Toledo Blade. He digs into a pile of newspapers in his office. 鈥淗ere. We covered the county fair. We covered the blood drive and shortage of blood. We covered the county commissioners cutting back. Here鈥檚 a story on a big meteor shower. And this week we鈥檒l have 鈥楾he Shawshank Redemption鈥� anniversary鈥� 鈥� the movie was shot at a reform颅atory here 25 years ago and is a big tourist draw.
鈥淭hey say they want to do positive journalism and have an impact on the community,鈥� Mr. Yonke says of the Richland Source. 鈥淚 think it鈥檚 all marketing. We all want to do positive stories and have an impact. That鈥檚 journalism. But there鈥檚 more to the world than sunshine and rainbows.鈥�
On a recent day when the News Journal led with a follow-up story to a domestic shooting (the couple had 鈥渞elationship issues,鈥� the story said), the Richland Source had stories on a legendary area footballer and the city council鈥檚 capital budget. But in the Richland Source newsroom, a screen flickered with readership updates from the site, and engagement editor Brittany Schock ruefully acknowledged that the most-read story of the moment was the monthly list of criminal indictments. 鈥淲e鈥檇 even decided not to feature the list,鈥� she says, 鈥渂ut people find it.鈥�
The journalists at the Richland Source squirm a bit over whether the publication is serving the adversarial role that has long been journalism鈥檚 check on public officials. Mr. Allred says that initially promising 鈥減ositive鈥� news was a mistake. 鈥淚n my opinion, that was the wrong tack to take.鈥�
But he and the news staff say there are more ways to serve the community than 鈥渟canner chasing鈥� 鈥� listening to the police radio to rush out to crimes and accidents. When Ms. Schock came to the Richland Source in 2014 from a small-town Ohio paper, she told Mr. Allred, 鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to be someplace that does just PR. I want to do real journalism.鈥� He assured her she would.
She did what became a six-part series on the high infant mortality rate in the county. The series explained the problem in Richland County, but she also talked to people in California and Cleveland and she traveled to Massachusetts to look at why other places have low baby death rates. Then the Richland Source held a baby shower in the newsroom for 500 people 鈥� many new or expectant mothers 鈥� to connect them with pediatricians and community services, and distribute baby 鈥渟leeping boxes,鈥� a bed for infants developed in Finland.聽
鈥淭hat was something at the time that was just completely novel to me,鈥� Ms. Schock says of the newsroom event. 鈥淣ow, it鈥檚 something I think of all the time.鈥�
鈥淲e are simply presenting another narrative, another part of the story, which is the solution,鈥� she adds. 鈥淚nstead of just ending the narrative at the problem, which just makes people feel bad about themselves, it鈥檚 much more hopeful to know that there are people out there working on solutions.鈥�
Nonstop work聽
Tran Longmoore pulls up on his bicycle with his heavy Canon Mark IV camera slung over his shoulder. It鈥檚 his usual way of covering his beat 鈥� Saline, Michigan 鈥� in the summer. He unlocks a dark office owned by a community group, mostly empty. He鈥檚 got a desk in the back, largely unused. That鈥檚 fine with him; Mr. Longmoore works from his home, from coffee shops, from the field on his mobile phone.
He is a mostly one-man source of local news here. He is, along with a few freelan颅cers, the Saline Post, online and free. He epitomizes the ear-to-the-ground approach that can win the heart of a community.聽
鈥淚 go to a soccer game 鈥� he鈥檚 there. I go to my daughter鈥檚 T-ball game, he鈥檚 there. I go to lunch, and he鈥檚 outside taking pictures,鈥� chuckles Rick Richter, manager of a mortgage company in Saline. 鈥淭hat guy never sleeps.鈥�
鈥淗e鈥檚 the proverbial Energizer Bunny,鈥� agrees the mayor of the town, Brian Marl.聽
Saline (named after salt springs, but pronounced like the singer, Celine Dion) is a community of 9,000 just 10 miles south of Ann Arbor. It used to be mostly farmland, but the biggest crop now is suburban developments, whose residents stream into large tech and auto component plants nearby.聽
After a career in small newspapers, Mr. Longmoore started his website in 2012. Saline was ripe for news. The local weekly newspaper was swallowed by a larger paper, gutted and closed. The Ann Arbor News peeked in only occasionally to cover Saline. 聽
Mr. Longmoore began filling his site. Maybe not Pulitzer Prize stuff, he admits 鈥� 鈥淚鈥檓 not a great writer. I鈥檓 OK.鈥� But he was at every town function, every fire, almost every high school game, and he delivered straight reporting and photos.
鈥淪aline has news,鈥� he says now of his site. 鈥淚t has somebody watching local government. Has somebody covering their schools and their sports. ... I think there鈥檚 still a need for this stuff.鈥�
But it takes its toll. Mr. Longmoore hasn鈥檛 had a vacation in a decade. He says some days are 鈥済roundhogish,鈥� and he admits the financial demands bore him: 鈥淚鈥檝e got to do better鈥� at selling ads, but he would much rather cover a breaking story.
