Home-Town Daily

On her bedside table at a rundown Cleveland rooming house, a friendless old woman scrawled a note just before she died: "The only thing I own is my dog. Please take it to the Press. Ask them to find a home for it. I know the home they find will be a good one." Such confidence in the Cleveland Press (circ. 310,858) is neither misplaced nor unusual. Seven out of every ten people in the Cleveland area, boasts the Press, read the paper. Politicians curry its favor, mothers raise children from booklets on child care supplied by the Press, teen-agers dance at its free parties, and every year hundreds of oldsters (decked out in boutonnieres and corsages provided by the paper) celebrate their 50th wedding anniversaries at a party thrown by the Press. The Press puts its relationship with its readers simply: "Four members in your family? There are five. The fifth is the Cleveland Press."

Last week the Press, the oldest and one of the most successful dailies in the 19-paper Scripps-Howard chain, celebrated its 75th anniversary in real family style. All Cleveland was invited to the party in the city's biggest auditorium, where Toastmaster General George Jessel led an array of stars in a "Salute to Cleveland." Throughout the week visitors streamed through the paper's aged plant (to be replaced by a lakefront building) and tributes poured in from all over the world. "If Cleveland has grown great," glowed Ohio's Governor Frank Lausche, "a good deal of the credit goes to this worthy and distinguished newspaper."

Heard Around Town. If the Press itself has grown great, a good deal of the credit goes to the paper's bouncy, bantam-sized (5 ft. 5 in., 128 Ibs.) editor, Louis Seltzer, who started on the Press at 18 as a police reporter, and at 56 is Cleveland's leading citizen. Even the rare Clevelander who does not read Seltzer's paper or support his crusades can hardly avoid the sound of Seltzer's persuasive voice. He is such a popular public speaker that he delivers as many as seven speeches in one day, this year alone has made 246 public addresses. Known to most of Cleveland and to all his staff simply as "Louie," Seltzer relies on "what I hear around town" to set the paper's course, records what he hears in a notebook always handy in his pocket.

No one listens to the Press more respectfully than state and city politicians. Frank Lausche, whom the support of the Press raised from municipal judge to mayor to governor, recently offered Editor Seltzer the late Robert Taft's Senate seat, but Seltzer stepped aside for Cleveland's Mayor Thomas Burke. Then the Press set about electing a political unknown, Anthony J. Celebrezze, to Burke's job. Last week Democrat Celebrezze, without party backing, was elected with one of the biggest majorities ever won by a Cleveland mayoralty candidate. Leading an unknown into office is also smart promotion: a rising public figure becomes known as the ''Press candidate," and readers look to the paper for news of his career. But even the paper's hand-picked candidates know that the support of the Press is not irrevocable. The Press may turn on its favorite politico in a flash and expose his misdeeds in blazing Page One stories. The Press's rule for measuring the worth of a public official: Is he good for 1) Cleveland and the Press? 2) Ohio? 3) the nation?--in that order. The city's streets are decorated with monuments to the Press's own benevolent attitude toward Cleveland, everything from a birdhouse at the zoo to a $10 million throughway.

No Brass Polish. The Scripps-Howard brass do not care too much for the Press's habit of not running the chain's canned editorials and features, ignoring advice on makeup, etc. But no one would think of interfering with Louis Seltzer's successful operation. Every day he holds a meeting at which rotating members of his 160-man editorial staff (including office boys) speak their minds. He is lavish with his praise when he thinks a story has been well done (although he is inclined to let subordinates do the dirty job of bawling out errant staffers). Seltzer still moves through the city room at a lope, prankishly snaps reporters' suspenders, has been known to box them playfully across the ears with a tightly rolled copy of his competition, the Cleveland Plain Dealer (circ. 285,540) or News (circ. 145,258). And his office is always open to a stream of readers who want the Press to do something about something. "We try," says Louis Seltzer, "to keep this paper as close to the people as is humanly possible. That, I believe, is the salvation of newspapers in a fast-changing world."

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