Some people only pick up the Flyer when they’re sitting alone in a bar and have grown tired of people-watching. (Drunk people are only interesting for so long.) Others pick it up, glance at the calendar to see what’s going on around town, and quickly deposit it in the nearest trash bin. And we’re cool with that.

But we know there are some devoted readers who have picked up a copy every week for years, and not having the heart to throw them away, have allowed them to pile up into a paper tower in the corner of their living rooms. Okay, we really don’t know this, but we can hope, can’t we?

So if you’re wondering just how steadfast your Flyer allegiance is, take this quiz and then tally up your answers to find out just what kind of Flyer fan you really are.

1. Which current columnist was managing editor when the Flyer took off in 1989?

a. John Branston (“City Beat”) c. Jackson Baker (“Politics”)

b. Tim Sampson (“We Recommend”) d. Andria Lisle (“Local Beat”)

2. Who was the first local politician to grace a Flyer cover?

a. Willie Herenton c. Rickey Peete

b. Marion Berry d. Steve Cohen

3. In the Flyer’s first contest, a lucky reader could win a cruise for two on the Nile and 10 days in Egypt if he/she did what?

a. found a magic flute buried somewhere in the city

b. penned a winning piece of fiction for our sister publication, Memphis magazine

c. was chosen by judges after baring all in the Flyer‘s Hottest Ass Contest

d. did the best Elvis impersonation

4. What was the Flyer’s first cover story?

a. “Model Moms” — a story about child beauty queens and the moms who push them

b. “The Lost Elvis Diaries” — a story of how one reporter obtained Elvis’ journal

c. “Up In Smoke” — a story about the millions of dollars worth of pot eradicated yearly

d. “Poison For Profit” — a story about Velsicol selling U.S.-banned chemicals in the Third World

5. What was the name of the nightclub/bar column by David Lyons that ran in early editions of the Flyer?

a. “Nighthawk” c. “In Beer We Trust”

b. “King of Clubs” d. “The Nightclub Naysayer”

6. Which current radio personality once penned a weekly birthdays column in the Flyer?

a. Twitch from 93X c. Chris Jarman from Rock 103

b. Boogaloo from Hot 107.1 d. Tom Prestigiacomo from FM100

7. What was “Backfire”?

a. the former name of the Letters to the Editors page, now titled “Postscript”

b. the former name for the Flyer‘s classified ad section

c. the name of a “call us with your comments” hotline

d. an early ’90s Memphis band we covered the hell out of

8. What local publication ran “The Fly Swatter,” a spoof of the Flyer‘s “Fly On the Wall” column after we slammed them several times for poor copy editing (among other things)?

a. 901/Elite Memphis c. R.S.V.P.

b. The Commercial Appeal d. Gamut

9. When did the Flyer launch its Web site?

a. 2001 c. 1997

b. 1999 d. 1996

10. Who was the winner of the Flyer‘s first two annual Local Music Polls? (Hint: 2001 and 2002)

a. Cory Branan c. The North Mississippi All-Stars

b. Lucero d. Saliva

11. Which popular Memphis magazine feature got its start in the Flyer?

a. “Ask Vance” c. “Enough Said”

b. “Fabulous Finds” d. “City Lights”

12. What’s the name of the Flyer‘s travel columnist?

a. Walter Jowers c. Ed Weathers

b. Andrew Wilkins d. Paul Gerald

13. In April 1998, the Flyer (and several other alternative newsweeklies in other cities) ran a “This Modern World” political cartoon by Tom Tomorrow that caused an outpouring of letters to the editor and cancellations by some advertisers. What made that strip so darn controversial?

a. It depicted Clinton and Monica Lewinsky “doing their thing” in the Oval Office

b. It contained the work “fuck”

