A Tacoma press club, really?

Wide-eyed John called the other day, ebullient as always about his brain flash of the moment.  What did I think about starting a Tacoma Press Club? he challenged.  About the same as I did when I proposed that 40 years ago, I replied:  A good idea, going nowhere.

This is different, he burbled.  He'd already lined up another newsman, editor of one of those counter litterers that fill up the space between casino ads with rewritten handouts.
That makes one of you, I noted.  John himself was not eligible for a "press" club because his ego-boosters were filed on a website.  Electrons aren't newspapers, I pointed out.  They are not published on a press. (I don't care who they let into the White House Press Club.)

Back in The Day, when Honan's still featured at least one Honan behind the bar, I had tickled the idea of a part-time press club, to meet on some regular schedule at Honan's.  That was the meeting ground of the Tacoma News Tribune old-timers and political ol' boys, before they turned off the lights downtown and crawled up the hill to Brown's Star Grille.  I thought we could decorate the walls of the corner room with celebrity black-and-whites.  These would be a drawing card for women's clubs and Jaycee meetings.  Toss in a few framed classic front pages, such as Harry Truman hoisting that "Dewey Wins!" (was it the Chicago Tribune?) or WWII ending, some such.  And Honan could name drinks after famed columnists--The Magoo Martini, the Pyle-Driver.

Went nowhere.  The old-timers couldn't stomach the idea of sharing a table with a radio man, much less the marcelled talking heads.  And those radio guys didn't even know where the hell Honan's was. (Where DO they drink?  Or, DO they drink?)

John wasn't the first to dredge this doomed plan out of my ink-stained past.  It came to mind in December, when a couple of us old Tacoma News Tribune staffers--where did THAT come from?--daily reporters shared yarns in that new coffeehouse on Opera Alley.   The Bakers have long been gone from 7th and St. Helens.  Ownership of the building and use of the old newsroom and offices has changed more times than American Idol changes judges.  I don't know who's upstairs--I'm not familiar with downtown so much since the buses quit running after dark--but if you slide down the hill and into the alley, you'll find that the old press room and mail room have been remodeled into a cafe. 

It's the familiar sand-blasted-brick-and-raw-joists of any urban-renewalled project.  The lighting is creative and moody.  There are plenty of tables and the staff is pleasant. ( I'm not doing a review--I can't even remember the name of the place--but I met the owner--can't remember his name, either.) I suggested that if he dedicated a wall to the old Trib, we might find enough artifacts to fill it.  He didn't laugh at the idea (which is more than I can say for the Honan's)

I have a couple of old Underwood upright typewriters  in the basement that I could contribute--no wires, no batteries.  I found a pica pole in my ruler barrel.  And I have editor Paul Anderson's copy shears someplace.  

How about a framed photo of me interviewing Esther Williams?  That ought to bring in the crowds!