The Hartford Courant presses roll early on Thursdays. I was reminded as soon as I started walking downstairs. You feel a press run before you hear it. Your feet pick it up. The stairwells vibrate.
My intention was to get a soda. It ended up a pilgrimage to the pressroom. I hadn’t been there since before my surgery.
“I feel like a kid when I’m here,” I told Slim.
He’s a powerful man with rough workman’s hands. He was in blue coveralls, wearing ear protection and watching over a massive Goss offset press.
“That’s how I felt when I first walked in here 36 years ago,” he replied.
I suspect he still feels that way.
All around me men were getting dirty as they climbed on these behemoth machines making adjustments. There is pride in making sure the paper looks just right.
Nothing in the press room is said quietly. You’ve got to outshout all the machinery… and there’s plenty.
I walked around and said hello to everyone. This is their crunch time. I didn’t want to bother them or distract them. They work with equipment that is dangerous and unforgiving.
There is something pure in this massive three story space. They are making something. They are producing a real physical product. I’ve never been in a business where you could hold what we sold in your hand.
I love this place.