The news of the Chronicle’s closure came like word of the death of an old friend. For my entire life — in fact, for the entirety of every current reader’s life — the Chronicle has been there, standing at the corner of Main and Oak, taking the pulse of the community.
Its story begins in 1906, when Herb Lenzner purchased the town’s two newspapers— The Cass City Enterprise (begun in 1881) and the Tri-County Chronicle (started in 1899) — and merged them to form The Cass City Chronicle. The newspaper has lived up to its name, chronicling, for well over a century, the life of this village. Its reporters have covered the local impact of such events as the stock market crash of 1929, two world wars, the Spanish Flu, the Great Depression, man’s first steps on the moon, the 9/11 terror attacks, and the Covid-19 epidemic. Millions of words have been spent, over the decades, reporting on events and personages closer to home. County fairs, unique hobbies, the opening and closing of businesses, church and school events, even the occasional murder — it’s all been written about, documented, and preserved, thanks to the Chronicle. For some residents, the major events of their entire lifespans are documented within the newspaper’s pages. Births, school and sports achievements, graduations, college honors, engagements, marriages, anniversaries, obituaries, they’re all there in black newsprint, telling the stories of the people who, in the words of George Bailey, do all “the working and paying and living and dying in this community.” Jack Esau is a great example of this. The highpoints of Jack’s life are dotted throughout the pages of the newspaper. His schooldays; his graduation; his time in the Marines; his return home; his marriage to Ruth; his involvement with the school board, the Cass City Community Club, and the historical society; and, eventually, the announcement of his death. Ron Crandell’s 2012 tribute to Jack, published by the Chronicle, brought together all of these events and the character of the man. That piece remains one of the most beautifully written tributes to a friend I have ever read; and it was printed here, in the hometown newspaper. My own children, if they someday get the urge to scroll through the Chronicle’s archives, will read about the lives and goings-on of 7 generations of Perrys before them. Few communities can boast of such continuity, whether of their people or of their journalistic institutions. Further, the newspaper has long served as an outlet for expressing opinions and sharing news about social happenings. In the opinion department, I remember once reading a letter to the editor written sometime in the 1920s in which a man lambasted a local banker for thinking his blood “a little bluer” than other villagers’. Others have taken to the Chronicle to self-report on their recent goings-on. Mrs. Smith took the train to Pontiac last Tuesday to see her sister. Mr. Johnson’s cows got out on Saturday, and he spent all day rounding them up. The Hansen family were here from Chicago, and they had a fish dinner at the Joneses’ last week, which everyone enjoyed. We might smirk at such insignificant opining and public self-revelation; yet we spend an inordinate amount of time on social media doing the very same thing — pontificating, ranting, calling others out, and telling the world where we are, where we are going, with whom we are going, and what we are going to see, do, or eat once we get there. Though the medium has changed, the primal need to be heard has not. And for Cass Cityans, the Chronicle has been the platform from which countless voices have spoken throughout the last century-plus. Among those voices has been my own. I want to thank Clarke and Tom for allowing me to write to my community these past three years. Though the reach is relatively modest, the audience is made up of some of the people I care about most. Thank you for the cherished opportunity. I also want to take the opportunity, in this final column, to thank the Chronicle staff for the invaluable service that they, and so many before them, have provided to this community for the nearly 11 decades past. Next Wednesday, and only then, when our mailboxes are bereft of their issue of the Chronicle, will we fully realize what a gift we had in this institution and in you. Though no person likes change, a change that leaves a town without one of its chief and oldest institutions is a particularly difficult one to accept. It is as if the patriarch of the community — for the Chronicle is, indeed, the village’s oldest business — has died. And as with the death of an old friend, I think we are the poorer for its passing, but the better for its having been here. I know I am.
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AuthorTy Perry is a writer based in metro-Detroit. Archives
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