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Hail to the chief: in an era of dwindling circulations and shrinking profits, the weekly newspaper in the Panhandle town of Miami has a different problem: choosing a cover story in a place where nothing really happens.

Article Excerpt
In the world of print media, few decisions are as racked by second-guessing and hand-wringing as the choice of a cover story. Still, probably no one in the business has it as bad as Sandy Black, the 51-year-old sole publisher, editor, staff writer, ad saleswoman, accountant, photographer, and paperboy for the weekly Miami Chief, the only local news source in the small Panhandle town of Miami. All 588 residents of Miami (pronounced "My-am-uh") fit on just three pages of the phone directory--and every one of them knows Sandy. That means she has to be particularly careful not to ruffle feathers with her news coverage. Worse, there isn't a whole lot of news to report. During slow weeks, such as the dog days of July, when the annual cow-calling contest has come and gone and the start of high school football practice is still a few weeks away, finding something coverworthy for the Chief is enough to make Sandy consider retirement.

One Monday this past summer, during those July doldrums, Sandy stood on the steps of the yellow-brick 1913 Roberts County courthouse and began the week's search for a lead at the commissioners' court meeting. The six-foot media mogul was wearing a gauzy brown blouse and black polyester pants. "My hair is frizzin', I can feel it," she said, brushing her fingers through her blond locks with a few quick strokes as she walked inside. Then she grabbed a copy of the agenda, took a chair along the wall, and pulled out her big blue pen, ready to document the news.

The first order of business was the report from Sheriff Dana Miller, a man with sand-colored hair that poked out from underneath his beige cap. "We had to tend to a deputy down from heat exhaustion," Miller said, addressing the room. "Also, our jail inspection passed with flying colors. Only two fire extinguishers were out-of-date."

"Any questions?" asked Judge Vernon Cook, who was presiding over the meeting. There were none.

A rancher and court member with a wide smile spoke up. "Some of those roads on the south side of town are looking pretty bad," he said, referring to large potholes blighting Farm-to-Market Roads 748 and 1268. "I mean, somebody's gonna kill somebody." Silence from the room prompted him to continue. think we ought to send the repairman a letter or something" The rancher looked at Miller, and the sheriff shrugged. Sandy jotted down a few notes.

"Anything else?" asked Cook. A former courthouse custodian piped up from the corner of the room and related his granddaughter's enjoyment of the city...

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