Here's a report from Zan McQuade, editor of Belt’s Cincinnati Anthology, about the role the local and national media played in the election in Ohio.
A winning tradition? Nah. The Bengals of the 90s were a joke. As a kid I never knew that there’s just no way to prepare yourself for the rending of your heart that comes with fandom.
Gary’s really not a bad guy. He always gives some bit of advice or counsel gleaned from years of trial and tribulation. He’s a good listener. He smiles and he means it. He always remembers your name.
There are certain places every politician with national ambitions wants to be seen. Iowa in January. Martha’s Vineyard in the summer. And Ohio, in the autumn of a presidential campaign.
When we set about assembling The Cincinnati Anthology, we were looking for all different impressions of the city: the loving, the brutal, and the honest.
On the night of February 15, 1884, the Avondale dairy farmer Louis Mills saw the glow of fire on the northwest horizon. The waning moon had yet to rise, so the night was otherwise dark and the orange dome foreboding.
Although the morning paper said it would be a fair, warming day, the horizon darkened with looming rain. Principal Thomas L. Simmerman watched the fidgeting children lined up in the hall and decided to give them a few minutes of frolic and exercise.
Marilyn Rodgers could do just about anything with her Saturday off, but instead she chooses to vacuum a train terminal. The executive director of Buffalo’s Central Terminal Restoration Corporation (CTRC), a nonprofit that’s rehabilitating the city’s vacant train station, goes up and down yards of original Terrazzo flooring, sucking up dirt with an industrial-strength cleaner. “I have to clean my house,” she jokes of the 523,000 square foot space where she frequently visits.
Conventional wisdom holds that the larger the population of a city, the more successful the place must be. If the population’s growing, that city must be doing something right. If it’s withering, it must be in decline.
There are people who don’t believe Cincinnati can, should, or will change. But it is changing and I like what I see. I like that I can be a part of it, even from what some would consider the outside.
The story of the Mercantile Library, a center of literary life in Cincinnati since 1835.
The fast times and hard lives of alt-weekly newspapers in Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and Cincinnati.