Mayor Reed Seen Running Down Street After Bank Holdup!!!

by Edward C. Truax

The above headline was the example which my father used to illustrate to others the power of a free press, when prostituted by those who seek self clemency, shielded by the tattered fibers of a First Amendment. He would remove his eye glasses and ask them, "What could you do, if I, as an editor, (which he was) ran such a headline?" Did the headline lie? Well, so what if Mayor Reed was seen running down the street a month and a half after the robbery, so what if he was trying to catch a cab, and big damn deal if every single person who read the headline now suspects the mayor to be an accomplice to armed robbery. Hey, that’s the price we pay for a free press. Isn’t it? Well is it now?

Maybe not, maybe the price we’re paying for our news is much higher. Mayor Reed spoke at the official opening of MODE’s offices in Harrisburg during the early part of December. During his complimentary remarks, which were surpassed in charity only by their effect on the assembly of well wishers, he broke form and for a time seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. What he said during that moment was... "That MODE’s writing, which is so positive about our community, can be in effect, almost spiritual." I was there, I heard it, and I remember.

Oh yes, I remember. I remember, my memories stir, he makes me think of a man, a man almost lost to time itself, a man such as I, a man such as you. One who lived in a century past, when crime overwhelmed the streets of a nation, where jobs were being swallowed up by the reckless expanse of capitalism. When bad news was good news, and good news seemed to be no news at all.

Enter now, a Dr. Charles M. Sheldon, a preacher from 19th century Topeka, Kansas, a man who entered into an agreement to pastor a local church there and then both deceived and discovered the town by arriving early, and under an assumed name. He then took jobs in various fields of endeavor, thereby learning much more about the society than could have ever been seen from his Sunday pulpit. The congregation was stunned, the men in the pews began to wilt a little, some had spit tobacco and shoveled coal beside the preacher. They had cussed, complained about hangovers, and competed in splendid stories which glorified vice.

All hell was expected to break loose about them when he began his first sermon by informing everyone in attendance that he had discovered something about the town during his first few months there. Yet he told them not of hell and damnation, no fire and brimstone at all. He spoke with them about the thirst he had seen, the need for shelter from pain. However, he did mention that he felt many had forgotten to treat others as they would like to be treated; he suggested that they remember to follow the actions of the crucified carpenter from Bethlehem who ate with sinners but did not falter, who walked with social outcasts, and whose birth date now constitutes the cadence of our modern calendar.

If this were the extent of the story, if the sermon had merely been recorded and then discovered, it would hardly make for a testimony to Mayor Reed’s suggestion. Continue with me and with history while we depart from the above mentioned introductory footnotes from which the following story springs.

Dr. Sheldon found that lacking among his Sunday regulars were young people. So he penned a series of stories which were based on the life and conduct of the Christ, fictional in nature, yet true to his modus operandi. Each ended with a dramatic moment which was to be continued next week, same time, same church pew. The series became a rage, the church was packed and reporters from the Topeka Capital (the city paper) were dispatched to cover the commotion. In a short time a publishing house obtained the complete set of sermons and stole them by paying the preacher only a few hundred dollars for the rights. Those sermons when compiled became a best seller and went into nearly a dozen editions. Dr. Sheldon spent his meager share of the royalties answering the thousands of letters which poured into the Topeka post office, many demanding that he share his "wealth" with the world’s poor. Funny what things we consider gold. To those who had become enriched by reading his book (In His Footsteps) he was a hero. To those who had become enriched by publishing his book, he was a fool to be tapped for future rewards.

Then Dr. Sheldon turned his gentle wrath against the newspaper industry by expounding that readers were not sensation hungry gluttons, but in fact craved decency, goodwill, and restraint. He put forth a challenge to the publishers and editors that they print the paper as the Christ would have. They in turn, during the heat of debate, offered to turn the editorship of the paper over to him. He...said...Yes.

The demand from the Fourth Estate was simple, the paper’s circulation must rise or he would have to admit that he was wrong. Down went the gauntlet and in walked the new editor. He banned tobacco and booze not only from the paper’s offices, but from the advertising space of the pages. He likewise banned all medical potions, which at the time were the bread and butter of the industry, unless they could prove their claims of cures. He refused advertisements from the big "department stores" which he knew to be driving the smaller family-owned shops out of business. To those advertisers who passed his standards, he edited out all proclamations such as "this year’s best bargain" or "lowest price in town." He said that he was too busy to check the accuracy of the promises. Busy he was. The editorial page was moved to the front page. Each editorial had to carry the writers by-line. No more hiding under the general sponsorship of "we the editors." All news of crime carried only a brief summation of date, place, time, and nature. When a story did win a place as a major article, it generally was a story which other papers had damned with the slightest of coverage, such as the terrible age, such as the terrible famine which was sweeping the nation of India at the time.

What happened next? The regular newspaper reporters who had first chaffed under the "censorship and blacklisting of the fool preacher run amuck" began to catch the fever of the power of good over bad. They felt renewed, and reminded of those reasons which had first beckoned them to the trade. The readers began to organize against the enemy. One million dollars in 19th century money was shipped to India as food stuffs and medicine. People began to love, or try to love, their neighbor as themselves, and in doing so discovered that they themselves were feeling loved by others.

But, what about the standard set by the owners of the printing press? Did the circulation rise? No, tides rise, the sun rises, and hence that word is inadequate. Like the waters before Moses, the Fourth Estate made way. As if a smaller moon had eclipsed the sun’s rays, a shadow was cast over the world’s publishing industry. News moved across the face of the planet earth. Larger papers in New York and London were subcontracted to handle the million plus daily international demand. Dr. Sheldon’s book In His Footsteps sold out faster than they could be reprinted, with the author not being compensated an additional dime. Then, he gave control of the paper back to the professionals.

Time warp—Brown v. The Topeka Board of Education.

At the end of Dr. Sheldon’s long life, the preacher was asked if he felt that in the long run his dramatic experiment in journalism was a failure. To which he responded, "No, several thousand children were saved from famine in India, it was a success."

Publisher’s Note: The headline of this story incorrectly stated that a Mayor Reed was seen running down the street after a bank holdup, the spelling of the name should have been Mayor Read, not Mayor Reed. We deeply regret any inconvenience this may have caused.