c. It was about gay rights and depicted two men kissing

d. It depicted a big ol’ orgy

14. What was “Stand By Your Band”?

a. the original name for the After Dark music listings

b. a contest where readers voted on what local band might go to Austin’s SXSW

c. the headline for the Flyer‘s first music issue in 2001

d. a Flyer-sponsored concert at Tom Lee Park

15. The Flyer has produced one paper a week since 1989 with one exception. When did we miss an issue and why?

a. 1994 — because of the big ice storm

b. 1990 — because Tim Sampson overslept

c. 2000 — because of an office-wide computer virus

d. 2003 — because of the big wind storm

The Flyer

by the Numbers

2/16/89 date of the Flyer‘s first issue

20 number of pages in that first issue

783 total number of issues, including this one

15 number of staffers at the Flyer at the time of the first issue

45 number of staffers at the Flyer today

3 number of editors the Flyer has had in its history

144 number of pages in the largest issue

99 number of distribution boxes in the area

9, 24 number of delivery people and total hours it takes to deliver the Flyer

619 number of distribution points in the city

250 number of distribution points when the Flyer began

$100 amount of a paid subscription to the Flyer

15 number of paid subscriptions

$1.75 average amount it costs to mail an issue of the Flyer

55,000-58,875 number of papers distributed per week

97 percentage of papers picked up by readers each week

224,900 average number of readers each week

10,000 approximate number of papers distributed in Midtown

75,800 approximate number of readers who own three or more cars

9 average number of letters about Tim Sampson each week

Answers:

1. b; 2. c; 3. a; 4. d; 5. a; 6. d; 7. b; 8. a; 9. d; 10. c; 11. a; 12. d; 13. d; 14. b; 15. d

The Score

Give yourself one point for each correct answer and no points for the incorrect answers. Tally up your score and see where you fit into the Flyer fan club.

11-15 points: Want a Job?

If you scored this high, you know your Memphis Flyer and you know it well. In fact, we’re wondering if you have a life at all. What have you been doing these past 15 years? Either you’ve spent way too much time alone at local bars or you’re just a huge nerd — or both.

6-10 points: Flyer Fan Club President

If you got this many right, you’ve obviously been reading the Flyer for a while, and somehow you’ve managed to absorb some information over the years. We’re glad to have readers like you — you know, not too smart but not too dumb. Kinda like us.

1-5 points: Brain Cells? What Are Those?

Either you’re a new reader or one of those I-just-read-the-Flyer-for-the-music-listings types. Or maybe you just smoked too much ganja back in the day and destroyed all your brain cells. That’s okay. We still love you.

No points:

Okay, we hate to break it to you, but you’re a total loser!

Jackson Baker, senior editor

Fifteen years ago, 1989, was about as obvious a pivot point for me as could be imagined. Early in that year, I got married (for the second time), and at press time that one still looks to be enduring. Later that year, my daughter, Julia, was born — to be followed, two years later, by her sister Rose. (The final lineup was two sons and two daughters — for which circumstance I continue to count myself grateful.)

When the Flyer also got itself born that year, I saw an opportunity to segue back into one of my prior careers, which, besides journalism, had included college teaching and politics. (Included, too, though I don’t normally boast the fact, was some retail work; several times a year, strangers stop me on the street and say, “Hey, you look familiar!” Normally, that’s a result of the frequent TV exposure, including a couple of long-running gigs, that I got after establishing myself as the Flyer‘s political writer. But every now and then it’s somebody who bought a pair of shoes from me at the now defunct Thalhimer’s.)

My first pieces for the Flyer were free-lanced. The very first was a profile of the irrepressible Christian Right leader Ed McAteer — who wanted 200 copies of the story after it hit the street. Later in 1989 came pieces on Pyramid hustler Sidney Shlenker, wrestler Jerry Lawler, and the now deceased political eminence Bill Farris. One thing led to another, and I’ve been regular as rain for more than a decade. Both the Flyer and Miss Julia have grown up a bit since 1989, and I’m still tickled to be in on both deals.

John Branston, columnist

In 1989, I was a reporter for another Memphis newspaper writing about a controversial new downtown arena that was under construction and wondering whether it was symbolic of Memphis on the move or just too big and too expensive and whether the University of Memphis and maybe even a professional basketball team would be happy in it and … wait, this is too depressing to continue.

Mary Cashiola, staff writer

Fifteen years ago, I was an unwitting fashion victim in Atlanta. Besides the fact that it was the tail-end of the ’80s and leg warmers, bright colors, and every day cummerbunds were aiding and abetting fashion don’ts nationwide, I had something else to deal with: the hand-me-down.

I was 11, young enough to still be dressing my Barbies in evening gowns and bathing suits, yet old enough to know what was in style. And it was not me.

We lived in a tight-knit neighborhood, where most of the families belonged to the neighborhood pool and tennis club. Moms played tennis on weekday mornings; kids took lessons in the afternoons; and Dads and doubles got the courts on the weekends. In the summer, there was a swim team (practice every morning at 8). We’d pack a lunch and stay at the pool all day.

