The Journal Inquirer and a Golden Age.
The purchase of the Journal Inquirer by Hearst Communications has brought quick and dramatic changes, marking the inevitable transformation of a singular Connecticut newspaper. Few family-owned newspapers endured as long as the JI in the last two decades of print retrenchment.
Nothing will diminish the JI’s years of fearless reporting in north central Connecticut. When I was first elected to the legislature in 1988, I was surprised to learn from colleagues that few represented two-newspaper towns. They knew nothing of the joys and benefits of newspapers competing with each other for stories in what was affectionately known as JI Land, the more than a dozen towns the paper covered with brio.
Reporters stayed to the end of town council, board of education and zoning meetings. Nearly every town had a reporter on the beat full-time. They all made friends with town hall and other local employees. And they were fearless–if they were not they learned how to conceal doubts.
Reporters knew how to use the business end of the Freedom of Information Act–a national model when it was enacted in 1975 with Governor Ella T. Grasso’s support during her first year in office. The paper had a particular knack for discovering mayors who’d operated their cars in ways the law did not permit but sometimes the police did. At least two thought unbeatable were defeated on the strength of JI reporting.
The paper kept a close eye on local zoning boards. Land use has long been a hive of manipulation, favors and outrage.
A reader survey a few decades ago, according to Joe Courtney (we all liked to know who was reading what), revealed readers paid the most attention to the paper’s coverage of school sports. Second were the commentary pages. Battles would break out on the letters to the editor page and rage for weeks. Campaigns hustled to submit letters from supporters before the election cutoff.
JI reporters were fixtures in local courthouses. Sometimes judges–who can be sensitive to public attention–took offense at the paper’s reporting and would disparage the paper from the bench or, in one case, wait for an opportunity to strike in a courtroom. It never worked.
The Ji newsroom was long a rollicking place doing serious work. The reporters were often young and tireless in the pursuit of a story. Their editors were supportive and savvy. For the subjects of a story, the hours between a call from a JI reporter and the paper’s publication in the afternoon could be marked by some trepidation.
Presiding over it all from her office near the front entrance was publisher Elizabeth Ellis. It’s for the best that democracies do not produce many citizens who are able to sustain a regal air. Mrs. Ellis–as she was always known–did. She possessed presence, a formidable air derived from never countenancing bullies. She did not flinch in the face of threats–and they came by phone, letter and over the transom. She reigned for five decades in the service of truth and the joy of a free press.
The day after I first won an election, I went to the JI in Manchester to place an ad thanking the voters of the 14th House District for narrowly electing me. As I sat in the waiting area, Mrs. Ellis emerged from her office, walked in my direction (I thought, “I wonder where Mrs. Ellis is going.”) and congratulated me in her distinctive voice. That I remember it clearly 35 years later is a measure of our own Mrs. Pinchot’s stature.
The Elizabeth Ellis JI made Connecticut a better place to live, serve and participate. Among her many gifts, she nurtured a newspaper with a personality, one that celebrated its own feisty reporting. On some afternoons, the paper practically vibrated with delight in telling what others had done. It was often an adventure to read and sometimes you knew you were witnessing its golden age.
Published June 7, 2023.