The last linotype machine newspaper in America is the Saguache Crescent in Saguache, Colorado. It’s a story worth printing, although publisher Dean Combs doesn’t need to. News outlets from around the world have come to visit and pay tribute to the century-old linotype machine. He can focus on tip-tapping area events into the hot metal typesetter. 

Looking like a church employee at a massive pipe organ, Coomb’s keystrokes set off a chain reaction that, to be honest, I still don’t entirely understand. 

Anything with molten lead, however, should get your attention. The tiny smelter behind his keyboard maintains 500 degrees while his keystrokes burn for a metaphor of changing times. Today, on a modern keyboard, each touch is translated into a signal that a computer’s processor interprets. At the Crescent, a keystroke sends us through time and into an America dominated by heavy, hot industry. When even the words were made of molten labor. Letters and characters are hammered with Steampunk gusto on different size mattes and assembled into information. 

It has been said that Dean hasn’t taken a vacation since 1990. It could be that, like many of us, he’s part of a machine. He’s a very necessary cog in a Rube Goldberg ballet of levers and gears that work together to tell our stories. 

He fully admits he’s not a journalist. He relies on members of the community to submit letters and articles. His editorial guidelines are as such: 

“You bring it. I print it,” implores Coombs, which is pronounced like combs and is the kind of thing he’d double check during the proofing process. 

He admits there are more guidelines. No swearing. No libel. Put it in the form of a letter to the editor because you get more protections that way. 

He does have a core of competent professionals. In one issue of the Crescent there are bylines for a Cecil Hall and a Bill Hazard. Wait. Mr. Hall died in 2006 but Coombs is re-running one of his columns called “Remember When.”

In short, Coombs is open to contributions. If you have a release that needs to get out you can just drop it off at the 4th street location. More specifically, put it on the threadbare chair in front of the Linotype with the sticker that reads HERS on it. HIS was not up and running at the time of publication, but the pronouns hint at a history of family collaboration. His grandparents bought the paper in 1917. His parents would eventually take over until his dad died of a heart attack. On that day, he and his mom would still get the paper out. That was the beginning of Dean’s reign, which continues today and for as long as he can Linotype the local news. 

I’ve made the trip to the central Colorado town to witness this turn of the (20th) century marvel and see if I can get my name in lead. Coomb’s has stated that there isn’t anyone he dislikes enough to give the Crescent to. With that cold quip presenting an end to the linotype lineage, we need to put forth our best effort to make news while gathering it. 

The post Inside The Last Linotype Machine Newspaper in America appeared first on The Daily Yonder.