All that teamwork made for good neighbors. Unfortunately, good neighbors check on your kids when you need them to, don’t mind getting your mail when you’re on vacation, and will gladly give you their children’s clothes once they grow out of them.

Stupid neighbors.

But I guess we needed them. When I was 11, my sister was 9, my brother was 6, and my younger sister was 3. If there was money to buy clothes — and I’m not sure there was — there certainly wasn’t time.

So how much do kids care what they wear anyway? The answer is “a lot,” especially when I’m wearing starched gray slacks with sharp creases and all the other kids are wearing jeans. The dress I particularly hated had tiny teddy bears all over it and a dickey almost identical to the ruffles that clowns typically wear around their necks. (By the way, the original perpetrator of this look? I know who you are.)

When my parents did buy us new clothes, they tried to prevent fights by getting me and my sister the same outfits in different colors. For years, she was pink; I was purple.

But fifth grade was the last year for matching clothes. The next year, my friends and I spent all our Saturdays at the mall, shopping, loitering, trying on dresses for a prom seven years away. Thus began “the bodysuit years” — and I’ve been a willing fashion victim ever since.

Chris Davis, staff writer

So you want to know Chris Davis? You really want to know the man the M.P.D. regularly refers to as the Pesky Fly? Well, okay, but be warned: The story ain’t pretty.

Myth has it that for breakfast he would eat a stack of pancakes 30-feet high, along with nine pounds of bacon, six-dozen eggs (over easy with a gallon of Tabasco sauce), and a pile of hash browns so large that in 1849 gold miners would often stake claims there. The story goes that Davis (known alternately to his friends as Pappy, Li’l Satchy, Topher, Rat Bastard, and Cool Daddy) would consume the shredded potatoes, miners and all, then spit out their picks and shovels. In fact, a collection of the regurgitated tools were once on display at the Pink Palace museum until Davis, who claimed he needed a snack, stormed into the exhibit hall and ate those too. He would wash his morning meal down with seven buckets of whiskey and then smoke 19 cigars all at the same time before heading down to the North Memphis housing projects, where in the early 1950s he was known to give guitar and singing lessons to many of the poor kids who lived there. Sadly, none, not even that greasy Presley boy, was ever able to master the unique blend of blues, honky-tonk, and gospel that Davis liked to call rock-and-roll.

The Pesky Fly was a notorious insomniac, and so he would dig vast trenches in and around what is now downtown Memphis in order to tucker himself out, before retiring to a 27-foot bed in his vast mansion that once encompassed virtually all of what is now modern Frayser. He would “relieve” himself in those trenches, and many anthropologists now believe that this is the origin of the fourth Chickasaw Bluff and the Mississippi River. The fact is, there are very few records concerning Davis’ strange life. What can be proved is that he was born in Detroit. He was raised in Erin, Tennessee. He graduated with a degree in Theater from Rhodes College in 1989. He was gainfully (and sometimes not so gainfully) employed as a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn, and a king before finally coming to work for Contemporary Media sometime in the mid 1990s. In order to gain access to his files, Davis has asked that we dispel one myth. Many people believe that theater critics are all failed actors. “Not true,” Davis says. “I’m a failed fiction writer.”

Davis spent much of 1989 studying, acting, directing, slinging rice at various health-food establishments, and collecting rejection letters from publishers who seemed unimpressed with his tall tales.

Janel Davis, staff writer

The Berlin Wall had fallen, Colin Powell was the first black chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the Exxon Valdez had spilled 11 million gallons of oil in Alaska. The year was 1989, and I was ugly.

That’s right: ugly. Not the kind of ugly that befalls all adolescents in that uncertain period between cute kid and filled-out teen-ager but the kind of ugly the runs deep below the scars inflicted by taunting classmates: Coke bottle glasse to handle my astigmatism, thick hair in huge braids, gangly gait, and knock-knees. While the Flyer was celebrating its first issue, I was languishing in the lower echelon of the sixth-grade popularity polls.

Since looks were out and athletic talent never bloomed on my branch of the family tree, intellect was my gift. Years of reading and writing the samples required by my father (that’s another story altogether) paid off. In a winner-take-all atmosphere, I declared mental war on my classmates. The stakes were high: Junior high cliques were less than eight months away, and I needed friends. “Genuine” or “bought” didn’t matter.

I parlayed my brainpower into manipulating my classmates for all sorts of things: Homework help? One invitation to a birthday party, please. Class notes? Information about the cute boy, if you don’t mind. Test answers? A tube of flavored lip-gloss with just a hint of color. Thank you very much.

