Lyonel Doherty, Times Chronicle

Walking out of the Oliver Chronicle office last week and locking that old door for the final time was beyond strange, almost unreal. 

There was nobody there to say goodbye to, not even a mouse, let alone a ghost of Oliver’s past in the basement dungeon. 

But in my mind I said my farewells to the late Richard Schaffrick and Rob Somerville, two of the Chronicle’s stalwart patriarchs who shaped our community and gave it character.

When I started working here 12 years ago under tough-as-nails publisher Susan Valentine, I was adding to the Chronicle’s history as did many others before me, including long-time owner and shaker Michael Newman, a man who questioned everything.  

Like a kid, I marveled at the fact I could touch a part of the ceiling on my tippy toes, and see bare earth under the stairs every time I came up from the dungeon. The ants and mice loved it, and invited all their friends. 

The days of Rob’s droning printers are over, as is Richard’s history lessons on the fly – the two things I miss the most about the building. I will also miss the times our readers came off the street to express their kudos about an important topic that we put under the microscope. Or the hand-written letters that people spent hours composing on their kitchen tables, complete with spelling errors. But what I won’t miss are the hip-shooters who thought we were part of a conspiracy to elect aliens, or something like that.

Although not pretty, I think the Chronicle building should at least get some sort of heritage designation. Thankfully, the Oliver Museum will preserve some of its contents including a colossal production camera used way back when.

Remember Greg Perry’s cartoons? That was a sad day when his caricatures were taken down from the walls and packed away. My favourite was the one he did depicting the Penticton river channel where he drew everyone and the kitchen sink. The vignette of one character shooting an arrow through someone’s ear and into a cow’s butt may not have been politically correct, but that was Perry’s trademark humour.

Did you know that the Chronicle had a mascot? Well, at least the editorial department did. It was a stuffed beaver sitting on a real piece of wood that was chewed on both ends. I can only surmise that it was obtained to represent all of the eager beavers on staff. 

A lot of sweat and tears were shed, and no doubt a lot of bandaids were used getting the paper out by deadline each week. And while production methods have changed drastically over the years, dedication to finding the news hasn’t.

As the ancient door chimes sing their ditty again, the end of an era really is a cliché here. This building, this second home to many dedicated employees has served its purpose, only to fulfill another, whatever that may be. 

It’s time to say goodbye and refrain from looking back, but only for the memories and the people who made the community what it is today.