The words we bled for the broadsheet

My memories of The Miami Student start with wax, not words. In the mid-1980s, when Bruno’s Pizza slices were 50 cents and dinosaurs roamed Oxford freely, student journalists burned fingers twice a week applying hot wax to two-inch wide strips of news copy spat out of a phototypesetting machine and trimmed with X-Acto knives. We literally bled for, and often on, our work.