While these requirements were implied but never spoken, I was not to be crossed. Martha Stewart and The Donald had nothing on me. Those were the days.

Susan Ellis, managing editor

In 1989, a Chinese student rebellion rose up in Tiananmen Square. I was 20 years old and in college at Northeast Louisiana University in Monroe, where the revolution was definitely not happening. Instead, David Duke was elected as a state representative and was gearing up for a campaign for the U.S. Senate. I joined NOW (can’t quite remember the connection) and passed out anti-Duke flyers at the Mid-South Fair.

Michael Finger, senior editor

I really don’t remember much about 1989, and my therapists have said it might be dangerous to attempt to do so. “What’s done is done,” says my chief psychiatrist. “Why are they trying to force you to relive those awful days?” I don’t know why, I tell him — something to do with a 15th anniversary issue of something. But what was it again? A book, or a play? A newspaper? No, it comes to me, and then it goes. But when I lie on my little cot at night and press my fists into my eyes to shut out the dreadful images, the phrases “deeply troubled,” “emotional scarring,” and “crimes against humanity” come to mind, for some reason. Then they drift away, and sometimes, if I stuff cotton in my ears to quell the dark voices always whispering at my shoulders, I seem to remember: The alcohol is cool and they swab my temples with cotton and I like that I always do that’s the best part and then they make me lie back on the hard bed with my feet barely just barely touching the steel rail at the end and they fasten the leather straps around my wrists ouch this time they tied them too tight sometimes it’s not too tight just tight enough to feel secure like I’m wearing a nice watch and then it’s always the same It Won’t Hurt a Bit they say You’ll Probably Sleep Through It and I always say to myself I am NOT going to sleep through it this time I am going to force my brain to accept it like a nest accepts and embraces a nest of baby birds just like that nest in the tree outside my room then they take the smooth electrodes and clip them to the leather harness around my head it always messes my hair up and I wish they wouldn’t mess my hair up even for this but they just never listen anymore then they say Ready? and the doctor turns a black knob and I try to see how far he turns it but he blocks my view of the machine every time he knows what I want to know about the black knob is it set to 4 or 5 this time but he won’t let me see and then he flips the switch and the very instant I hear the switch the current flows through me it’s not soft and warm like lying on the sun at the beach son at the bitch son of a bitch ha ha it’s a hard jolt just like it would feel if someone threw a baseball at my head but it feels like the ball hits my head on one side and goes all the way inside and bounces around in my brain and it bruises and rolls and bounces in there at first sending off flashes of light like a sparkler and then it all goes dark and I like it in the dark.

But I’m much better now. They tell me that every day.

Chris Herrington, music editor

In 1989, I was 15 years old and moved to Memphis permanently to live with my dad and new baby brother after growing up in small-town Arkansas. Memphis had already been my cultural mecca for a couple of years. I’d come up on weekends and during the summer to loiter at Memphis Comics & Records on Highland and River Records (then on Park, I believe), both walking distance from my dad’s house in Sherwood Forest. I’d also hunt for records at the main library on Peabody that were from a checklist I’d made based on Rolling Stone‘s 1987 Top 100 issue and the Rolling Stone Record Guide (Dave Marsh-edited blue cover; the good one). In those days I was making the transition from baseball cards to music as my cultural passion, and Memphis Comics & Records was aces on both counts. (Why I was so excited to buy Harold Baines cards for a nickel a pop in their commons sections I’m not sure.)

That summer I was a precocious but introverted soon-to-be sophomore at White Station High School, spending my time taking driver’s education classes, playing tennis at Audubon Park (where I never did really learn how to serve), and scoping records. My tastes at the time were divided pretty equally between alt-rock bands such as the Replacements, Sonic Youth, and the Pixies and hip-hop acts such as Public Enemy, De La Soul, and the Beastie Boys. Earlier in the year, before moving to Memphis, I attended my first concert sans parents –Prince’s LoveSexy tour at the Mid-South Coliseum. But it would be the next fall that Memphis really opened my eyes. After hooking up with another new kid at school –an older guy who’d moved to Memphis from Little Rock –I began hanging out at the Antenna club. Mostly Sunday night, all-ages punk and hardcore shows, but occasionally more adventurous stuff. I saw the Country Rockers, with their drummer “Ringo,” and had no idea what to think. I sat, with about a dozen other people, waiting for Robyn Hitchcock to perform, only to have him walk in the front door of the club at about 2:30 in the morning. It was, to say the least, a world unlike any I’d seen. The graffiti-plastered walls, smoky din, and Bauhaus videos blaring from TV screens (“Telegram Sam,” I remember well) was quite an experience for a 15-year-old kid from Arkansas.

