Bill Mann

The Onion had one of the funniest tabloid-type headlines ever:

“Balsamic Terrorists Bomb Hidden Valley Ranch.”

In a similar vein, I once did a story for the National Perspirer, er, Enquirer, titled “Your Salad Dressing Reveals Your Personality.”

Absolutely true. But this was well before Trump toadie David Pecker bought the Enquirer.

I was reminded of my tabloid experiences recently while watching the five-part BBC series “Press” on PBS’ “Masterpiece Theatre.”

I worked for the Enquirer between daily newspaper jobs to help pay the rent. The Enquirer paid well, and their paychecks weren’t made of rubber.

When I first visited the Enquirer offices down in West Palm Beach (actually, nearby Lantana) I had no idea the Perspirer was heavily staffed by Brits who’d worked on Fleet Street tabloids. (One of them, the colorful Tony Brenna, now lives in Port Ludlow.)

One Brit reporter confessed, “In your country, journalism is a profession. In mine, it’s a trade.”

Later, I watched in astonishment when this East Ender slammed the phone down and hung up on...Frank Sinatra! The same singer who’d fractured his agent’s skull with a telephone? Yipes.

One day, while on vacation in London, I walked down tabloid row, Fleet Street, and wandered into a couple of editorial offices.

One was England’s biggest music weekly, Melody Maker, who soon after, named me its Canadian correspondent. This gave me immediate access to big Brit groups like Led Zep, Pink Floyd, the Stones, and even two of The Beatles. The bands didn’t care about my gig as the rock critic for the Montreal morning daily. But they wanted U.K. coverage.

The other Fleet Street paper I visited was the tabloid-ish Sunday Express, which asked me to start filing “lively” stories. In those days, I dictated my copy over the phone to London. Expensive calls. One Express piece I did was a story about a town bully somewhere in Oregon. My editor said, “By any chance, were there cowboys involved?” Um, sure, I lied, and added some cowboys. Brits liked cowboys in their stories.

Well, as they said at the Enquirer, why let the truth stand in the way of a good story?

One of the characters on PBS’ “Press” was the Rupert Murdoch-like owner of the tabloid Post, the series’ newsroom focus.

My Enquirer editor, another Aussie, left— to become executive editor of what was then England’s most prestigious paper, The Times of London. He knew what Aussie new publisher Murdoch wanted— to sully the estimable Times with tabloid-type stories.

Murdoch, now owner of Fox News, also took over and down-marketed the New York Post. The Post soon became famous for eye-catching tabloid headlines like the classic “Head Found in Topless Bar.” (Really).

There’s a funny newspaper-industry story about Murdoch demanding an audience with the CEO of Macy’s. The tabloid titan wanted to know why the big department store advertised in the New York Times but not in the higher-circulation Post.

“If you really must know,” said the discomfited Macy’s exec, “It’s because your readers... are my shoplifters.”

— OK. Speaking of print humor, some more great lines lines from the uber witty Dorothy Parker:

“Heterosexuality is not normal, it’s just common.”

“If you wear a short enough skirt, the party will come to you.”

“A hangover is the wrath of grapes.”

“Brevity is the soul of lingerie.”

Along the same lines of Parker’s classic definition of a cheapskate —“someone who throws nickels around like manhole covers” — is an old Hollywood expression: “He has short fingernails.”

That’s showbiz-speak for someone who never picks up a check.

—Locally, I’m surprised whenever I encounter an empty mailbox here. Not even a hearing-aid or Neptune Society circular?

Which reminds me of the best local bumper sticker of the year:

“Port Townsend: Where Old People Come to Visit Their Parents.”

(If you were to buy PT humorist Bill Mann lunch — he has short fingernails — he’ll ask which salad dressing you prefer, and decode your choice newsmann9@gmail.com)