What really sells Don’t let the good get away papers

In his book “The World According to Garp,” the main character’s son mishears the warning to avoid the “undertoad” while at the beach. Garp, a writer and the boy’s father, embraces the “undertoad” as a metaphor for that beast of calamity that sometimes we fear sits just under the surface of our lives.

I don’t know what the opposite of undertoad would be. What would we call that feeling of optimism or happiness we sometimes feel lurking in the layers of our lives? It needs a name.

I don’t have one. I can only describe it as a firm recognition of the good in our lives and an accompanying feeling of thankfulness and joy. Like the undertoad, it is there but we don’t always see it, and we certainly don’t control it. It just is.

All of us have little things in our memories that can make us smile or cry. While some of them do coincide with momentous life occasions, most are just part of our MIKE COLOMBO everyday lives. Images that shape who we are and what we are.

I can still remember when my oldest son Michael was barely a toddler and I took him on a sunny day to experience a little creek in Valdosta. I don’t even remember where it was. I do remember changing his wet diaper after he played in the water and kissing his warm stomach. That was almost 33 years ago. It could have been yesterday.

Vacations are a perfect example of life’s ability to both delightfully surprise us or make us wish you had never left home.

Most humans would agree it is impossible to plan joy or happiness, but we still attempt to make that happen through our two weeks, three weeks or month of vacation.

Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but usually it’s not always a total failure or a visit to Shangri-La. And human memory has a great way of shaping events to be better or worse than they actually were. Sometimes even the bad can take on a comical sheen when viewed through the lens of time.

Years ago we stayed at St. George Island, off the coast of Florida, not too far from Apalachicola. Oddly enough, what I remember the most about that trip was our attempt to find the perfect restaurant. I failed miserably. I don’t remember what the place was called, which is probably good because I would hate to be sued for libel. The ambience and the food were just terrible; it was so bad we simply had to laugh about it and still do.

Another memory is taking the kids to a little inn at Fernandina Beach. It was one of those places with a mini fridge in it and two double beds, which worked out well because at the time there were just two kids, not four.

We were a young, struggling family then, so the beachside condo with two bedrooms and a real kitchen was out of the question.

That may have been the same trip when crawling Sarah came down with a stomach virus yet still wanted to stay on the beach, her little face bonneted by a sunhat and Michael playing in the waves.

At the time I know it wasn’t magical, but like I said, time plays tricks with memories.

Flash forward and I remember dancing with Anthony in a sunny living room and we still laugh about swinging Joshua in a blanket and singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

Yes, in darker moments I hear the thrum of the undertoad, reminding me that bad things can and will happen. That is life. But in the lighter moments I can remember a kiss, a laugh, a tickle, a hug. That, too, is life. Pass it on. Gordon Sheriff’s Office responds to home invasion, 2 in custody Big changes are in store for local Popeye’s, Chick-fil-A Polk County sheriff’s letter claims police department problems 4 arrested at Lindale residence, charged with meth possession ‘Person of interest’ in cemetery homicide jailed on gun charges Ex-building inspection employee pleads guilty to theft charges Cicadas expected to emerge any day now; underground for 17 years Man arrested after reporting his weed was stolen Floyd County man is convicted of aggravated sexual battery Homeowners want out of Between the Rivers historic district 15,821 views 12,128 views 12,029 views 9,438 views 7,620 views 5,194 views 5,177 views 4,915 views 4,482 views 2,925 views

Ihad just kicked my feet up on the desk, signifying the completed task of another weekly newspaper on the streets, when the phone rang. As is my custom, I answered it. On the other line was one of my favorite convenience store clerks.

“We’ve run out of papers,” she said.

“I just put them there less than 12 hours ago,” I muttered to myself, but aloud.

“Well, they’ve sold out,” she said. “If you have any more papers, I think we can keep on selling them.”

As I told her I would be down there in a little bit with more papers, I grabbed the edition I had delivered to the convenience stores just hours earlier. Why would I sell out in a day when it usually takes seven days to sell out — on a good week?

I perused the front page. At top, above the fold, was a story and photo about a field of marijuana plants being found south of town. The pic was of the sheriff standing among the pot plants, which were as tall as him.

“Bingo. That’s got to be it,” I said to myself.

We nearly sold every paper we printed that week. Two years later, after I begged the sheriff to take me the next time they went looking for marijuana plants, they did. I wrote a story, complete with my own photographs, of another marijuana crop growing east of town. My thesis proved correct: We almost sold out of every copy on the newsstand.

It’s a formula that since has proven successful in boosting single-copy sales, with one caveat: You can’t just write a story about law enforcement finding marijuana plants. There has to be an accompanying photograph.

I’ve printed pics of cute kids, fires, old ladies falling down, a referee calling a touchdown that clearly wasn’t — these great snapshots didn’t possess folks to buy newspapers in droves. But throw a blurry photo of the wacky weed on the cover, and people will throw down 75 cents to a $1 with reckless abandon.

So, a while back, when one of my co-workers reported that the local police had confiscated some marijuana, being the sage newspaperman that I am, I asked the money question: “Do you have a photo?”

Yes, she answered, but the pot is packaged, not of the leaf. That will have to do.

“Put it above the fold,” I told her. “And let’s see what happens.”

The call came about 30 hours after the papers hit the streets.

“Hey, one of the convenience stores called and said they are already out of papers.” Bingo. Not a week later, I answered the phone again.

“Hey, Len, we found some marijuana plants last week. I have the info if you’d like it,” said the sheriff’s office investigator.

“Hey, call the press and tell them to print 200 more papers this week,” I immediately barked out to the newsroom. “I’ve got a feeling we may need them.”