On her bedside table at a rundown Cleveland rooming house, a friendless old woman scrawled a note just before she died: "The only thing I own is my dog. Please take it to the Press. Ask them to find a home for it. I know the home they find will be a good one." Such confidence in the Cleveland Press (circ. 310,858) is neither misplaced nor unusual. Seven out of every ten people in the Cleveland area, boasts the Press, read the paper. Politicians curry its favor, mothers raise children from booklets on child...
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