I have for some time believed that an intangible benefit to those of us who make or have made a living in the media is having access to the rich and colorful folklore of the profession.

Every newsroom has a backlog of tales characteristically its own, and every reporter has his or her own collection of stories that are savored but not often shared, except occasionally when six or seven of us happen to be seated together around a table sipping watered-down tea and eating bad banquet food, swapping war stories like old veterans talking about some long-ago battle on the other side of the world.

I had opportunity to exchange a few recently with an amiable member of the local broadcasting scene, which, for me these days, is an opportunity that doesn’t come along as often as it used to. It was fun, and I was still reminiscing about some old stories long after the conversation had ended, my stories and some of the ones every reporter knows.

Like the old chestnut about a cub reporter who was assigned to cover a city council meeting, his first big assignment. He was back at the office not long after he left. When his editor wanted to know why he returned without a story, the reporter explained that city hall had burned down, so they couldn’t hold the meeting.

Something similar happened to a sports reporter who was assigned to cover a minor league baseball game one afternoon. “Couldn’t get a story, Chief,” he said back in the newsroom.

Since that’s a line any whiskey-swilling, cigar-chomping Lou Grant or J. Jonah Jameson is loathe to hear, the resulting “Why not?” prompted the reporter to explain that a fire started in the dugout and spread into the stands. By the time the fire department had put it out and the emergency crews had hauled the dead bodies away, it was too late to play baseball.

I also like the one about the reporter who didn’t seem to grasp the significance of something that happened at the city council meeting he had just covered. He wrote his article by covering the agenda chronologically, item by item in the order in which they were discussed, which is not the best way to do it. “After a loud argument,” the report ended, “Councilman Smith drew a pistol and shot the mayor. The emergency squad was called, and the meeting was adjourned at that point.”

My favorite, though, is one Tom Wolfe told about the Ship of Sin that had most of New York talking back in the early 1920s. One of the city’s leading newspapers got wind about a ship anchored in Long Island Sound that was said to be a floating vice den. Word was that a man could find all the booze, women, and gambling there that he could ever want. A reporter was sent to check out the story. He never found the ship but did come across a rather comfortable saloon. He spent a week there making up and phoning in some of the most lewd, sensational stories that ever saw print.

The paper was full of them. Half the readers were scandalized, and the other half couldn’t get down to the docks fast enough. When it came out that he’d pulled a Janet Cooke, he got fired but was immediately courted with job offers from three other newspapers.

The story is supposed to be true, but I don’t really care and don’t want to know if it isn’t. I hope you’ll take a look at three stories that are true, in the Living section of this update of Chattanooga Profile. Along with author, speaker, and career coach Dr. Sandy McKenzie, our Around the House feature spotlights two very talented and personable local artists, Michele Anderson and Kayb Carpenter.

It was while preparing their stories that I learned that one of my favorite artists is no longer on the scene. Jim Aparo was a prolific and acclaimed artist whose work has been loved and collected for more than 40 years. I have about 50 examples of his work in my own collection. I don’t own any original Aparo art, regrettably, but I’m very attached to the reproductions I have, contained in the comic books of my youth.

Aparo was the primary artist for The Brave and the Bold during the 1970s. DC Comics began publishing the series in 1955 as an anthology title, but it later became a tryout series for new characters and eventually turned into a team-up book pairing Batman with a different character in each issue.

During Aparo’s tenure as artist, Batman helped Sgt. Rock combat terrorists, joined forces with Man-Bat to extradite a killer who had sought asylum in a Caribbean dictatorship, assisted Mr. Miracle in fighting an evil alien despot who was seeking an eternal youth elixir, battled greedy real estate developers alongside Green Arrow and the Metal Men, solved “The Riddle of the Haunted Museum” with Hawkman, helped the Creeper apprehend the deadly Origami Man, teamed with Blackhawk to stop a Nazi invasion of America during World War II, foiled undersea criminals with Aquaman, joined Ragman to rescue a debutante who had been kidnapped and brainwashed by a radical militant group, and aided Scalphunter in a plan to run medical supplies past a Confederate blockade during the Second Battle of Bull Run.

It was great fun as a kid, and I still enjoy revisiting those old books now. Aparo died last year, not long after completing his last professional work, a cover for a trade paperback reprinting some old Batman stories. Thus, a belated hats off to one of my childhood heroes, an artist who was a great visual storyteller.