I moved to Northern Kentucky forty years and ten days ago, on 13 August 78. Like the city I left (Nashville, TN), my new home had two daily newspapers. Nashville had the Tennessean (morning) and the Banner (evening), while Cincinnati’s respective counterparts were the Enquirer and the Post. (As an aside, both cities went on to lose the evening papers, and both are now one-paper towns.)
In any case, we would joke about having a morning paper called the Enquirer, given the existence of the lurid national tabloid of the same title. Among other things, we laughed at the contrast — the Cincinnati morning paper was rather conservative and staid. (The Post was considerably yellower.) It wasn’t the sort of place one would go for outrageous celebrity gossip or Bigfoot stories.
But these days — ah, these days. Given the news that the National Enquirer‘s cozy arrangements with the Current Occupant of the White House have attracted prosecutorial interest (and an immunity offer for its publisher), lots of folks have taken to social media to hoot, jeer, and otherwise engage in tribal identification rituals. The only problem is that many of them are calling out the Cincinnati paper, to the point that the daily has posted the following on its Twitter feed:
| WE |
| ARE NOT |
| THE |
| NATIONAL |
| ENQUIRER |
| ＿＿＿＿＿__ |
And I used to think it was a challenge when people would confuse my dad (Warren S. Moore, Jr.) with me (Warren S. Moore, III).