RIP, Joan Meyer

The 98-year old died after police raided her home and her newspaper -- for nothing

I cut my teeth at the Joplin Globe, where I made a lot of rookie mistakes until I learned from some of the best people — I mean that sincerely — I ever met in a newsroom.

Harlan taught me how to cover a fire. Gerard beat my copy into something readable. Tom gave me guff for my utter preciousness. Susan (another Susan, certainly not me) modeled professionalism and utter coolness. Deb walked me through the daily things a journalist needs to do to keep the wheels turning, and she introduced me to the hidden dive cafes where they serve the best chili.

Right there in little Joplin, Mo., I learned everything I needed to know about journalism.

So it is with solemn appreciation we mark the contributions of Joan (her name was pronounced “JoAnn” and earlier, some reports — including stories — got the spelling wrong) Meyer, a newspaperwoman from the land of William Allen White.

Mrs. Meyer, as does an entire army of similarly dedicated journalists in small towns around the country, might have gone unnoticed had not her weekly newspaper, The Marion County Record, been raided by police.

That raid has been roundly denounced nationwide and on Wednesday, the Mason County prosecutor said the material should be returned after a review of the seized items found that:

“insufficient evidence exists to establish a legally sufficient nexus between this alleged crime and the places searched and the items seized.”

The prosecuting attorney has asked that the evidence be returned. So this was all for nothing. In fact, this shocking display of fascist power didn’t even stop the presses, because despite having lost computers and servers and everything else you need to put out a paper, the Marion County Record published — on time — this week’s edition.

Their lead story? SEIZED…BUT NOT SILENCED.

Mrs. Meyer, 98, died a day after the raids, in mid-sentence, her son, Eric, the paper’s publisher, said, “stressed beyond her limits,” according to her obituary. Before she died, she pondered, according to the Times obit linked above, where were people who could stop such a travesty.

Sadly, Mrs. Meyer did not live to see the reaction of good people everywhere. You don’t raid newspapers, and every person involved — from the local gadfly with a drinking problem who instigated this mess to the judge who signed off on it (who’s had some DUI issues of her own) to the police who carried out the raid (more on their chief in a second) — must answer for their actions.

Meyer started at the newspaper in the ‘60s, where she worked with her husband and pretty much did everything from editing society news (which in a small town mostly consists of who ate with whom at which dinner party) to copy editing, as is required in a small news organization such as the Record. She also wrote a weekly historical column for nearly 50 years until her eyesight faltered — though she still occasionally wrote articles with the help of her son.

Her funeral is Saturday.

New subscriptions have been flooding in, and a few people even drove to Marion (one from Arizona) to subscribe in person.

So many small-town journalists do their job for decades — decades — with scant attention save for the occasional angry reader or an award from a regional journalism organization. Yet more than any one, they’re the watchdogs, hundreds of thousands strong who create oases in news deserts — where 70 million people live without a local news source. They’re the people who attend board meetings, spell your last name correctly when your child makes the honor roll, and accurately predict the weather. But it’s not just club news and honors rolls. Small-town journalists stand as bastions to make sure public funds go where they’re supposed to, and public officials do what they say they’ll do. Small-town journalists know who they’re writing about and they know where the bodies are buried. Earlier, the Marion paper had investigated allegations of sexual misconduct on the part of the town’s police chief.

Was this raid payback? We will know soon. You can bank on that. Seriously, Chief Gideon Cody, welcome to your new reality.

Sunlight really is the best disinfectant.

But mostly? Rest In Power, Mrs. Meyer. And thank you.