By: Robbie Whelan

This month, two former Baltimore Sun staffers posted blog summaries of their experiences at the struggling Tribune-owned newspaper, both of which are either (a) meant to make me hate my life and despair for my future in journalism, or (b) make the management at the Sun feel bad about themselves, which, if half of what’s in these two remembrances is true, they should.
One of the two accounts is from Kevin Naff, former “content manager” for The Sun’s web site, writing on the Huffington Post about how badly the paper misjudged the Internet as both a craze and a tool for media outlets. To hear him tell it, the online component of The Sun, originally known as sunspot.net, and later as baltimoresun.com, and the people who worked for it, got absolutely no respect from the rest of the paper of the first five or six years of its existence.
Some of Naff’s stories — as one of my editors pointed out after reading it — are so outlandish as to call the reliability of his memory into question. A “senior manager” from the newspaper had never been taught that holding down the “shift” key on a keyboard produces capital letters? Really? Did he pre-date typewriters, too?
The more interesting part of Naff’s essay is that his insider’s view of how The Sun worked allows him to pin the incompetencies of the paper’s relationship with the Internet on corporate executives, rather than the editors. In one section, he makes the rather well-trodden suggestion that Craigslist, if seized upon as a concept by newspaper execs, could have been part of a newspaper or of every local newspaper, instead of the main source of woe for classified ad salespeople, but he elaborates by showing us what The Sun was doing instead of thinking of ways to adapt ads to the web:
In the mid-90s era of monopolistic control of local markets, and profit margins that would make Warren Buffett blush, Times Mirror and other newspaper behemoths should have funneled some of that cash into research and development. Instead, we were tasked with forming endless “partnerships” with third-party Internet startups, many of which were more interested in eating our lunch than collaborating on product development.
If the industry had embraced the change that was already at their doorstep, a newspaper company might have invented Google, Craigslist, Facebook or Twitter. Instead, we handed over our content to companies like CitySearch, Monster and others that promised quick, cheap, “co-branded solutions.”
The other recherche du temps perdue that I noticed in August is just that: a heartbreaking, somewhat sentimental recollection of a 10-year-long career in journalism from former Sun reporter Steve Kiehl, with whom I’ve had the privilege of covering some of the same stories and comparing my own work. Kiehl is going to law school at the University of Maryland this fall, and along with The Sun, he is abandoning Crumbler, a music blog he authored with a friend. From that site comes his account, titled “After 10 Years, Why I Left,” which includes such maddeningly sad passages as this one:
I would not be going to law school if newspapers were healthy, if I believed that journalism could support into the future a sizable group of people making a decent living doing it. Perhaps it was a happy accident that newspapers in the second half of the 20th century could employ a large professional workforce, could give people the means to buy decent homes in nice neighborhoods, send their kids to college and take pride in their work. I no longer believe that is the case.
It doesn’t get better. He describes the disillusionment he felt in 2006, when, after being groomed to go to one of the Sun’s foreign bureaus, which were one of the strongest suits of the blue-collar town, they all closed. He admits to the damaging trend in newspapers that so many reporters gripe about but don’t put into print until they’re out of the game, generally:
Those days are over. Not just the limitless expense accounts, but the adventure of chasing a big story, of seeing places you haven’t seen before, of taking the time to live in a story and emerge with something special. Now, often frivolous stories are quickly spun out, based on a bare minimum of reporting, designed to drive hits. But they are ephemeral, forgotten before you’ve even clicked on to the next one.
Geez, it’s getting kinda late. I need a drink.