The Weekly Dis
Remembering a colleague, a newspaper and a first-rate pizza purveyor. May they all rest in peace.
RIP Scott "Dutch" Davis
You're probably tired of hearing about how many talented, hardworking journalists once populated the newsrooms across America. One of the best I ever knew recently lost a 15-round slugfest with brain cancer.
I only recently learned the origin of his nickname – as a younger man, he was apparently the spitting image of the "Dutch Boy" from the paint can. Which fits.
Dutch was a terrific editor, a dedicated and wonderful family man and a fast friend to almost everyone he ever met. He could create a sparkling conversation with a railbird clutching a Daily Racing Form at the $2 window or a 2-year-old pushing a Matchbox car across the kitchen floor. He could do both at the same time.
The hole he leaves in The Disrespected Horse Racing Desk is a small vacuum in a giant chasm in so many hearts.
Scott Davis was full of joy. He will be dearly missed.
RIP.
Left: Dutch at work. Middle: Dutch (striped shirt) at a gathering with old newspaper colleagues, September 2024.
The Washington Post killed its sports department ...
... and its Books section. It has also hacked into its International Desk (goodbye Middle East staff, not to mention a war correspondent in Ukraine), pared down its Metro Section, and laid off the reporter who covers Amazon ...
Jeff Bezos, founder of Amazon, is one of the richest men in the world. His net worth is estimated at around $250 billion.
Remember, this is a man who last year spent between $47-$56 million – less than 1% of his net worth – on his wedding. The wedding price does not include the $500-million he spent on his yacht, which he used to sail to his nuptials celebration on the island of San Giorgio in Venice, Italy.
If Bezos took just one billion of his hundreds of billions and put it in a savings account with a compounded interest rate of 4%, the return in a year's time would be $100 million. He paid $250 million for the Washington Post in 2013, which is 18 months of interest on $1 billion, which doesn't even touch one penny of the principal in his net worth.
Bezos' Washington Post used to have no roadblocks when it came breaking news and telling stories that needed to be told from our nation's capital, from across the D.C. Metro area, throughout the U.S. and the world. And the Post made money under Bezos before it didn't.
The Post didn't quite keep up with the changing times, and Bezos' view of the Post's mission, it seems, changed as he embraced the second Trump administration and began to pay the President tribute. One might consider the Wednesday purge of hundreds of journalists as just that – a tribute to the White House. Lick your boots, sir? How about a reach-around?
From NPR:
"This ranks among the darkest days in the history of one of the world's greatest news organizations," former Executive Editor Marty Baron said in a statement Wednesday. "The Washington Post's ambitions will be sharply diminished, its talented and brave staff will be further depleted, and the public will be denied the ground-level, fact-based reporting in our communities and around the world that is needed more than ever."
While acknowledging that the media industry as a whole is struggling, Baron blamed Bezos for exacerbating the newspaper's woes through "ill-conceived decisions," including killing an endorsement in fall 2024 of Kamala Harris for president. That choice, which Bezos took responsibility for, led hundreds of thousands of subscribers to cancel their subscriptions.
For more from Baron, I recommend this recent interview with Tim Miller of The Bulwark.
I spent 43 years in the newspaper business, all of it at two once-brawny mid-majors – The Hartford Courant, founded in 1764, and The Columbus Dispatch, founded in 1871. Both of those titles are shells of what they once were. My understanding of why the industry is imploding is both deep and visceral.
Yet, The Washington Post should be innovative enough to thrive, like The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, and The Onion, among others. That Bezos, who farts Benjamins, has chosen to fail in his stewardship and cite capitalism as a cause for cannibalization is morally reprehensible.
When he ultimately moves on to the next world, it will be the ghosts of people like Dutch, a gloriously ink-stained wretch, who will be pissing on the multi-billionaire before the $500-million yacht sinks to the seventh ring of hell and burns to sulphuric ash.
Actually, Dutch would hold his water. Dutch was a wonderful person. He'd probably strike up a conversation with the dude cleaning the bilge on the yacht, before it sank.
In any case, I detest the new Gilded Age.
On a related front:
Bailey Johnson was the special guest on the latest episode of my Cannon Balls podcast. Bailey came to The Columbus Dispatch right out of college. She did her bit on high school coverage before she was promoted to Crew beat writer and, as her passion was hockey, Blue Jackets backup.
Three years ago, Johnson got her dream job – beat writer covering the Washington Capitals and the NHL for The Washington Post.
Wednesday, she got laid off.