Two years ago, he concluded he needed a job to pay his bills. He and his wife talked about it on a walk with their pet beagle, and then he posted a short 鈥渢hanks and goodbye鈥� note on the website announcing its closure. The reaction was instant. 鈥淚 got a bunch of texts that day from people in town who said, 鈥楢re you serious about this? Well, don鈥檛. Don鈥檛 quit just yet.鈥� 鈥� Suddenly readers began 鈥渏oining鈥� the free site for $5 a month, local advertisers stepped up, and Mr. Longmoore figured he had enough support to keep going. He鈥檚 still doing it.
He is modest about his achievements, though Stephanie Cole, who used to work as an emergency dispatcher, credits his coverage with saving the jobs of Saline鈥檚 locally hired dispatchers. Mr. Longmoore has a newsman鈥檚 sense of outrage: He gives the city council grief for closed sessions, stays to the end of six-hour government meetings, and reports on every agenda item and even on sniping among its members. (鈥淢rs. McClelland,鈥� he quoted one councilor as saying, 鈥渨ould you stop rolling your eyes at me?鈥�)
鈥淵ou know, I like to do what I do, so I鈥檓 happy about that, even if I鈥檓 just kind of scraping by,鈥� he says. He pays dearly for his own health insurance and has no retirement plan. 鈥淏ut on another level, I think the Saline Post is providing a service the community really needs.鈥�
Bottom-line needs
As the losses of local news have deepened, a flurry of philanthropic efforts has blossomed. Craigslist, eBay, Google, and Facebook, all of which played leading roles in the decline of local news, have offered up slivers of their multibillion-dollar profits to journalistic causes. Other foundations, such as Knight, have contributed, and a crop of nonprofit journalism sites 鈥� at least 196, according to the Institute for Nonprofit News 鈥� has sprouted with that help. 聽
But foundation support is typically short-lived; only organizations that find their own financial legs will last. The Wall Street Journal noted 鈥渙nline ads fetch a mere fraction of the price of print ads,鈥� and, with the exception of a few national news sources such as The New York Times, The Washington Post, and The Wall Street Journal, readers are reluctant to pay for news through subscriptions or pay walls.
That reality, though, has prompted experiments with new models of supporting news. In Weare, New Hampshire, Michael Sullivan, director of the public library, began printing Weare in the World 鈥� a newsletter with local announcements and events, complete with a crossword puzzle 鈥� when someone asked what the library could do about the dearth of local news. Several news sites like Madison365 in Wisconsin began with crowdfunding campaigns. In Pittsfield, Massachusetts, a retired district court judge took on the task of saving a fabled local newspaper, the Berkshire Eagle, by marshaling a group of investors to buy the publication. In small Harvard, Massachusetts, 35 miles west of Boston, staffers at the Harvard Press depend on 鈥淒inner at Deadline鈥� donations from local restaurants to feed them on Wednesday production nights.
For profit, but for the public
Thirty miles south of San Francisco, the owners of the Half Moon Bay Review, a local weekly newspaper serving the town of 13,000, announced they were selling the paper in 2017, and began courting the usual liquidation prospects: private equity owners who bleed local papers for revenue while curtailing coverage. Alarmed, five local investors teamed up to buy the newspaper, take over the mortgage on the charming yellow-trimmed news building, and keep its 15 staffers.聽
They formed a 鈥渃ommunity benefit corporation,鈥� a for-profit entity pledged to use profits for public good, not just as dividends to owners. A year into the experiment, says editor Clay Lambert, it is working. 聽
鈥淭he community is supportive of local ownership and they like a local newspaper,鈥� he says by phone. 鈥淣ot a day goes by that I don鈥檛 hear that. On Saturday, I was invited to throw the first horseshoe out in a horseshoe contest. The fact that they considered the editor of the local newspaper to be a sort of dignitary is kind of telling.鈥�
What鈥檚 clear is no single answer exists to saving local newspapers. In fact, the founder of one of the older online news startups is critical of the sudden interest by the likes of Facebook and Google in saving local news.
鈥淭hey are trying to mimic the corporate journalism models that failed,鈥� says Paul Bass, who started the New Haven Independent 14 years ago. 鈥淲hat鈥檚 really been lost is the local reporter who covers a local beat. The real lesson is to get out there and do reporting again.鈥�
Mr. Bass does that with six full-time staffers who cover the Connecticut city, focusing heavily on crime, courts, cops, and politics. The $660,000 nonprofit is funded largely by foundations, many of them local. Mr. Bass has added a daily news talk show on low-power FM radio and regular Facebook Live videos. (鈥淚t gives us a C-SPAN element.鈥�) He partners with a Spanish language outlet.
鈥淲e鈥檙e just scrappy, engaged. We live here and we care,鈥� he says. 鈥淲hile we are figuring out the business model, I think we are in the golden age of journalism.鈥�
Few of his contemporaries in local news would embrace that rosy view. But back in Mansfield, Mr. Fernyak thinks newsrooms and owners are figuring out models that will work. 鈥淲e鈥檝e had a crazy amount of support from our community for this,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 had people saying, 鈥業t鈥檚 about time.鈥� 鈥�
This story was supported by a grant from the Solutions Journalism Network. SJN has also funded Richland Source projects. 聽
