The sun seemed to be stuck, hanging right at the top of the tree line as if to say, “You think it’s hot now? Wait, there’s another three hours of daylight, and I’m gonna make it a smoker.”

Shadows had moved away from my shady spot at the edge of the pines, so I decided to truck it to the barn for some libation and conversation. I could see from a distance I was not alone in escaping the heat.

It was Labor Day and the opening of dove season. The usual group was invited for the festivities: a barbecue, good company and a dove shoot that opened the season for a bird hunter.

We seem to forget that early September in North Carolina sometimes rivals the middle of July in heat. But you get used to it. I remembered other dove shoot occasions when the heat was bearing down and the doves didn’t fly until that persistent sun settled a little lower behind the trees.

The boys from Slim’s put the hunt together. Boys meaning longtime customers who used Slim’s country store as a meeting spot to catch up with news from around the neighborhood.

We were hunting a field I was familiar with. Many years before, our Ducks Unlimited group had used the same acreage for our annual hunt after all the festivities celebrating DU the weekend before. The field remained basically the same, about a hundred acres of cut-over corn, maybe too big for our little group to cover, but most of us were there for the camaraderie, not necessarily to shoot doves, though we were convinced that doves were the best eating in the bird wild game repertoire.

I stopped by the truck on the way up to the barn, unloaded my shotgun, stuck it in the back and pulled out the old camp chair I keep in the rear cargo area with my cooler.

“Well, just ask Bryant,” Johnson said.

I picked out a shady spot under the tin overhang of the old tobacco barn, leaned back against the ancient log walls and said, “Ask Bryant what, old friend? You know I will reply even if I don’t know the answer. But with my plethora of knowledge, it’ll be good.”

The good old boys had a chuckle, and Johnson followed up with, “You were in the newspaper business forever, even owning one. How come they’re vanishing like ripe persimmons in the middle of possum country?”

If anything, Johnson had a way with words.

“It’s simple,” I replied. “Check out that smartphone you’ve got in your back pocket.”

“It’s in the truck. I don’t carry that fool thing with me everywhere I go.”

“Good for you, Johnson. But let’s see how many of us have that ‘fool thing’ on our person.”

Five out of the seven of us had phones. I was like Johnson. Mine was in the truck.

“Well, they’s good in emergencies, like if old Andy over there . . . ” and he pointed at Andy, who was dozing, his head lolling a bit. Andy perked up, saying, “What are y’all talking about?”

“Like I was saying,” Johnson replied. “If that old geezer over there went out to the far end of the dove field, tripped and shot himself in the foot, he could use his phone to call for help.”

“Speak for yourself,” Andy said, “And I ain’t a geezer. I’m just a little older than you, as I recall.”

“Technology,” I said, reaching in the cooler for a bottle of water. “That was the final nail in the old coffin. Your phones, your computers, and above all else, the internet ushered in the demise of newspapers as we once knew them. But . . . ” I paused for effect, “there was one other thing that shut the industry down, including the big boys. Newspapers you would have thought would be here forever. Gone. And the reason?” I stood up and grabbed a ham biscuit from the communal cooler that Johnson had put together the evening before.

“What?” Andy said. “What?”

“Money, greed and the unalterable knowledge that the business has been here forever and that’s where it will remain.”

Johnson said, “You’ve been in the newspaper business a long time. What’s your reasoning the industry failed so fast?”

“Hey, guys,” I said, “we here to shoot birds or talk about newspapers?”

“It’s still too hot. The birds aren’t gonna fly until almost sundown. Give us your opinion, Tom. I’ve been reading the N&O for nigh on 40 years, and now they don’t even publish it anymore.”

“OK, OK. Here’s what I think, the short version. I started in the business right out of the Marine Corps, just married and a student at Elon. I worked part time catching the press, then moved into the circulation department, then the advertising section as an ad executive. After a while they made me the advertising director. The years I spent doing those jobs convinced me that a medium-sized monopoly newspaper in a small metropolitan area almost has a license to print money. They were extremely successful.”

“If they were a money-making machine, why did they fall so fast?” Johnson asked.

“Just because they were so good at what they did. The big boys came in and bought them all, and then promptly killed the goose that was laying all those golden eggs. They called it economy of scale or something like that. They consolidated all the ancillary efforts to their home base, fired all the old-timers, the folks who had been working at the papers for a long time and had built up a good base of pay, and put the squeeze on expenses, so much so that to get a few more pencils or note paper, a multitude of requisitions had to be filled out in duplicate. They didn’t realize that their cost-cutting was cutting them right out of business.”

I got up, stretched and checked out the spot on the field where I would hunt. It was still a scorching afternoon although the sun was slowly dropping behind the pines. The boys were unusually quiet as I stood there looking to the tree line.

Even I was surprised that I was so depressingly down on the business I had dedicated my life to. But there was one redeeming piece of information I felt compelled to relay to the good old boys. I turned and stood there like a schoolmaster preaching to his wards.

“Boys, there is one great promising revelation I’m gonna tell you about. For the last 10 years of my career, as y’all well know, I worked for a group of people who were not afraid to spend a little money to revise the way we did business. It was led by a young fellow who worked hard and smart. He created a business plan that is now the envy of the industry. This gentleman saw exactly where newspapers were heading and decided to get off the train that was rapidly approaching the destroyed bridge. I can hear him right now saying, ‘If anyone in our community wants local news, they will come to us.’ Now, with the newspaper doing well, with four magazines in major markets and a statewide business magazine, he doesn’t rest on his laurels. He’s always planning.”

I folded up the old camp chair.

“OK, enough of the lecture. I see birds moving, and I’m gonna make for my corner. Y’all be careful, and Andy, make sure you take your phone in case you shoot yourself in the foot.”

The boys laughed and headed out in the field.