When I was a kid, I often wondered why some people would trade in their car for a brand-new one every two years or so.
Back then, it seemed so strange. Oh well, they must be rich and had nothing better to do with their money, I thought. You see, my father would hold on to our family tank until there was no doubt left that we needed to replace it.
As I grew older, my opinions changed. Money aside, maybe something else was behind the trade-in practices for a new car every couple of years. Maybe it was that medically safe drug of material replacement that today's society seems to demand - a demand so much greater than it was 30 or 40 years ago. The demand to just feel good, and feel good often.
Maybe it's that indescribably potent, yet stimulating smell of fresh new leather, plastic and cloth. That flawless shine of new metal. Yes, maybe that was it. Maybe that is it.
Newness, my friends, is modern man's self-produced renaissance. It can, if we want, happen every day in our lives. It comes in many forms. It has that magical power so strong that it can alter thoughts and feelings inexplicably and make your eyes see things differently. It gives rise to a Camelot of new being, like shaping up your body, wearing a new business suit or the statement of a new hairstyle - or buying a new car.
The redesign of a newspaper is no different.
Soon after I was named publisher of the Nevada Appeal in June 2003, I called a meeting of some of my directors to suggest a redesign of the newspaper. It was something I had thought of since being the associate publisher in 2002. But my approach was a bit wary - wary of misinterpretation, resistance or even defensiveness. I was the new guy with a suggestion. An idea.
Why would I want to suggest wallpaper on the oak paneling or carpeting a hardwood floor or, for that matter, trading in a car for a brand-new one way before its time? The fact that in 2005, the Nevada Appeal would be 140 years old - Nevada's oldest newspaper - was not a point of reason at that time. The paper could have been 132 years old, and the suggestion of a redesign would have still found its way from my mouth. The thought was to catch people when they least expected it, and to hear them say, "WOW!"
This was our chance for a statement. This was our time to make a mark. This could be our new apparel. This is our new car. When I look at it, I see the reflection of the faces who made this neo-classic design. Can you smell the new leather? Just look at that shiny metal. Can you see it?
I can.
In it, I can see the skillful talents of award-winning editor Barry Smith and page-designer and creative wunderkind Randy Wrighthouse. I can see the supportive and allegiant pushes of associate publisher Peter Kostes and the promotional splashes of marketing director Kent Hummel. I can also see every employee of the Nevada Appeal making his or her own mark - however directly or indirectly it may be - to this rebirth of a publication in which we already held much pride.
I can see our devoted reader panel, the observations of our readers, non-readers, local business professionals as well as city and state representatives who comprised our focus groups. I can also see all the people over the past two years who offered us opinions.
The complete journey of the redesign from the day of its suggestion to the day of its conception is far too detailed to keep your interest. But as you look at it, and read it, let it just take you.
Don't analyze the music. Just listen.
The next time the Nevada Appeal undergoes its next new coat of paint, who knows where the current administrative and management team will be? That day could be 15 years from now.
But we will always remember. I will always remember ... the executives who got behind that suggestion - that wary suggestion - one day in the summer of 2003, and who pushed it with a mighty roll to what you see today: Tuesday, Feb. 1, 2005.
I can only hope that as your eyes were cast upon its murals of thought-to-newsprint this morning, you heard yourself say, "WOW!"
n John Dimambro is publisher of the Nevada Appeal.