Stealing a newspaper honest-to-goodness crime

As a 50-year veteran of newspaper wars, I prided myself on always being upfront and honest and truthful in all respects.

In writing more than 3,000 editorials and 2,000 columns in those years, I fully acknowledge the remote possibility of slipping up occasionally and bending the truth into a pretzel, if not busting it all to pieces.

I was talking “newspapering” recently with a long-time East Texas publisher and I was rambling on about something or other and he said, “What was the real scoop on the column you wrote about newspaper theft?”

Well, there were three actually and two happened in Marshall.

Any newspaper can expect a seven-to-eight percent theft from newspaper racks. That’s a pretty good universal number for the percent of thieves that read papers. That number is a given and is figured into circulation budgets.

Back in 1989, the rack thefts at the News Messenger skyrocketed one summer, with daily theft surpassing 20 percent. I teamed up with the circulation director and rigged up a sting: We took quarters out of racks, painted the edges with fingernail polish (Passionfruit, as a recall) and replaced them in the coin bins.

It was obvious the next day when we went through the rack collection bags that many of the doctored quarters were missing.

Before we had a chance to decide on a course of action, we adjourned to Burger King for lunch. Upon arrival, the manager welcomed us and said, “If you’d been a few minutes earlier, (a staff member) could have bought your lunch. He brought in enough quarters to feed the lunch crowd.”

Part of the lunch money included quarters with the edges painted in Passionfruit.

Back at the office, we confronted the circulation employee, had him return all the quarters (three bags full in his trunk), invited him to write a check for the difference of seven-eight percent of theft and what it had been running the past month … and terminated his employment.

Never did a firing feel so good.

The second such theft report in Marshall was even more bizarre.

The Messenger, every Sunday morning, experienced a 90 percent theft rate … at one rack. It was located front and center at a local restaurant.

One Sunday I staked out the restaurant and watched as a stream of customers came up to the rack and put in the correct change, opened the door and took out a handful of papers. There were originally 50 papers in the rack and only $5 in the coin collection tray when I checked.

I went inside the restaurant and went to a meeting room in the back. A herd of men were sitting, drinking coffee, slamming down eggs and reading stolen News Messengers.

Being as it was a pre-church meeting of a men’s Sunday School class, I announced I was there to pass the collection plate to get money for the papers that were inadvertently stolen from the rack outside. I passed a blue-striped plate and dollar bills were piled high in no time.

“Don’t make me come back here,” I said, smiling, as I exited. No more theft problems from that rack … ever.

Later in my career, the paper at which I was publishing sponsored a “Little Cutie” photo contest (or some such titled money-making gimmick), and the official entry blank was included in a full-page ad. Unlimited entries were allowed, but no copies were to be counted.

That stipulation guaranteed a high degree of theft. We went to the trouble of printing rack cards telling would-be thieves the penalties for stealing newspaper.

The theft that day surpassed 50 percent.

The following day I wrote a front-page column about the theft, and advised the readers that every single rack paper was printed with a special scan code that, if the entry form was turned in for the contest, could be pinpointed as stolen … and prosecution would be vigorously pursued.

The phone rang off the wall that day with readers saying their spousal units “might” have inadvertently picked up extra copies and they’d like to come down and make restitution. The front desk took in more than $200 that day.

In my convoluted thinking, sometimes white lies are justified. And, despite what newspaper professionals like to think, some readers are dumber than a box of hair.