The mill


Call it the curse of black ink, but rumors have always swirled around these pages. From day one, our funky little weekly has always generated a fair amount of barroom speculation.

The first piece of gossip hit shortly after start-up in 2002. Back then the word on the streets was that the Durango Herald had rolled out yet another publication. The goal was to stimulate a little false competition, grab some more advertising revenue and offer the public “a more conservative take” on the local scene. That new paper was to be called the Durango Telegraph, and that first rumor has chased us for the five years since. “So tell me, what’s it like working under Herald management?” an acquaintance asked just the other day. “I assume they’re pretty good to you guys.”

Another oldie but goodie is that Will Sands and Missy Votel are not actually real people. “When have you ever heard names like that? I mean, they could have at least used something a little more mainstream, like maybe Jones or Hoffman.” Depending on who you ask, our tags are actually carefully crafted pen names being employed by other well-known Four Corners journalists. This second rumor has been known to dovetail with the first. “What a piece of genius! Who would have ever thought the Herald would come up with its very own phantom publication? Brilliant!”

The most persistent rumor to dog the Telegraph, as many of you know, has nothing to do with our ownership dynamic. According to many of our readers, Missy and I (Yes Marge, we are real people) are actually much more than financial partners. Something somewhere in the local consciousness has had trouble separating our business and pleasure, and according to some circles, Missy and I have been wedlocked and turn out a lovechild with every new volume of the paper. “I can’t believe they can work together, raise all of those kids and still tolerate one another. Plus I think the bearded guy (Missy’s actual husband) and that shockingly attractive blonde (my devoted, patient and easily bribed wife) are their roommates.” I know Durango has enjoyed this one almost as thoroughly as we have. And even though there is a striking resemblance between Missy’s first-born and her fellow jefe (we’ll let you know when the paternity test comes in), the truth is that we are still independently married.

Yep, hearsay has always trailed these pages. Some will tell you that we’re based out of Telluride, affiliated with big papers in Minneapolis or funneling money back to a mothership in California. Others have linked us with conspiracy-oriented, U.F.O. crazed journalists of Durango past. Yet another cryptic sect has pointed to sections of the paper and alleged that there’s a secret message in each issue. “If you read every third word of the ‘Ask the Diver’ column, there’s always a coherent statement there. It’s kinda trippy, almost like Knights Templar stuff.” One exclusive group has even charged that in between bike rides and El Rancho benders, we are all devoted Starbucks drinkers and even financially linked to Seattle’s green mermaid. “You won’t believe this, but their office is in the Starbucks building! Something’s got to be going on!” And throughout our storied five years of life, someone is always talking about how the Durango Telegraph is for sale, has recently sold or is about to go on the market.

Not surprisingly, this last rumor hit again just a few days ago.

“When are you guys leaving? Where will you move?” a close friend asked with a perplexed look of shock. According to the rumor mill, the paper changed hands back in early September, and the new owners were taking the Telegraph daily and syndicating the recipe into other markets “Well that figures. Will and Missy – if those are their real names – never had the juice for daily publication. They were always too into skiing powder, riding singletrack and having kids together.” A couple of new honchos had allegedly arrived on the scene, and the tired old jefes were taking their new millions into early retirement in the Yucatan.

As always, I quickly dispelled the scuttlebutt and moved on through my day. But a couple hours later, it hit again. “When did the Telegraph sell?” another friend e-mailed me. The phone rang shortly thereafter. “How much did you guys get for the paper?”

So here it is – the hard truth as plainly as a slightly warped Middle East Studies major-turned-journalist can tell it. Sorry folks, but the Telegraph is not for sale and has not sold. And we’re also not planning on going daily, picking up Dear Abby or publishing the Family Circus cartoon anytime during the two founders’ lifespans.

Nope, this paper has always been and will continue to be a completely grassroots effort, locally owned and produced and squeaking by on just enough profit to keep our separate children in Sorels and tortilla soup. Those of you who’ve visited the Durango Telegraph World Headquarters – our 450-square-foot, oversized shoe box hovering above the corporate bean – already know that our grassroots need no further explanation. We’re so damned grassroots that the stuff is growing through our 30-year-old carpet. And we plan on nurturing and growing those roots through the coming years and beyond the next round of rumors.

Speaking of rumors, I can already hear the next round coming. “You won’t believe what I just read. The Durango Telegraph has started growing and selling grass from inside their office. I guess it makes sense. That must be how a free paper makes its money.”

– Will Sands