In 1985, when I was 25 yrs old, I had moved to DC for my first real job after I graduated from college. Every morning I took the metro from my Capitol Hill apt at $450 a month to DuPont Circle. The memory that will stay with me forever are the rows of people sitting and standing while they silently read the Washington Post. The demograph…
In 1985, when I was 25 yrs old, I had moved to DC for my first real job after I graduated from college. Every morning I took the metro from my Capitol Hill apt at $450 a month to DuPont Circle. The memory that will stay with me forever are the rows of people sitting and standing while they silently read the Washington Post. The demographics of the readers were across the board varied in age, race and religion. Everyone was a reader of the current events. You could afford to be well informed when the Post only costed 35 cents at their street vendor box. That’s how the subway commuters started their day with a newspaper that left their fingertips with blurred ink marks and they wore it with a badge of honor.
In 1985, when I was 25 yrs old, I had moved to DC for my first real job after I graduated from college. Every morning I took the metro from my Capitol Hill apt at $450 a month to DuPont Circle. The memory that will stay with me forever are the rows of people sitting and standing while they silently read the Washington Post. The demographics of the readers were across the board varied in age, race and religion. Everyone was a reader of the current events. You could afford to be well informed when the Post only costed 35 cents at their street vendor box. That’s how the subway commuters started their day with a newspaper that left their fingertips with blurred ink marks and they wore it with a badge of honor.