When Hawaiian shirts return to fashion after a winter's pause. A time when one's thoughts turn to the state of American journalism. That's because it's National Columnists Day. I realize that as national holidays go, National Columnists Day ranks just below National Biting Insects Week, but hear me out. A legacy of the lost world of 19th century journalism, it is as American and as international as jazz.
Columns are where hard news, good reporting, near poetry and old jokes get to keep company.
In its best form, it is the old informal personal essay strapped tightly into a cart at the top of a roller coaster and slides to an end after 650 words, two dips and one loop the loop. In foreign countries, I have picked up eight-page newspapers for English speakers and found none so small they didn't carry baseball scores and two columnists. In a world of specialists, columnists are the last generalists. Even those with a designated beat tend to use it as a starting point to go off on life, the universe, politics, karma, food and the state of rock 'n' roll. In a Balkanized world of clashing ethnic identities, divided ideologies and diverse religious practices, columnists wander onto a page blithely assuming a universality of experience that allows them to speak informally to anyone.