I used to call the occasion Ohio's first Take Your Infant To Work Day, my solution when my then-wife, Karla, had a 10 a.m. dentist's appointment and we had no one to care for son Jeffrey, then just a few months old.

So I took him to work – or wore him to work, as the case may be – in a back carrier that was a fairly new idea at the time. Babies placed in these things generally seemed comfortable and at ease. So it was with Jeff who probably was bewildered the four hours he was with me, but remained quiet and responded well to the several people who greeted him. Co-workers, especially those of the female persuasion, thought this was a terrific thing for a father to do, though there was some concern over how much an infant would disrupt my work. Because of the routine on this particular day, there was no disruption. If anything, it was like I had a silent (therefore pleasant) supervisor looking over my shoulder the whole time.

This photo appeared in the paper the next day and later showed up in other publications, including Editor and Publisher. A few people called me "Mr. Mom," and this was before there was a movie by that title.

AT THE TIME I was a feature writer and editor of the newspaper's TV magazine. What I'm doing in the photo is proofreading pages, checking for typos. I'm doing this in what was called the composing room where linotype machines were used to create – you guessed it – lines of metal type; compositors then placed the lines of type into page forms. Usually stories ran long or came up short. (Oldtimers may remember those little fillers that were common in newspapers, tidbits used to fill holes at the bottom of a column; i.e. "The hummingbird is the only bird that can fly backwards" or "Cattle branding was practiced 4,000 years ago. Old tomb paintings show Egyptians branding their fat, spotted cattle.")

Stories that ran long? Well, that could be a problem, especially with certain writers. Let me digress for one of my favorite newspaper stories:

The late Dick Shippy was an Akron colleague and the closest thing I ever had to a mentor. Before I joined the paper he worked in the sports department. One Saturday night it was his job to check the pages in the composing room. Our most notorious sports writer (who shall remain nameless) had turned in a story about the day's Ohio State football game that was about 25 inches too long for the space that had been allotted by the sports copy desk.

Shippy carried the message to the writer, who wasn't pleased. He suggested there must be some way to squeeze the whole story into the paper. Shippy said it couldn't be done. In those days reporters and editors had jars of rubber cement on their desks; we'd paste pages together before the stories were sent to the composing room. Some writers didn't like rubber cement; they took long rolls of paper from wire service printers and ran them through their typewriters.

Anyway, Shippy held out the long paper version of the story and let it flow across the floor like a bridal train. "You've got to take 25 inches out of this story," he repeated. Still the writer wouldn't budge.

Another common tool in those days was scissors. So Shippy picked up some scissors, cut the story in half and took the half he was holding back to the composing room. Unfortunately for Shippy, this sealed his fate in the sports department; he didn't have as much clout as the writer he had challenged. Shippy was reassigned to the features department where I met him after he had become a TV columnist with the newspaper's largest readership. Sweet revenge, perhaps. Okay, so now ...

SKIP AHEAD 20 years. I've relocated – twice – leaving Ohio to work a year in Pittsburgh, then finding what would prove to be my life's work in Rhode Island at the Providence Journal. Linotype machines have become a thing of the past. The Journal has restored one and turned it into a sculpture-like exhibit in the new composing room which is about one-fourth the size of the old.

Metal – or hot – type has been replaced by computer-generated "cold" type on slick paper that is waxed, then put down on heavy paper forms. Gone are the good ol' days when someone would accidentally spill lines of type all over the place. (I believe "pi the type" was how such accidents were described.)

A certain carelessness has become apparent in newspapers. In the days of hot type, the excess – or overset – was put aside. With cold type, however, it often was placed on the pages in advertising space, the idea being it would be dealt with after the page was proofread. There'd be some cutting and re-pasting until the story fit, and the excess discarded in a waste basket. But sometimes that overset was neglected and left where it didn't belong, which a day later confused readers and upset advertisers.

BECAUSE of all the industry changes, I look at the above photograph a different way. My eyes no longer focus on my son, but on the metal frames and the rolling tables that once made the composing room a life-sized, ever-changing maze. No lie – I still have a dream now and then in which I am trying to negotiate my way from deep in the composing room back to my office, only to find my path blocked at every turn by a wall of heavy, rolling tables, men yelling at me not to touch those tables.

Not that I ever consciously miss the old composing room. The newspaper enviornment in the 1980s is cleaner and more comfortable, but, yes, when in a nostalgic mood, I feel something is missing. This photograph has become a reminder what that something is. (I wish Ted Walls had included a Beacon-Journal compositor in the photo, especially one who wore a hat fashioned from the day's newspaper, one of the things that gave composing rooms the look and feel of a factory.)

In 1988, the photograph stirs up many memories, and while a few are sad (especially reminders of people who are gone forever), most are humorous, reflecting on a time that seemed quaint and unchanged from the 1920s. But to a lot of people my age, the 1970s and '80s were the best years to be employed by a newspaper, especially when that newspaper seemed to have a lock on its market the way the Providence Journal did.

NOW IT'S 2011 and when I look at the photograph, I'm no longer laughing. Newspaper are in deep, deep trouble. The section I am proof reading in the photo is one that no longer exists at many newspapers. Also gone are some other sections produced in the Journal features department when I was its editor. Many jobs have been eliminated, reporters and editors let go or encouraged to take early retirement.

During most of my career, newspaper journalists regarded television as our biggest threat. As it turned out, local television stations also face an uncertain future, thanks to the internet, where the ultimate news battle will be fought. (I wonder how the general manager of a network-affiliated television channel feels when, at the end of a network program, viewers are reminded they can watch the show at their convenience on the network's website.)

As I am with many things, I was slow to recognize the internet's potential. But now that I am more than ankle deep in the new technology, I see exciting times ahead. I believe newspapers can rise again, but I don't know if you'll call them newspapers because you'l probably be reading them on portable, lightweight, magazine-sized computers like an iPad or Kindle.

At this point the technology is way ahead of the demand. Many people either believe they're getting enough news or just aren't interested in news. Period. And the flood of trivia masquerading as news is unbelievable. As you can tell by my email address on this page, I am an AOL subscriber. Don't ask me why. AOL's home page has less news value than the National Enquirer, so I spend a lot of time checking various newspaper sites. Unfortunately for these newspapers, I'm reading them for free.

News-wise, it's like we're having a terrible dream. I'm not talking about the news itself, which has always been grim, but the way it is reported. Or not reported. I've rambled on long enough, so I won't bore you with examples, just this principle: what people do is more important than what they say, and most of what they say has no importance whatsoever. Especially people whose first name is Sarah. Or Glenn.

Today's "news" outlets follow the "he said, she said" format. There's even the obnoxious "who said" format that has crept into many websites. Shame on sites that allow readers to post offensive and inappropriate comments.

Someday we'll awaken from this terrible dream. When we do, I hope there are a few good newspapers waiting for us.