Without the paper and its journalist asking questions, residents are going to find it harder to stay informed about things that matter locally, Nester said. The city of Welch declined to comment on the newspaper’s closure. The attention seemed to bother some local officials, who would call late at night to grumble about stories. That changed when 32-year-old Derek Tyson, the paper’s single reporter and editor, began covering meetings. “I wanted them to survive.”īefore Nester took over in 2018, the paper ran summaries of local government meetings written up by a county employee. I thought they were pretty much center line, which is the exception these days,” he said, adding that he advertised in the paper. “I never saw anything that really raised my hackles. Shawn Jenkins, a pharmacy owner who works down the street from The Welch News, said he feels national coverage of McDowell County - and West Virginia in general - is overly “political, unfair and often negative.” But he never felt that way about the local newspaper. People who relied on the obituaries have struggled keeping up with loved ones’ deaths. A pandemic-era meal service for seniors was cut, and there was no easy way to inform residents. Now, because many older residents don’t use the internet, they are missing crucial information the newspaper would have reported on. But it still had its newspaper - one that tracked government spending, published elections, spelling bee and basketball game results and spreads with color photos and biographies of every member of the graduating class. Over the years, the county lost big box stores, schools, thousands of jobs and people. A third of all McDowell County residents live in poverty. It’s also the poorest, with some of the lowest graduation and life expectancy rates in the nation. Today, 80% of the 17,850 remaining residents are white, still making it one of West Virginia’s most diverse counties. The county earned the moniker the “Free State of McDowell” because of the lack of segregation and unprecedented Black representation in government. In 1950, nearly 100,000 people lived in McDowell, and a fourth of that population was Black, unconventional in the predominately white state. Sprawling across the Cumberland Mountains of Appalachia, McDowell County was once seen as a symbol of American progress: the self-proclaimed “Heart of the Nation’s Coal Bin” was the world’s largest coal producer and attracted thousands of European immigrants and Black families fleeing the Jim Crow South looking for work and a better life. The Welch News team felt buoyed as protectors of democracy in a place where people sometimes feel forgotten or overlooked by the rest of the country. Nester took out a loan and scraped together all the money she could in 2018 to save it, the crumbling building with a caving roof, cracked walls and a 1966 Goss printing press in the basement. With the school year set to start, she’s worried families won’t know about a ministry program in early August providing free school supplies.įor Nester and her staff of three, the grief of closing the paper has felt impossible to confront after years of sacrifices, both financial and personal. It bothers Hall not to know about decisions county commissioners are making with taxpayer money and she misses the legal notices the paper published informing residents about developments like utility rate increases. The paper printed pages of religious events and directories every week and that hasn’t been replaced. Even basic tasks, like finding out about church happenings, have become challenging. Residents suddenly have no way of knowing what’s going on at public meetings, which are not televised, nor are minutes or recordings posted online. newspapers that have shuttered since 2005, a crisis Nester called “terrifying for democracy” and one that disproportionately impacts rural Americans like her. In March, the McDowell County weekly became another one of the thousands of U.S. “Like, can any of y’all hear us out here screaming?” “Our people here have nothing,” said Nester, 57. Wiping away tears, Nester said she wishes people understood why she fought so hard to protect the last remaining news outlet in her community, and why it feels like the people left behind by the journalism industry are often those who need it most. Tables covered with typewriters, awards and a century’s worth of other long-abandoned artifacts are reminders that her beloved paper has become an artifact, too. Phones that used to ring through the day have gone silent. The Welch News owner and publisher’s desk is covered with unpaid bills and her own paychecks - a year’s worth - she never cashed. (AP) - Months after Missy Nester ended The Welch News’ 100-year run, she can barely stand to walk through the office doors of the newspaper her mother taught her to read with growing up in West Virginia’s southern coalfields.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |