COFFEE AND COMPANIONSHIP ARE HELPING MAKE HEADLINES.

Byline: Carol Rock

Those who are quick to sound the death knell of newspapers need to meet two doughnut shop regulars.

At first, there are four or five men sitting on the plastic and metal picnic tables inside the Lyon's Avenue shop. Not much sets them apart from any other group of elder gents talking about the weather, families and the headlines from the pile of various papers strewn between them.

But the heart and soul of the pack are two men in their golden years. After their friends had drifted off to errands or other obligations, Quentin DiMaria, 88, shuffled to the counter to get a cup of coffee, taking his time coming back to the table, where he placed the steaming cup of black liquid in front of his friend, Everett Griffith, 90.

A second trip took just as long, as DiMaria made his way to his seat with his own cup.

As he sat down, Griffith spread the editorial pages of The Wall Street Journal out on the table. "Which one do you want first?" Griffith asks, reading the headlines of each editorial to DiMaria. After a selection was made, he carefully read the byline and the writer's affiliation before reading the opinion piece aloud in a well-modulated voice.

DiMaria quietly sipped his coffee, leaning toward Griffith, hanging on to every word.

It was then that I noticed the hearing aids in each ear as well as the oxygen tank propped next to his stool, where a white-tipped cane was folded neatly.

After finishing the first editorial, Griffith read three more, each time making sure the writer got credit and sometimes explaining to DiMaria details about subjects in the stories. "You want the one about the oil?" he queried. "Yeah, the oil," DiMaria said. "Here's one called Borlaug's Revolution. You want that one?" said Griffith. "What's Borlaug?" DiMaria asked.

"Let's see," Griffith answered, launching into another essay.

As he read, Griffith injected commentary after pausing for periodic sips of coffee. After one piece about agriculture, he said, "People are concerned with peace and war, not farming." DiMaria nodded in agreement.

The shop's steady stream of customers, most of them blue-collar workers, barely noticed the men, but the clerk dishing out the doughnuts said they have been a regular fixture for as long as she could remember.

Griffith, a 30-year resident of Valencia, was a chemist before working his way up to a vice-president slot at Technicolor. He retired after 46 years with the company.

DiMaria was an advertising sales manager for The Wall Street Journal in New York for 16 years before retiring at age 50. He moved to California, thinking he'd stay retired, but couldn't resist the appeal of newsprint, returning to advertising with the now-defunct Herald Examiner in 1979. He left seven years later. "I've been legally blind since 1994," he said. "But I'm still interested in the world's problems. I can't see much or read anymore, so I have friends who help me."

The daily editorial sessions have been taking place for at least 20 years, according to Griffith. "I get little bits of news from the TV, but he gives me the full story," DiMaria said, waving goodbye to his friend before starting the slow walk home. "See you tomorrow."