Morning Sun

The 85-year-old Baltimore Evening Sun, once described as "the rollicking son of the staid old lady, the morning Sun," will cease publication Friday, Sept. 15, the newspaper's publisher said today.The evening paper is the victim of declining circulation and changing reader habits. But its loss will be offset by a thorough redesign and expansion of the morning Sun, which has been enjoying strong circulation gains, said Mary Junck, publisher and chief executive officer of The Baltimore Sun Co."

Records are spotty, but it appears the first daily newspaper to be published in Baltimore made its debut in 1787 and went by the lofty name Palladium of Freedom. It lasted only a few weeks. A handwritten note on one of the Palladium's first issues said, "The Publishers abdicated under Cover of the Night," according to Clarence S. Brigham's book History and Bibliography of American Newspapers: 1690-1820. There was no word on why such a speedy exit was needed. But by the 1790s, there were several daily papers in Baltimore and the beginnings of a competitive newspaper market that thrived for two centuries.

Today is the first day without the twisted humor and the alien beings that once defined "The Far Side." Cartoonist Gary Larson announced in October that he was discontinuing the comic he had drawn for more than 15 years.Now the day is here -- and the quirky cartoon isn't.In its place -- but not replacing it -- will be two comics that some readers may already be familiar with.Bil Keane's "The Family Circus" depicts the humor and chaos of a houseful of youngsters. It has been a staple of The Evening Sun and now will appear in the morning Sun as well.

SHE CAME, she left, and now she's conquering. Mary E. Junck, the former Sunpapers publisher who killed H.L. Mencken's paper, The Evening Sun, pulled a surprise triumph last week when the publishing company she now heads, Lee Enterprises Inc., agreed to buy Pulitzer Inc. for $1.46 billion. The move outmuscled bigger rival Gannett Co. and will make Lee the fourth-largest newspaper company in the country as measured by the number of daily papers. It will have 58 dailies in 23 states, featuring two of Pulitzer's gems, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and the Arizona Daily Star in Tucson.

Do you know your shade?Some shade is total; its dense canopy creates dim spots hospitable to few plants.Partial shade is less exclusive. It lets sunshine leak through thinner layers of leaves or sneak in around the edges for part of the day. More plants are welcome in this dappled environment.And seasonal shade is the protective kind. In summer, leafy trees keep the hottest of afternoon sun off delicate flowers, and, in winter, evergreen trees protect shrubs from scorching morning sun.Shade, of course, is everywhere.

Let's not mince words: We hate to see The Evening Sun go down.For more than 85 years, this newspaper has been privileged to have a bond with its readers that is truly extraordinary. Now, in less than four months, we will be publishing our last issue. For those of us in this business, the passing of a newspaper is a sad and painful event, one that has been repeated all too often throughout the country as the economics of publishing and the changed reading habits of a TV-oriented population have proved fatal to afternoon publications.

WITH THE passing of Edgar L. Jones, that intrepid chronicler of the real Baltimore, it is time to unveil a long-ago newsroom conspiracy that went undetected by either bosses or peers. In the mid-1950s, Mr. Jones was an editorial writer for the old Evening Sun. His specialty was the infrastructure of this city, its water mains, sewer pipes, electric grids, bus routes, traffic patterns and, no doubt, an ancient railroad tunnel that lay beneath Howard Street. More glitzy assignments were also on his docket, not least of which was watch-dogging the administration of Gov. Theodore Roosevelt McKeldin, he of the yarmulke in one pocket and a crucifix in the other.

Dear Readers,Yesterday, I announced that The Baltimore Sun will launch a completely redesigned morning paper on September 18,1995, featuring expanded and in-depth news coverage better organized for our readers. I also announced that we would cease publication of The Evening Sun on September 15,1995, so that we could reinvest our efforts and resources in the expanded morning paper.I'm sure you've heard this news through the Baltimore media, but as CEO and Publisher of The Baltimore Sun I wanted to also share my thoughts with you directly.

In the good old days, when sibling rivalry was at its fiercest, Big Sister Morning and Little Sister Evening gloried in the character flaws their rivals found in them. The cavernous Sunpapers newsroom on the fifth floor at 501 North Calvert Street was divided then as it is not today: The Evening Sun on the south side, The Sun on the north side.In between stood a massive wall and a glassed-in communications room, where teletype machines chattered out wire-service stories at a slow, pre-electronic rate.

I HATE to see The Evening Sun go down. After all, we grew up together. My first attempts at serious reading 80 years ago focused on H. L. Mencken's "Free Lance" column on the Evening Sun's editorial page where he was sharpening the barbs that later pierced the hides of all "mountebanks" (charlatans or frauds) to national acclaim.As a kid I sold The Evening Sun around North and Linden avenues to get movie money. The chap who "owned" the corner would sell me five papers for three cents; so I had to peddle 25 copies to reach my objective.