Friday, she sat down with me and talked about the upheaval at the Post, primarily, and her time in Columbus. Of course, Bailey being Bailey, she graciously fielded questions about the surging Blue Jackets. In her next job, she'll be working for the very smart person who hired her.
Send her your good wishes.
Posts
I always plan on writing columns that post on M-W-F for paid subscribers and The Weekly Dis, free for everyone, on Saturday mornings. And so I did this week. I want to acknowledge that there have been technical difficulties with emailed newsletters. Failures to email, it appears. I'm sorry. I don't know the problem. I'm looking into it with my publishing platform.
Monday:
We take an early glance at the Columbus Crew roster and break down all of the tape that can be had on new coach Henrik Rydström.
Michael Arace
Wednesday:
Sometimes, you start in on a subject and you get into it.
I got into it.
Michael Arace
Friday:
I've got a notebook full of Jackets material, and plenty to invent, during the three-week Olympic break. But I wanted to write this one before the god among us pulls on his Team USA jersey in Milano.
Michael Arace
The Crewcible
Tom Reed is a delightful person to have on a podcast. Any podcast.
Strip-mall restaurant fare
Joe's Pizza, 3020 E. Broad St., Columbus (Eastmoor)
I'm an unapologetic East Coast pizza snob. I grew up in a big, Italian kitchen, my Uncle Pasquale owned and ran a restaurant his whole adult life and I went to high school in a neighborhood that was once known as the "Little Italy" of Hartford. I see the grinder shops on Franklin Ave. in my dreams.
And when it comes to pizza, I wish Maple Ave. in Hartford or Wooster St. in New Haven were much closer. While on the subject, if you've only done Broadway shows in New York City and you've neglected the litany of world-class pizza joints in Greenwich Village, East Village or the Lower East Side, go forth, explore and send me photos, and I will paste them all over The Dis.
The last time I was homesick was 26 years ago, right after I moved my family here. Our first exposure to Columbus pizza was a place that shall go nameless. It was (and remains) an institution in the area where we lived (and still reside). It has been around for decades and, on more than one occasion, I've heard it hailed in valedictory speeches during high school graduations.
We move in, we stop at this joint – everyone said we had to – and ... this is not pizza. We never went back.
My father used to say you need three things in life to be lucky – a lawyer you can trust, a plumber you can trust and a mechanic you can trust. I would add a good pizza. There's good pizza in Columbus. I'm not too much of a snob to admit it.
I understand the local affinity for Donato's, although I don't get the price. I appreciate the sweet-crust niche and the old-Parsons Ave. charm of Planks. I hear the people who tout Harvest, Gatto's, Natalie's Coal-Fired, Dante's (and many others) and I am happy they've found pies they love. I've stopped by Pasquale's (a homage to my uncle) in Westerville and was fairly impressed. I'm a fan of Yellow Brick.
Pizza, though, is like milk, eggs and cold cuts – life is better when there is somewhere close to buy your staples, and stopping there doesn't mean you have to sell plasma to pay the rent.
That place for me is Joe's Pizza.
I've written in previous Disses about Stav's Diner, Pita House and Scotty's Cafe. These eateries are situated in strip malls that are across the street from one another. Cross another street, and you get to yet another strip mall. And there is Joe's.
Joe Gillian opened his little place in 1989. Thus, like the aforementioned strip-mall restaurants, Joe's Pizza has survived all manner of economic ups and downs, COVID included, over the decades. There are a number of reasons for this, including the fact that they're run by good people whose fare is utterly reliable.
Feb. 23 will mark the first anniversary of Joe's passing. This was one of those losses that went through the neighborhood grapevine well before the obituary was written. While I can't say I knew Joe well, he ran his place like it was on Sesame Street. I'd walk in, Joe would smile and say, "Hi, Mike. How are the Buckeyes going to be this week?" It was the same for every customer. As far as I can tell, he never forgot anyone's name.
His family stepped into a larger role to keep Joe's Pizza running and, well, he taught them well. They still make their own meatballs and sausage in-house. You walk in and you're greeted with a smile. Your pizza is ready when they say it's going to be ready. Like many establishments of its kind, Joe's has been takeout-only since the pandemic but, then, there was never room enough for many tables anyway. Nothing has really changed. Good people. Utterly reliable.
I always order the large Everything (pepperoni, sausage, onions, green peppers). There's something about Joe's Italian sub that makes it dangerously delicious. It's not that there are piles of meat on it or anything like that. It's toasted and a bit melty, tangy and greasy. It just works.
Cin cin.
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Michael Arace
