There was a wonderful story recently in the Wall Street Journal about a small newspaper in Dunn, N.C. that has a circulation penetration in its primary market of 112 percent.
No, that’s not a typo. And the math is correct. Read it again: 112 percent. Those are the kind of figures we used to be able to throw around back in the forties and fifties. Now, most publishers might be willing to lunch with the devil for two-thirds, or a little less, of similar numbers.
How have they done it in Dunn, in the shadow of Raleigh and Durham, in a small town where five other larger dailies are sold? As the story reported, they did it with down-home news that residents can’t get anywhere else.
The owner, Hoover Adams, was quoted that he believes readers like to see their names in print. In a memo to the staff, he wrote, “By now you know I am a fanatic-almost an absolute nut-about printing a lot of names. But you will find out it pays off in increased readership, more subscriptions and more ads, too.”
That story, which I recommend you read, sure brought back a load of memories. Back to those days of growing up on a family weekly where the across-the-back-fence conversation was very much part of the news budget. Back to the days when you knew you would see the subject of your story sometimes in the next week as you enjoyed one of those 10 cent sodas at the drugstore counter or when you were getting a haircut. So you had better be right.
I still remember the day when I was 15 and a prominent lawyer in town, father of one my best friends, sternly corrected me because I had misused a word, and he did it before a dozen or so people. I haven’t made that mistake again. It also reminded me of my mother and one of the basic things we forget as we go up in this business. My mom sold the paper after my dad’s death, but she wrote for it for more than 30 years. She did all of the weddings, funerals, who was visiting whom, whose kids went off to college, all of the important day-to-day things in a small town. Or in one of your neighborhoods.
Well, one day the new owners, the fourth or fifth since my mom sold it, decided they didn’t need Mrs. Favre anymore. I got this call in Chicago and it was mom. She was in tears. I did my best to console her and to point out that they had made a bad mistake in their effort to get away from a small-town tag. Unfortunately, I don’t think it helped.
We talked about it for several days and then, after two weeks had passed, my mom, who was 80 at the time, called again. They had hired her back, given her a raise and ran a front-page story and picture as an apology. Boy, was she happy.
What happened? They learned what Mr. Adams knows in Dunn. The funeral homes, the wedding couples, the moms and dads and uncles and aunts with visitors, had been talking to my mom for three decades. They wouldn’t talk to anyone else. And people want to see their names or the names of people they know in the paper. They want to see themselves represented.
As Lisa Farmer, managing editor in Dunn, told the Journal, “People think they own the local newspaper.” The next time you sit down with your staff, talk about that. You won’t get 112 percent penetration, but you might stop the skids.