WITH THE passing of Edgar L. Jones, that intrepid chronicler of the real Baltimore, it is time to unveil a long-ago newsroom conspiracy that went undetected by either bosses or peers. In the mid-1950s, Mr. Jones was an editorial writer for the old Evening Sun. His specialty was the infrastructure of this city, its water mains, sewer pipes, electric grids, bus routes, traffic patterns and, no doubt, an ancient railroad tunnel that lay beneath Howard Street. More glitzy assignments were also on his docket, not least of which was watch-dogging the administration of Gov. Theodore Roosevelt McKeldin, he of the yarmulke in one pocket and a crucifix in the other.

A MEMORABLE PLACE In a wildebeest stampede Derrek Shulman Special to the Sun It took 27 hours to reach Tanzania, but only five seconds to realize the best "sight" in the East African country is not a sight at all. It's the sound, smell and feel of being surrounded by a quarter-million wildebeests when -- suddenly -- they stampede. In seconds, the massive herd disappears in a choking cloud of dust. The thunder of hoofs reverberates in a continuous wave, shaking acacia trees and sending birds skyward.

Do you know your shade?Some shade is total; its dense canopy creates dim spots hospitable to few plants.Partial shade is less exclusive. It lets sunshine leak through thinner layers of leaves or sneak in around the edges for part of the day. More plants are welcome in this dappled environment.And seasonal shade is the protective kind. In summer, leafy trees keep the hottest of afternoon sun off delicate flowers, and, in winter, evergreen trees protect shrubs from scorching morning sun.Shade, of course, is everywhere.

Before radio. Before television. Before the service economy, there were afternoon newspapers. They were published in cities all over America, often in multiple editions, bringing to readers the very latest news they could get anywhere. To be sure, there were morning newspapers, plenty of them, some the nation's best. The nature of the news cycle allowed them to present a more considered, more definitive package.The Sun began as a morning newspaper, and has remained so till this day. But in the vigorous competition that existed at the end of this century's first decade, its owners made an important decision.

"I hate to see the evenin' sun go down."-- W.C. Handy My first deadline assignment for The Evening Sun took me to the old federal courthouse on Calvert Street. It was September 1976. A couple of older, wiser and bearded reporters - they called me "Snookie" - needed help taking notes and filing copy for the late editions. They were covering a big trial. Whose trial? The governor's trial. Right then, right there, I knew Baltimore could not be the sleepy backwater snobby friends in New York and Boston had warned it would be.We covered breaking news at The Evening Sun, and there was plenty of it. We wrote stories at 6 a.m. that were in print by 10, wrote stories at 10 that were in print by noon, wrote stories at 3 that were in print by evening rush.

The Evening Sun publishes its final editions today, a victim of changing times and failing circulation.During its 85-year lifetime, the Baltimore paper gained a national reputation for the social and political commentary of its most famous alumnus, H. L. Mencken. It won a pair of Pulitzer Prizes and helped launch the careers of many talented journalists, including biographer and author William Manchester, and broadcasters Jim McKay and Louis R. Rukeyser.Lively and irreverent in its heyday, The Evening Sun was created by the morning Sun in 1910 to challenge Baltimore's two afternoon papers, the News and the Star.

The Evening Sun publishes its final editions today, a victim of changing times and failing circulation.During its 85-year lifetime, the Baltimore paper gained a national reputation for the social and political commentary of its most famous alumnus, H. L. Mencken. It won a pair of Pulitzer Prizes and helped launch the careers of many talented journalists, including biographer and author William Manchester, and broadcasters Jim McKay and Louis R. Rukeyser.Lively and irreverent in its heyday, The Evening Sun was created by the morning Sun in 1910 to challenge Baltimore's two afternoon papers, the News and the Star.

In the good old days, when sibling rivalry was at its fiercest, Big Sister Morning and Little Sister Evening gloried in the character flaws their rivals found in them. The cavernous Sunpapers newsroom on the fifth floor at 501 North Calvert Street was divided then as it is not today: The Evening Sun on the south side, The Sun on the north side.In between stood a massive wall and a glassed-in communications room, where teletype machines chattered out wire-service stories at a slow, pre-electronic rate.

Today, The Evening Sun writes its own obituary.Baltimore's last evening newspaper, which publishes its final editions today, is 85 and a victim of failing circulation.It was both a child and a casualty of changing times. Born in 1910, the new evening paper was a morning Sun gambit tosnatch readers, advertising and profits from its afternoon rivals, the News and the Star.This 'paper of the future' took breaking stories flashed across the nation or the ocean by the new telegraph news associations, set them in type and raced fresh editions all day long to Baltimore's eager readers.