I could finish a dissertation, which detailed how early 18th-century literature split into two experimental genres — one fictional and one factual. Today, those two forms have evolved into the novel and the newspaper.

Or I could do some experimenting of my own. I had a chance to give birth to a different kind of newspaper: an alternative newsweekly, where dry facts are slathered in juicy techniques from the world of the novel.

In retrospect, it was an easy choice. And since my grandfather had recently died, I had enough to purchase a very small store in Germantown, which I filled with a very large typesetting machine. And I had enough left over to keep from starving, until Philadelphia figured out this curious experiment called the City Paper .

City Paper turns 25 next month, and more than a few people still think that I'm Dr. Frankenstein here. Let me disabuse you.

Despite my honorific of Editor Emeritus, if I make a suggestion — trust me — it's almost sure to be pilloried. Which is as it should be. In fact, almost nothing is my doing here — outside of this column, my Loose Canon, which I pretty much get to fire at will.

After 15 years, by 1996, my experiment was both a success and rather profitable. I was also desperately bored. So a decade ago I sold CP to the Rock family (of Rock School of Ballet fame) for more than enough to buy permanent independence. And I turned the reins of management entirely over to my then-partner, Paul Curci, who publishes the paper today.

It's Paul's experiment now, and as chief scientist, we have editor Duane Swierczynski, who's both a noted nonfiction writer and (I think) an awesome novelist. Fact and fiction, the twain do meet in Duane — who also knows how to keep each in its proper place.

As for me, in the last 10 years, I've continued my experiments, especially in public radio. And I've discovered something about creating innovative journalism that's both shocking and simple.

Real media innovation doesn't come from combining one form with another. Nor does it depend solely on technical advances, such as what made newspapers possible in the 18th century, or the Internet in the 20th.

I now think that innovative media comes out of smart social engineering. It's all about how people interact — within an organization, and outside it. It's the way people touch each other on common ground, through a shared set of agreements that give them permission to disclose what they know in ways they've never experienced before.

Now, I've just given you the bare bones of my personal CP story. But I believe that this paper did grow out of a communal network, a social pact that empowered people to connect in almost visceral ways.

So for the upcoming 25th anniversary issue, I'm hoping to weave in memories from early staffers and readers.

So contact me, willya? Chris, Ronnie, Mary, Anita, Michael, John, Donnah, Peter, Sylvia, Violette and especially Nicky, our blessed delivery guy. Anyone who was there, with an anecdote to share, however wonderful or horrible it was at the time. E-mail me a memory, an image, a moment from our birth, and I'll try my best to paint a grand landscape.

But Alex is also a reporter without a voice. Actually, he's capable of speech, but for three weeks Alex has taken a vow of silence.

Is this a symbol of the disenfranchised? Of the impotence of minorities? Of mute reporters too terrified to ask what's on their mind? Sure, and more.

For me, my favorite things from Alex's blog are the hilarious stories about dates with women, where he must play the silent type. And I share Alex's horror when he wanders dangerously into the woods. Having sworn to silence, he has no way to call for help.

I hope you'll look over Alex's blog. Leave a comment, and join in this group effort with your suggestions to help him find a way out of his (and our?) silence.

(bruce@schimmel.com)