Richard Hyatt: Ledger-Enquirer building draped in memories

It's just a building, after all, and like many of us it could use some nips and tucks.

This is the final week that a newspaper will be produced at 17 West 12th St. Soon, the last person out the door will turn off the lights and a slice of history will die.

The Ledger-Enquirer is moving. Architects will preserve the Mediterranean façade on its former home, but nothing can save the memories.

More important than the peeling paint and wobbly cupolas are the committed people who kept a community informed. It was their calling, and through all the changes they never stopped caring.

Computers replaced typewriters. Recorders replaced notebooks. No one smoked cigarettes and no one hid booze in their desk drawer. Wire machines were unplugged and cameras went digital. No one screamed stop the presses because the press was a hundred miles away.

That building walked through history. It put hawkers on the street to announce the end of a world war. It fought Klansmen in hoods and sleaze in Phenix City. It supported consolidation and delivered a paper when 14 inches of snow blanketed the city.

It reflects our cultural quirks. Inside what used to be the main entrance on 12th Street is a phone booth that would have been too small for Clark Kent. If you don't know what a phone booth is, ask someone older.

When I arrived, restrooms weren't marked men and women. The influence of a genteel lady in the building made sure they were labeled WCW and WCM. Translated, that was Water Closet Women and Water Closet Men.

The famous came to call. You would have thought Jesse Jackson was a rock star, for women swooned. When George Wallace arrived in his wheelchair, it was as if royalty was in the building.

For years, the building published two newspapers. Newcomers don't understand the angst between those staffs. I'm proud to say I worked for the Enquirer, not that paper that came out in the afternoon.

I marked life's milestones there, including my loss of hair. I turned 30, 40 and 60. I celebrated children and buried colleagues. Looking back, I believe there is a soul in that old building that wrecking balls can't destroy.

Now it's time to say goodbye. Not to a building, but to a dear old friend.

-- Richard Hyatt is an independent correspondent. Reach him at hyatt31906@knology.net.

This story was originally published January 24, 2015 at 9:39 PM with the headline "Richard Hyatt: Ledger-Enquirer building draped in memories."