I was hired as a proofreader, The Stranger‘s first, in September of 1993. The paper had recently taken offices at 911 East Pike Street, above the loading dock that later became Via Tribunali, the next building over from the Salvation Army that was about to become Moe’s Mo’Roc’N Cafe, which is now Neumos. The offices were a suite of partitioned spaces with big windows overlooking Pike, a huge improvement from the previous digs, a mythical house on Latona where the production manager slept under the printer table.
I started part-time, arriving with a couple of pens and my American Heritage, third edition. I was allowed to share the easy chair and TV-dinner tray by the reception desk where film editor Andy Spletzer came in a few days a week to work, as my tasks followed his in the production sequence. A (wired, of course) phone next to me had two lines, one for editorial and one for advertising. Despite the front desk, there was no receptionist, so we were all supposed to answer the phone in rough rotation.