I don’t remember being that aware of the Flyer back then, though I had discovered The Village Voice a couple of years earlier at the library when I spotted Prince on the cover of their annual music issue. It was later in high school that I became a fan of the Flyer‘s then-music writer, John Floyd, whose sharp, opinionated criticism reminded me of what I found so fascinating in the Voice.

Bianca Phillips, staff writer

In 1989, I was a chubby 8-year-old girl in Jonesboro, Arkansas, whose “fat days” were only beginning. Margarine sticks were my lollipops, and I could often be spotted sneaking spoonfuls out of the Country Crock tub in my parents’ fridge. Within the next two years, I would gain so much weight I had to start a Weight Watchers diet at age 10.

But despite my oversized gut, I aimed to be a young fashionista. I rarely left the house in anything but hot-pink or orange Spandex biker shorts and crimped hair in a messy ponytail propped on the side of my head. I was the queen of puff paint and had numerous white T-shirts emblazoned with the bright, decorative glue.

I worshipped the 1980s teeny-bopper gods, like New Kids on the Block and Paula Abdul, and held regular “bunkin” parties with my girlfriends where we’d spend hours singing along with every song on Hangin’ Tough.

I was in fourth grade, and although I aspired to be a teacher, I fancied myself quite the playwright. I wrote several plays for my class to perform during recess, most of which were holiday-themed. I took baton lessons and spent my afternoons hunting for aliens in my front yard with my neighbor. I also spent a considerable amount of time sitting on my fat ass watching TV shows like Growing Pains and Full House with an ever-present bag of Cheetos in hand.

Bruce VanWyngarden, editor

In 1989, I was living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, earning my keep as the editor of that city’s monthly magazine, the cleverly titled Pittsburgh. (Across town, Angus McEachran was the editor of the daily Pittsburgh Press.) My children were both under 10 years old, and free time was at a minimum. My daughter and I were involved in a YMCA program called Indian Princesses. I was Chief Whitewater; she was Princess Running Deer. We wore headbands with feathers and leather vests and sang Raffi songs. Trés chic. That same year, a book I co-authored called Aquarius Revisited, came out. It was about seven icons of the 1960s, including Allen Ginsberg, Hunter Thompson, Ken Kesey, and others. While interviewing them, I avoided mentioning my princess gig.

The best part about my Pittsburgh job was my all-powerful ability to give myself plum assignments, most of which involved things like fly-fishing trips to northern Pennsylvania or a memorable Dream Week baseball camp with the Pirates. I sliced a two-run double in the final game, which made my coach, Steve Blass, very happy. (I suspect a bet with one of the other coaches was somehow involved.) He bought me a beer. And I still have the Pirates jersey with my name running across the back (and down the sleeves).

Federal Express buys Flying Tigers, 1989. Prior to changing its name to FedEx, the comparative upstart in air express vaults to international prominence by buying its former competitor.

Willie Herenton beats Dick Hackett in mayoral election, 1991. Tops in drama, nail-biter election gives Memphis its first elected black mayor, now serving his fourth consecutive term.

The Pyramid opens, 1991. Tomb of doom? Take a look at the Mid-South Fairgrounds and the Coliseum. No Pyramid means no SEC tournament, no Grizzlies, no Calipari, no Tyson-Lewis fight, and no skyline addition.

Belz and Harrah’s fail to get legislative powers to back a casino at Lakeview in DeSoto County, 1992. Tunica and Mississippi get a lock on the casino business, with Memphians contributing $300 to $400 million annually.

Congressman Harold Ford is acquitted in federal court trial, 1993. A guilty verdict would have sent Ford Sr. to prison and possibly derailed the political career of Harold Ford Jr.

FedEx plane hijacker Auburn Calloway is overcome; plane lands safely, 1994. In all likelihood, Calloway intended to crash the plane into FedEx headquarters. Were 9/11 hijackers watching?

St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital commits to huge expansion, 1995. The expansion is a major medical story, an employment story, and a real estate story. Imagine the north end of downtown without it.

Memphis extends the city sewer to eastern Shelby County, 1997. Along with the opening of the first leg of Nonconnah Parkway and Wolfchase Galleria, the sewer extension is a vital ingredient in suburban sprawl.

