There is an old saying in newspaper offices that the obituary page is the most-read section of the paper.
Every editor smiles a little when they hear it because, while it has become something of a cliché, it is also remarkably true.
People read the obituaries for many reasons. Sometimes they are looking for the name of a lifelong friend.
Sometimes they are checking on an elderly neighbor they haven’t seen in a while. Sometimes they are simply taking stock of the community they have called home.
But I think there is a deeper reason.
Obituaries remind us that a newspaper is, at its heart, the written history of a place and its people.
Every week, we fill these pages with school board meetings, football games, business openings, crime news, church events and civic celebrations. Those stories tell us what happened.
Obituaries tell us who it happened to.
In a world increasingly driven by algorithms and doom scrolling, it is easy to think only the newest thing matters.
Social media pushes yesterday’s posts into oblivion. News feeds refresh by the second. Photos disappear after a day. Digital life is temporary.
A printed obituary is different. It becomes part of the permanent record.
I fear the current state of technology has, increasingly, handed the duties of obituary writing over to the machine.
Fewer college journalism programs teach obituary writing. I still teach it, in my day job, at Tarleton State University.
There is a checklist of nine things every obituary needs. My students learn and practice.
I was reminded of the value in this when I received a text message from a student earlier this week:
Her: “Thanks for teaching us to write obituaries, I wrote one today.”
Me: “Who for?”
Her: “My granny.”
Me: “I’m so sorry you are dealing with that. I’ve been there, but it is a special honor to get to write that obituary. I’m glad you were prepared.”
Sometimes it’s the practical lessons that matter the most.
As touching as that exchange was, a similar text, a year ago, was equally as heartbreaking.
Another former student texted me then and said, “I never imagined when you taught us to write obituaries that the first one I’d have to write would be of a three-year-old child.”
She was working her first newspaper job in Kerrville covering the flood.
The skill matters and the history matters.
Decades from now, someone tracing their family history may pull an old newspaper from a library shelf or an archive and discover the story of a great-grandparent they never met.
They may learn where that person grew up, where they worked, what church they attended, the organizations they served, the hobbies they loved and the family they cherished.
No social media profile can replace that.
The best obituaries are far more than announcements of a death. They are biographies written with love.
They capture the little details that never appear on a birth certificate or a census record. They tell us someone never missed a Friday night football game.
They explain how she made the best pecan pie in three counties. They remind us he spent 40 years coaching Little League or that she played the piano every Sunday morning.
Those details are the fingerprints of a life.
As newspaper people, we have a responsibility to treat those stories with care.
An obituary should never feel like a form to be filled out. Every person deserves dignity. Every family deserves accuracy. Every life deserves thoughtful presentation.
That doesn’t mean every obituary has to be long. Some lives are summarized in a few paragraphs. Others span several columns. Length has never determined significance.
Respect does.
There is also something profoundly communal about seeing obituaries in print.
Unlike an online notice that appears only if someone searches for it, a printed obituary is shared with an entire community.
Friends who had lost touch reconnect. Former coworkers attend a funeral. Classmates send condolences. Churches prepare meals. Neighbors mow a yard.
Communities show up because they know.
That is one of the quiet ways newspapers continue to strengthen the places they serve.
In many small towns, local newspapers are among the last institutions still documenting ordinary lives.
We report on the people who built the churches, coached the teams, opened the businesses, taught generations of students and volunteered countless hours without expecting recognition.
When they are gone, their stories should not disappear with them.
An obituary is often the final story ever written about someone.
It deserves the same care, accuracy and respect as every other story that appears in these pages.
Perhaps even more.
Because long after the headlines have faded and the sports scores have been forgotten, those simple columns of names and memories remain.
They remind future generations that these people were here, that they mattered and that they helped shape the community we now call home.
That is why obituary pages continue to be among the most valuable pages in any community newspaper and why we are committed to offering obituaries in print.
They preserve not just deaths, but lives.
Source: Vecteezy.com