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The Reef Gazette
by J. Ed. Newman
At almost any seaport, if you have cash, it is possible to charter a small yacht. There are thousands of these vessels and their owners dock in many out of the way ports. Back in ‘66, when as vice president I was gallivanting all over the world promoting aj, I ran into such a skipper in the Comoro Islands. I spotted his boat in the harbor of Moroni and sought him out, inquiring if it was available. It was.
I explained aj publishing and that I wanted to publish a paper in a ‘country’ that had never produced any printing. My idea was to set up a press on a reef in the Indian Ocean and print a journal there. He assured me that he could get me and my equipment on and off a reef so the bargain was made and we shook hands on it.
I wanted to start immediately but strong winds and tropical rains set in and delayed us. So we ‘sweated-out’ a full week of waiting. I believe that it was Einstein who said time is relative. I don’t think he was a printer but he sure knew what he was talking about. That week seemed endless. But everything has an end, so finally the weather moderated. We loaded in fresh supplies, lifted anchor, and set course for my ‘Printer’s Reef’ about 90 miles distant.
After the storm the sea was calm if a bit playful – we had yet to learn that she can play rough. But for now the air was fresh and the sky was clear. At night there were so many stars it was difficult to recognize the constellations, all but the Southern Cross which shone with all its fiery splendor. We don’t realize how smog-bound our cities are until we see the stars through a perfectly clean sky like that.
The wind held and we reached our reef in about 30 hours. I wanted a high one but all we saw were low in the water. At last I selected the highest one which was about 12ft. x 6 or 7 ft. wide. Landing on it however, was easier said than done. Several submerged reefs separated us and it seemed the only way was to swim over, attach a line, and use it as a handrail for the skiff-load of printing equipment. So the mate started for the reef while we paid-out the line.
We heard him cry out as he clambered ashore but the wind carried his words away. Later, we learned he had seen three sharks. They must have been lonesome or hungry because they cruised around the reef all the time we were there, gobbling up scrap paper and clean up rags we tossed to them. I guess a printer with a waste disposal problem couldn’t do better than to set up shop in a tank full of sharks. It’d have its drawbacks, though.
The mate, Mike, was to stay on the reef to help. He was a spicy little cockney and a good ‘devil.’ His job was to supply stock, slip-sheet, and place the printed sheets in a waterproof plastic bag. Setting up the table for the two Kelseys, we noted the sea splashing against the reef and soon the spray had us soaked. I’ve heard that offset printers sometimes have moisture problems so I can sympathize with them, but the problems we had I’ll bet they never even heard of.
These reefs are usually pretty solid, yet this one, I thought, seemed a mite shaky. But we banged away on the Kelseys and ran off some 500 copies of The Reef Gazette, No. 1.
When we started to wash up I saw that the reef was being inundated. Then a big wave came rolling over and our box of supplies left with it. While Mike and I gaped, along comes another, a real doozy. As we fought to keep our footing, I saw the table, Kelseys still aboard, high-tailing for the horizon. In true newspaper tradition I yelled, “Stop the presses!”
“Aye, aye, Sir!” piped Mike. “But blimey, Cap’n, ‘ow?”
I wasn’t prepared to answer that just then. Besides I had a more pressing question. “Where’s the Gazette, Mike?”
“Rat-cheer, Matey,” holding up the plastic bag.
I’d have hugged him had there been time. The next wave crashed with such force that the reef disintegrated, we were lucky to reach the yacht alive.
Yes, The Reef Gazette finally appeared in the bundle. But it, shall we say? didn’t make much of a splash and the historian missed it so it went unrecorded. But it is the only paper ever printed on a reef. If you didn’t get one, send a stamp. I still have a few soggy copies left. Mike’s bag wasn’t waterproof!
Truth
Wherein dwells the truth? Wherein not?
‘Tis strange, but among our Earthly lot,
The Truth, man ever holds suspect,
While a roguish lie he can’t reject.
Non-Essential Trivia
(Rushed Readers may skip this)
Since last March we’ve been busier than a squirrel in a nut factory. Year-end presidential duties, routine chores, a home improvement program, re-organizing the R.A.A. (astronomy club), &c., climaxing with the Fall VAPA meet at the JEN Press forced printing into hibernation. But ideas and projects have been percolating, the belated account of Printer’s Reef herein being, we hope, only the first of several.
We’re happy to see Tom Whitbread’s wisdom demonstrated ‘right off the bat’ in his selection of a printer. Will we ever learn that no one but a dedicated member will lavish on our OO the TLC (tender loving care) that Russ Paxton does?
Speaking of projects, we have Dr. Watson’s account of the Giant Rat of Sumatra (hitherto unpublished case of Sherlock Holmes) of which the great detective once said, “the world is not yet prepared.” I believe we’re ready now so watch for it.
Reminder: Send a stamp for a copy of The Reef Gazette. It just may become a collector’s item, you know.
The Web no. 38 in Eve by J. Ed
Roanoke, Virginia 24019