Part One

****** Prologue ******

There is power in a printing press that those outside the trade cannot comprehend. I am not speaking of the power of the printed word which enlightens, informs, entertains or enrages. Instead I speak of the power beheld in the machine itself as it waits for the next run.

It sits like a living thing, as if in anticipation of the coming moment - its units slowly turning. The hiss of the compressed air which is its breath powers the mixing arms back and forth through the ink which is its blood. Aluminum plates screech in protest of their bondage as they are clamped in steel, gripper and tail around the cylinder. A buzzer sounds from the feed end, a signal from the unseen helper that the paper is loaded and ready. The lead craftsman at the other end responds by flipping a row of switches the across the length of a six foot wide control console. The press awakens. Levers turn, seemingly on their own, in response to the computerized commands and the units come to life, one at a time in turn, from back to front. For a minute or two the dead sheets flow through, then another buzz of the motion bell and the press again goes to rest. The lead pressman takes a sheet and examines the density of the ink and the initial match of the color to the proofs. The helper also takes a sheet and checks the fit and alignment. Adjustments are made to the thousandths of an inch, ink flow is dialed in and again the process repeats itself for a second or third time. The foreman is called over for a final approval and signs off on a press sheet. A different tone sounds and the make ready stock is removed. Now the press truly comes to its own. Again the units engage and the image transfers from plate to blanket to paper. The speed increases, and the sound - like that of a hundred stampeding horses can be felt as much as heard as the vibration transfers through the cement floor. The press has been unleashed; the sheet counter is activated and the run begins.

I love to watch a press make ready. Been doing it longer than most who read these words have been alive. And I would still be the contented graveyard shift employee at Sunnydale Graphics if not for what happened last Friday. "What happened?," you ask. Well, it was the evening that woman from the Summers Art Gallery came in for a press check of her brochures.....

********** It's either art or entertainment... Not very entertaining, so it must be art. -My jaded view of some items I have seen go to press. **********

"So, Joyce here are your proofs. I may call you Joyce, is that all right?"

Joyce took the envelope from Richard Herron's hand and gave him a smile. "Yes, Joyce is fine."

"Good! Very good, call me Dick. No reason we can't be on a first name basis. Things are so more informal these days."

Joyce opened the envelope and pulled out the proofs. "This is so exciting! I’ve never had this type of work done before. I've been down to the quickie print for letterheads and... Oh look! My picture in front of a display!"

"And a flattering picture it is. This will be the finest brochure in the rack. Now aren't you glad you took advantage of the offer?"

Joyce wagged a finger at the salesman. "If I didn't know better I would say you are buttering me up to sell me some more printing."

Dick leaned on the counter across from her. "Not me, would never stoop so low. But I might be buttering you up to accept an invitation to dinner."

"I don’t think so. Thank you for asking, but no." She said moving back a bit. "So, what do I look for with these proofs? Everybody is getting the same thing, correct?"

"Somewhat. The city council decided that a display of matching brochures highlighting Sunnydale downtown businesses would draw tourists from the interstate. Each cover is the same style, but personalized with your business name. And of course the inner pages are only about Summers Art Gallery."

"And I get a 15% discount since I'm going with the first series?"

"Sure do, that's the deal." Dick said as he picked up a folded item. "This is a dylux. It shows how the finished piece will look as your twelve page brochure. You will want to proofread this and mark any changes on it with a pen." He then arranged six flat pieces in front of her. "These are color arts. They show you how the color slides you supplied will look on the printed piece. Don't be alarmed that pages 2-11 and 3-10 are side by side, that's called the printer's spread - it's the way it goes to press. If you like the way the color is reproduced, just sign off on the back. The pressman will use it to match the printed piece to what you have OK'ed."

"And that's all there is to it?" Joyce said while leafing through the proofs.

"That's it. You take your time and give me a call and I'll be around to pick them up. Here's my business card."

"This is pretty. A hologram on a business card." Joyce commented watching the image shift in the light.

"Yes, those are my special cards. Don't hand them out to just anybody," Dick picked up his briefcase and headed for the door. Stopping midway through the gallery he turned and came back to her. "I hope I didn't offend you by asking you out to dinner?"

"Oh no, I wasn't offended. I just... well now is not a good time for me."

"I understand. How about I arrange a press check for you at no charge. It would be fun, and all I'll do is buy you a cup of coffee out of the machine."

"What's a press check?" Joyce asked, still examining the card.

"That's when the customer comes in and watches their job run. I could even give you the nickel tour of the facilities and then you get to tell the pressman to 'run it'!" Dick gave her a sly smile. "And since the coffee is lousy, you would not feel any obligation to reconsider dinner."

Joyce allowed herself a small giggle. "You don't give up do you?"

Dick assumed a Napoleon pose. "That’s why I am the top salesman. So, is it a 'go'?"

Joyce considered the offer for a moment. There was something disarming about this guy. Finally she agreed. "Just a press check and lousy coffee.... sure it's a 'go'."

"Great! You won't regret it."

Joyce watched him leave the gallery. "Oh why not?" She thought to herself while still shifting the card back and forth. "He seems like a nice guy."

~~~~~~

Buffy lugged her suitcase down the stairs and left it by the door. She glanced into the dining room and watched her Mom and Dad together at the table chit-chatting over a cup of coffee. It seemed both odd and nice the way the two of them got along now. Lot better than before. "Guess some people can be friends with each other but not married to each other." She sighed. "Bummer.."

Hank noticed Buffy standing in the doorway and rose from the table. "All packed?" he asked her.

"Yeah."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic. What's the matter, honey?" Joyce said while coming over to Buffy for a good-bye hug.

"Oh I don't know if I should go.... I'll be missing school on Monday and... I just don't know if I should leave you here alone."

Joyce noted Hank's irritated expression. "Buffy, your dad has driven all the way up here to get you and Aunt Kathy is you favorite aunt and I will be fine. Now give me a hug."

Buffy held out her arms and embraced her Mom. "Stay out of the candy, OK?" she whispered in Joyce's ear.

"That wasn't funny." Joyce whispered back. She then let go of her daughter and reassured her. "Like I said - I will be fine. Now you go and enjoy yourself for a change. It took your Aunt Kathy 47 years to land a husband. This will be a wonderful weekend for you; get to see all your cousins; get to watch Kathy walk down the aisle - finally; have cake and punch and a good time."

Buffy still felt uneasy. "You're staying home, right? You have Giles' number in case something funny happens, right?"

"The only thing I have planned is that I am going out to Sunnydale Graphics tonight to watch my brochures being printed."

"Don't go by yourself."

Hank looked at his watch. "Buffy, we have to get going. You mom says she will be fine."

Buffy gave her mom another hug as Hank picked up the suitcase. Again she whispered to Joyce. "Don't go by yourself. Call Giles to go with you. I've just got the creeps for some reason."

Joyce walked Buffy to the door and promised. "I won't go out there alone."

Joyce stood on the porch and waved good-bye until they turned the corner. "Wonder why she is so worried? Oh well, I'm not calling Mr. Giles. Not after the candy thing." She reached for her purse and found her wallet. After a few seconds of rummaging around she found Richard Herron's business card. "I'll just have him pick me up. He seems like a nice guy."