Did you catch the news about the golfer who died of a stroke? How about the librarian who checked out? Or the math teacher whose number was up?
They’ve heard them all on newspaper obituary desks. Once known for bad puns and dull prose, those departments were testing grounds for novice reporters and graveyards for washed-up talent.
No more. Today, the craft of writing about death has taken on new life.
Obituaries, at one time seen as mostly a public service, are now viewed as driving audience growth — and revenue.
At The Post, readership surveys show solid gains for obituaries in recent years.
On The Post’s Web site, traffic for obituaries is increasing. Over the past six months, they have drawn nearly three times as many page views as the next most popular “subsection” in Metro, where they are located. Readers can also follow them on Twitter and Facebook.
And while reporters once viewed the obit desk as a form of newsroom purgatory, some at The Post now see working there as a plum assignment.
“History has not been so kind to the beat,” said Adam Bernstein, The Post’s 35-year-old obituaries editor. “But I really do regard it as one of the most important jobs on the paper.”
“We’re different from other parts of the paper in that we’re often writing about stuff that was important 40, 50, 60 years ago,” he said. “Our chief goal is trying to bring it alive in a compelling, fair and vivid way.”
Bernstein and his small staff — writers Patricia Sullivan, Matt Schudel, Joe Holley and editorial aide Lauren Wiseman — crank out nearly 4,000 obituaries a year.
Many are about luminaries. But most are about ordinary locals of lesser note. Post policy is to write an obit about nearly anyone who resided here for at least 20 uninterrupted years and for more years than they lived elsewhere.
“I can’t think of any other newspaper in the world that will write about nearly every single member of the community,” Bernstein said.
There are conditions. The Post won’t publish an obit if the family refuses to divulge the cause of death.
The same holds for prior marriages. “We view marriages as major events, even if it ended 55 years ago and it lasted 25 minutes,” Bernstein said.
Likewise, arrests. “We’re not going to put in speeding tickets,” Bernstein said, “but if someone was convicted and it made the news and it makes sense to include it, we will.”
Capturing a full life on deadline is challenging, so The Post has roughly 150 “advance obits” on public figures that are written and ready to be published the minute a death is announced. The list includes some notables at The Post, but Bernstein won’t name them.
So that the paper is prepared, obits are constantly being assigned when a lawmaker announces he has cancer or a celebrity admits to feeling suicidal.
News obituaries are written for the public. But families may purchase advertisements called “death notices,” which appear on the obituaries pages and typically offer basic — often sanitized — biographical information about the deceased, along with details about funerals, memorial services and donations in lieu of flowers.
Death notices are a significant revenue source, generating millions of dollars a year. “As with obituaries, we’ve also seen an increase in the number of paid death notices year over year,” said Galen Derry of The Post’s advertising staff.
But the greatest potential growth — in audience and revenue — is online. On The Post’s obituaries Web site, visitors may write condolences in a “Guest Book.” For a fee, they can send sympathy flowers or gifts, post a photo or create a customized commemorative book about the deceased.
Looking ahead, it’s not hard to imagine readers being able to click on a link for historical documents and photos tied to obits. Or, readers may routinely submit their own video obits to be posted upon their death.
On The Post’s online obituaries page, Bernstein’s staff contributes daily to Post Mortem, which describes itself as “The blog about the end of the story.” Innovative and quirky, it provides rich detail about the just-departed and takes readers behind the scenes on the death beat. It can also be funny, as when Sullivan ended an item this week with a reminder for readers to regularly check the online obit page. “If you’re not listed there,” she told them, “you’re having a good day.”
Much has changed on the obit desk. But the dark humor endures.
