My Student story started at a store

Newspapers.

For as long as I can remember, I have been infatuated with newspapers.

Everything about them.

The different mastheads. The different shapes and sizes and shades. The different sections and layouts and formats. The photos and cartoons and features. The opinions and obituaries. The array of ads and the variety of entertainment listings. The reporters and the columnists.

I grew up north of New York City in the Westchester County Village of Scarsdale. Across the street from the railroad station where commuters and visitors took the train to and from the city, my grandparents, Lew and Fannie Pierce, and uncle, Harry Schiller, owned a small stationary store. They sold tobacco products, candy, comic books, school and office supplies, some paperbacks, magazines … and newspapers.

In the late 1950s and early 1960s, there were seven daily newspapers that served New York City. Seven just in the city, not counting others for suburban towns. Four were morning papers: The Times, The Herald Tribune, The Daily News and The Daily Mirror.

There were three more afternoon/evening papers: The Post, The Journal-American and The World-Telegram and Sun. There was one carried in the store for a specialized audience, The Wall Street Journal; another daily paper serving the county, The Reporter Dispatch; and the weekly paper serving our local community, the Scarsdale Inquirer.

Pierce & Schiller sold all of them.

When I was finally considered old enough, about 8, I was given permission to take the after-school walk, as fast as I could, from our house down the Ardsley Road hill into the Village to the store where I helped serve customers behind the counter and was compensated with the more-than-occasional sampling of candy and comics.

Best of all, I was able go to the back of the store every time I was there with my stack of treasures to absorb the magic and majesty of every one of those newspapers, from the broadsheets to the tabloids. When one of my grandparents drove me back to the house in time for dinner, I was already anticipating my next trip to the store.

Then, adults interfered. Even worse than the heartbreak for a young sports fan when Bill Mazeroski’s ninth-inning home run lifted the Pittsburgh Pirates over my New York Yankees in Game 7 of the 1960 World Series.

The devastating loss of New York City’s newspapers caused by a crippling strike in 1962-63. It was shattering and life-altering.

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Shortly after the newspapers finally returned, although the number of papers wound up being reduced, I was offered another opportunity by my grandparents and uncle. In addition to the store, they also operated Scarsdale’s morning newspaper delivery service, and I could have a route. Getting up at 4:30 a.m. for a walking (although I mostly ran) route every day delivering newspapers house-to-house as dawn was approaching was invigorating, I had routes through my junior high and high school years.

After World War II, my dad attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and became the sports editor of the Daily Tar Heel newspaper. He later came back to Westchester and worked as a sportswriter for The Reporter Dispatch before taking a position as the publicist for all sports programming and some other television shows at NBC.

On most weekends, he would take my brother and me to different sports and entertainment events, too many to count and so many to remember. Over the years, he also taught me how to write and edit.

In high school, I started covering sports for the community newspaper, the Scarsdale Inquirer, and submitted stories about all teams that played during the previous week.

Except, one group was noticeably absent. I went to my dad to ask a question and seek his advice. I wondered why there were no sports stories for the girls’ teams.

I was an athlete on our high school’s teams and told my dad how the girls practiced and played games when we did. Shouldn’t the girls’ teams be covered, too? He thought about this for a long moment and said, “I think you’re right. If this is something you believe, make some time and do it. But, when you start doing it, it’s a commitment, so you can’t stop.”

So, I did, every week, and I didn’t stop until I completed covering high school sports when I graduated.

On Sept. 14, 1970, my dad and I were ready to start the 12-hour drive to Oxford. I needed to make one stop before we departed Scarsdale: Pierce & Schiller.

I thought I was going there simply and gratefully to say goodbye to my grandparents and to close a life chapter. But, as we drove away, I took a moment to appreciate the store for all it gave me. It was where I discovered my wonder for newspapers, where people bought the Inquirer and could read my SHS sports articles.

I promised myself that when I arrived at Miami University, the first building I was going to find would be the one where the school newspaper was located. That was what I knew I wanted to do. So, I did.

As we celebrate the bicentennial of our newspaper, The Miami Student, the recollections that led me to Oxford and The Res, now the Shriver Center, remain vibrant and enduring. My four years with The Student were filled with indelible experiences, incredible friends and colleagues, including a young Ohio woman who later became my wife, and the inimitable opportunities to contribute to the quality of and commitment to journalism at Miami.

It was inspiring and life-altering.

My grandparents’ store is gone, and the number of broadsheets and tabloids around the country are fading away. Passages and perspectives provided by time. And there’s one more: so much of me is because I spent so much time with them.

As such, I will always love newspapers.

Bobby Goldwater was an active member of The Miami Student and The Men’s Gleeclub before graduating in 1974. After graduation, he went on to have a distinguished career as a sports executive, serving 24 years at Madison Square Garden in New York City and The Staples Center in Los Angeles. Goldwater is currently a faculty director at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C.