My friends Matthew and Sara get a neighborhood paper called, appropriately enough, The Chestnut Hill Local.
As I remarked the disapearence of such small papers, Matthew said, "Well, this one is the best paper of its kind in the country."
"Why?" I asked.
He showed me an edition from a few months back. On the front page below the fold was a big picture of Sara’s wonderful dog Wally. Wally, who died in May, made sure he met everyone he could on every walk.
"Beloved 'Canine Mayor' of Abington Avenue passes away" read the headline of a feature article which, while giving Sara and Matthew a few shout outs mostly conveys the import of Wally’s doggie ways.
A neighbor had let the paper know about Wally’s passing and a reporter came to Matthew and Sara’s house to interview them.
We live in an era when everyone wants to make their news global. My selfie only matters if it goes viral, we think. The reach twoards everywhere has lots of power, I suppose, but it includes the power to distract us from care for an actual somewhere.
As a result of the story, for instance, Sara and Matthew got cards of condolence from neighbors and strangers. They became that much more connected to where they live and to the people they met through Wally. That’s how, at the right scale, good news can spring from shared loss.