Thirty years after bombing: Intimidated? No. Thankful? Yes

It’s funny how emotions overtake you when you least expect it.

It’s been a long while — 30 years — since terrorists firebombed the little building on Broadway that housed The Riverdale Press. But from time to time, sometimes out of the blue, I’ll have a flashback to that night and get a lump in my throat, or a knot in my chest.

A report of some new atrocity at a school in Florida or a synagogue in Pittsburgh will bring me back to that night with a shudder.

Surprisingly, though, as I look back on the shock of the bombing and the difficult months that followed, the motion that overwhelms me is gratitude.

Our parents, Dave and Ceil Stein, founded The Riverdale Press and nurtured it until my brother and I took over in the late 1970s. Living up to their commitment to the community wasn’t an easy task, but I have always been grateful for the opportunity.

And though my mother put tremendous pressure on me — as the person in charge of printing and production — when she vowed to the gaggle of radio, television and newspaper correspondents who had gathered at our office’s smoldering remains, “We’ve never missed a deadline, and we’re not going to start now!” I was grateful for the challenge.

Those emotions are important, but they pale in significance when compared to what I feel for the circle of supporters who sustained us throughout our ordeal — including our wives and our kids.

We were concerned that Press staffers might be afraid to stay on the job, or buckle under the strain of publishing from a secret location, squeezed into an inadequate space with makeshift equipment. I am grateful to this day that not one of them faltered.

Led by deputy editor Tom Watson and advertising manager Phyllis Steele, they rolled up their sleeves and got to work with nary a complaint.

I arrived on the scene in the wee hours of our publication day — just a few minutes after I had been alerted by our alarm company that somehow The Press had been set ablaze. By the start of the business day at 9 a.m., I was already exhausted from sifting through the wreckage, talking with firefighters, fire marshals, reporters and police detectives.

Then the phone began to ring. One by one, what my dad had called “Our distinguished alumni” — Former reporters, ad sales people, photographers from across the country reached out to offer their help. If you’ve read this far, you know what I am going to express to them: Unending gratitude.

My next surprise came from the broader community of journalists. Publishers of newspapers large and small offered their condolences and more. Bill Tatum, then the published of the Amsterdam News — perhaps America’s premier African-American journal — was among the first to call. He offered to provide temporary office space and share his production facilities.

New York’s major dailies joined with the city to offer a $50,000 reward for the capture of the bombers — a reward that’s presumably still out there since they have never been caught. And more than 200 newspapers risked retribution when they reprinted The Riverdale Press editorial that had inflamed the terrorists. Once again, I’m so grateful.

There was a mayoral election in 1989, and Mayor Ed Koch and one of his challengers Rudy Giuliani showed up at a rally in front of the hulk of our office, along with Assemblyman Oliver Koppell, Councilwoman June Eisland, and borough president Fernando Ferrer, to show their support. President George H.W. Bush insisted, “This country was founded on the principles of free speech and religious tolerance. I want to make it perfectly clear the United States will not tolerate any assault on these rights.”

A few years later, an FBI agent let me know that the case had quietly been closed. When I reminded him of the president’s promise, he quipped, “Well, he’s not president anymore.” Nevertheless, I’m grateful for the immediate and forceful official outpouring in defense of freedom of the press.

Press editorials had been critical of the incumbent, Ed Koch, and a reporter asked him how he could still show solidarity with the paper. Sure, I get hot under the collar, he answered, “but I don’t throw bombs. I write letters to the editor.”

Most touching were the hundreds of readers who just showed up at the scene, not to gawk, but to give us hugs and mugs of hot coffee, hot cocoa, sandwiches, doughnuts and cookies. Brother Thomas Scanlan — president of Manhattan College — and Sister Doris Smith — president of the College of Mount Saint Vincent — were among the first to arrive.

Before the day was out, several of our advertisers had made important contributions. Realtor Morris Sopher found us a temporary home on the top floor of 5676 Riverdale Ave., where The Press now has its permanent office. Regan Office Furniture provided rental desks, chairs and files. New York Telephone Co., and Con Edison both cut red tape to make sure we had immediate electric and telephone service.

As I write this, the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest have returned — but not from grief. The bombers never succeeded in their attempt to intimidate us. Instead, they taught us an enduring lesson about the power of community.

I am grateful.

The author was co-publisher and general manager of The Riverdale Press on Feb. 28, 1989, when the newspaper’s offices at 6155 Broadway were firebombed. He is now a publisher emeritus.