In the heart of Lake Placid, Florida, a modest brick building once pulsed with the rhythm of typewriters, the scent of fresh ink, and the laughter of children weaving between printing presses. For decades, it housed The Lake Placid Journal, a family-run newspaper that became not just a source of local news, but the backbone of the Delaney family’s identity.
The story begins generations ago when Suzanne Wilson’s great-grandparents left Indiana for Florida, settling first in Okeechobee. There, they bought a local newspaper and began a journey that would stretch across decades and shape the identity of their descendants. Later, the family made their way south down U.S. Highway 27 to Lake Placid, a close-knit town nestled just below Sebring. There, they purchased The Lake Placid Journal, a weekly publication that quickly became a staple in the community. Through triumph and tragedy, the Delaney’s persevered. When Suzanne’s great-grandfather passed away, her grandmother Connie took the reins as publisher. The rest of the family rallied around her, transforming the paper into a multi-generational labor of love. where everyone knew your name and your byline.
It was never just a job for the Delaneys. When Suzanne’s great-grandfather passed away, her grandmother, Connie, took the reins as publisher. Each family member took on a role. Her father handled the writing, photography, and layout. Her uncles ran ads and operated the printing press. Her aunts kept the front office moving. Even her great-grandmother, who was deaf, reported stories and handled administrative work.
Connie became known for her weekly column, “Connie’s Corner,” which offered personal reflections and commentary on community life. Suzanne’s father spent time honing his craft at the Tampa Tribune and St. Petersburg Times, but returned home, committed to continuing the family tradition. And so, the torch passed to the next generation.
“We all worked there,” Suzanne recalls. “After school, we’d walk to the Journal and get to work—emptying trash cans, cleaning up offices, playing in the back room until someone needed help.” Wednesdays were “press day,” and that meant getting hands dirty—literally. “We had to stuff Section B into Section A by hand. We’d be covered in ink by the end of the day. But at $2.00 an hour, we thought we were rich.”
It wasn’t just the Delaney kids, though—they brought the whole town with them. The Journal covered everything from high school sports and church picnics to obituaries and wedding announcements. “Every kid in town had their name in the newspaper at some point,” she laughs. Births, graduations, achievements—it was all newsworthy. It was all community.
Suzanne and her cousins were taught by the best: their own family. They learned how to write, how to photograph, how to develop film, sell ads, fix presses, and deliver papers. “My dad always said it didn’t feel like work if you loved what you were doing.”
But as the newspaper industry evolved—and declined—so did The Journal’s future. When the digital age began to cast its long shadow over print, the family made the hard choice to sell. The Journal was acquired by Suncoast Media and eventually merged with Highlands Today. In 2014, the old Journal building was sold to a developer and turned into shops.
Still, the heart of The Journal beats on.
Suzanne’s children, Jake and Jillian, never stuffed newspapers or sold papers outside Publix, but the spirit of The Journal clearly runs through their veins. Jake has found a passion for photography and now holds a leadership role. Jillian has served as editor-in-chief of her school yearbook for two years. Their grandfather—Suzanne’s father—couldn’t be prouder. “He’s thrilled that they’ve found their own way into journalism,” she says. “It’s like our family’s story is still being written.”
For Suzanne, watching her children continue a legacy, even in their own modern way, is a powerful reminder of where they come from. “They may not have known the whole story, but they’re living it now. I think that’s kind of beautiful.”
In a world where local journalism is fading fast, the Delaney family story stands as a testament to what a small-town newspaper can mean—not just to its readers, but to the people who gave it life, one page at a time. The Lake Placid Journal may no longer roll off the press, but its impact is indelible, printed not just on paper, but on the hearts of a family who lived its every line.
