Every town used to have one. A middle-aged, underemployed know-it-all, who preferred leaning against an ornate fountain grabbing coins and gabbing with strangers to working a standard nine-to-five. One where he was understandably hemmed in by the sticky Velcro walls of a stuffy office cubicle. This was a period when people went into town just to learn the news of the day. There wasn’t much reading at the breakfast table or anywhere else for that matter. Why waste your time deciphering a local printer’s dastardly foray into moveable type when you can just listen to someone yell about it in a deep baritone?
The town crier was a walking, talking town chyron – the colorful ticker that scrolls across your TV screen celebrating factoids and nuggets. These people often dressed in loud garb, foreshadowing the lower thirds that would one day dominate cable. “Sunny day, sonny boy.” That was the level of meteorological insight you could expect from your average crier.
People are always saying “things don’t happen overnight.” But it’s true from time to time, namely, new days. Because one morning, when no one was paying attention, everyone woke up to find a glistening smartphone under their pillow. I remember being puzzled over mine, seeing as our new alarm system was supposed to detect any movement. I like to think I’m the reason the tooth fairy is behind bars today, serving out her sentence at Cambridge Springs, a minimum security penitentiary in northwestern Pennsylvania. I visited her to deliver some contraband after she informed me through an intermediary that floss was forbidden inside. After that, I didn’t make any more trips. With good behavior, she should be out in five to seven.
But that was all it took to put the town crier out of work. Suddenly, people didn’t need his help. They already knew the weather of the day and how exactly the King was getting along with his young pretender.
Yet the town crier remained. He didn’t have any scoops for the townsfolk, so instead he’d start sobbing, believing this behavior would demand attention from the same people who abandoned him for their endless scrolls. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Most people assumed the tears were water since he insisted on standing incredibly close to the same coin-filled fountain.
Then he started to fake it. He’d make up stories, telling half-truths and total lies that were far more entertaining than anything the media reported on.
Town criers have blown their noses but they haven’t disappeared completely. You’ll still see these people around, even if you don’t notice them. They don’t shower. And the only thing they shave is the truth. Tips are appreciated.
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