City begins the systematic demolition of public housing projects, 1997. Hope for residents and the ripple effect are still being felt in public school enrollment and shifting neighborhood demographics.

Belz Enterprises builds Peabody Place, 1998. The culmination of Belz’s 20-year commitment to downtown, starting with the renovation of the Peabody hotel.

AutoZone Park opens, 2000. Dean and Kristi Jernigan build the model for public-private partnerships and turn a derelict downtown corner into a happening place.

Vancouver Grizzlies move to Memphis, 2001. After 30 years of failures, Memphis makes the major leagues. Competition for casinos and U of M Tigers, and the FedExForum outshines the Pyramid.

Mayor Herenton burns bridges with City Council, 2004. They’re not kidding around. They really don’t like each other.

The Tennessee Lottery begins, 2004. A tax on stupidity or a boon to higher education? We’ll see. Government enters the gambling business, and Memphis is the biggest customer.

Q: If The Memphis Flyer is free, how do you make money?

A: By far the most frequently asked question and an easy one. The paper is brought to you by our advertisers. They give us money to run their ads, which we use, in turn, to pay for the Flyer‘s production expenses. You pick up the paper, see the ad, go to the business and buy something, which brings that business income to buy an ad

Q: Why?

A: To paraphrase Flyer publisher Kenneth Neill from the paper’s first issue: to let Memphians know what is really going on in the Bluff City.

Q: How did the Flyer get its name?

A: From a trio of sources all named Dixie Flyer: a train from the early 1900s, which ran between Memphis and Nashville; a trolley decades later that ran between Memphis and Raleigh; and a late 1970s semisuccessful underground newspaper named in honor of those two icons. That Dixie Flyer was actually the inspiration for the paper’s name, since our founding fathers hoped to produce a newspaper (as the first press release said) that was “bold, informative, and entertaining.” Hopefully, we’ve qualified, at least some of the time.

Q: What’s it like to work at the Flyer?

A: Mostly fun. While there are the strain of deadlines and ordinary publishing demands, there is probably no better way to know a city than to write about it, which leads to this question

Q: Can you provide me with ?

A: This question generally asks for something like the lineup of the Memphis in May Beale Street Music Festival or the name of every lesbian bar in town. Or it could be a simple phone number or finding a barbecue contest team willing to be infiltrated by a reporter from a Japanese talk show. So the answer is “probably,” but if you could look up the info yourself, we would be much obliged.

Q: Could the Flyer possibly suck more?

A: Anything is possible.

Q: Is the Flyer a Midtown paper?

A: We would like to think of the Flyer as cityversal.

Q: How much do entertainment listings cost?

A: They are free, which leads us to

Q: Can you list my Aunt Sally’s 80th birthday party?

A: Events have to be open to the public. So, unless you’re planning to invite all 1 million-plus who live in the area, the answer is no.

Q: How do you pick the stories you run?

A: A lot of ways. Sometimes stories are happened upon. Sometimes someone will call with a tip. Sometimes we’ll take a story that’s already been reported and look at what’s not being said or approach that story from a different angle. Most of the time, we work to keep ourselves informed.

Q: What is Chuck Shepherd like?

A: We don’t know because we’ve never actually seen him. Chuck Shepherd’s News of the Weird is a hugely popular syndicated column that runs in some 250 papers across the country. So to better answer your question we asked him to describe himself:

“I don’t have time to answer that,” he said. “I’m way too busy. Population increase has produced many more judgment-challenged people than there were when I started this in 1988, and the growing complexity of society offers those people many more opportunities to make news than they used to have. I’ve got to get back to work.”

Q: Would you like to run my fiction or poetry?

A: In 1997, the Flyer ran a charmingly edgy short story about the Fourth of July by the late John Fergus Ryan. Otherwise, when we run fiction, it’s not on purpose. It’s called a “mistake.”

Q: The Memphis what?

A: FLYER. It’s been around 15 years. It’s on street corners in green boxes. You’ve never seen it in Schnucks? It’s free. Schnucks? It’s a grocery store.

Q: Have you ever been sued?

A: Yes, though there have been more threats than court dates. One Memphis music legend promised to call a lawyer after his band was listed in the calendar as being scheduled to perform at a charity fund-raiser. Turns out he had forgotten about the gig.

Q: Does your staff always agree with the editorials you run?

A: The majority of the time but not always. And sometimes we don’t agree with the editorials quite loudly.