6/8/05

admit it:  I'm a paper guy. I remember the anticipation and excitement of pedaling my bicycle up to Norm's Newsstand in the Los Angeles suburb of Sepulveda. The quarter in my pocket was often the last remnant of the previous week's allowance. Wednesday was the day that Drag News came to the San Fernando Valley, less than 72 hours after the weekend's last parachute had popped. I loved the way that crisp newspaper opened for the first time; the smell of fresh ink escaping. I never ceased to be amazed by whatever magical process got those days-old action photos and race reports into print so quickly -- not even after becoming the editor of Drag News as a grownup, in 1975.

Thus began a lifelong love affair with what the kids call "print." As I type these words on my 1984-model Macintosh (the closest thing to a computerized typewriter), I am surrounded, quite literally, with print publications, old and new. Even directly over my head, spanning the trusses on plywood sheets, are acid-free cardboard cartons containing my most-prized possessions -- including replacement copies of those 1960s' Drag News that I'd read from cover to cover, then thrown in the trash. Who knew how priceless these cracked, yellow pages would be, four decades down the road?

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Both regular readers of this column will recall that, mere months ago, this very space was listing the virtues of the two electronic monthlies that now bring me most of my drag news. Yes, I've learned to live without the feel and smell and ink-stained hands associated with inked paper. I've trained myself to strain to read unclear computer fonts and see fuzzy screen images, composed of not-quite-connected dots. Since the advent of wireless laptops, I can confirm that it's possible to read an e-zine in the stall of an airport restroom. The price is right, too (not counting the cost of all the hardware and software required to make this modern miracle happen).

Nevertheless, there are many things I miss about printed matter that no amount of wiz-bang technology is likely to replace. First and foremost, I can't shake the fear that this issue you're reading will simply vanish into cyberspace, later if not sooner. No amount of patronizing reassurance from electronic publishers about "eternal archiving" can shake my suspicion that sometime after my buddies Burk and Bennett drop dead or sell out, these pages will exist only in the memories of their readers. What will future columnists and historians use as reliable research material? What will take the place of my beloved, embossed binders of Hot Rod, Car Craft, Popular Hot Rodding, Drag Racing USA, Super Stock, and Petersen's Drag Racing?