I’ve become the “back in my day” guy. Too often I share stories about how things were different back then. Election Night is one of those times.

When I began as a reporter and editor in the early 1990s, Election Night was the most challenging assignment we faced. We spent weeks planning our coverage, enlisted everyone we could, and raced through the most stressful, hectic and exhilarating night.

Of course the world was different then. Cell phones did not exist. The internet was an idea. News was captured in flip notebooks and film cameras. For a modest team of journalists covering a six-town region, Election Night demanded experience, speed, and composure under pressure.

Today, the races themselves are different. Many local seats go uncontested. Back then, every race was competitive. Democrats and Republicans faced off for town councils and school committees, for General Assembly seats, even for town clerk, town moderator, and town sergeant.

Their parties organized large gatherings — quite literally, parties. Those were “campaign headquarters.” The headquarters were the central hub, but they had “runners” at every polling station. That’s because election results did not travel digitally, within seconds, from thousands of polling machines into a central database. They traveled as paper printouts, spit out of machines, and delivered by hand to election headquarters.

Before those thousands of print-outs from thousands of machines were loaded into cars, poll workers would read out the numbers. The runners – at least one from each party – would scribble down the results and race to their party’s headquarters.

As they entered, the rooms pulsed with anticipation. Volunteers scribbled the numbers onto giant chalkboards or whiteboards, one by one, race by race, one polling location at a time. Sometimes they triggered eruptions of joy, cheers and hugs. Other times, a dull hush swallowed the energy in the room. (In either case, these were the most compelling photographic moments.)

Our reporters and photographers were right there with the candidates and party leaders, watching and reacting as news broke. There were always problems — a polling location mysteriously absent, a machine broken-down, results locked inside. Little Compton was always late.

But after a slow build throughout the evening, news finally broke like a wave late at night – she won, he lost, they won the majority. Every member of the staff, and every freelancer we could trust, was somewhere, nested with some party, scribbling and snapping.

I was typically back in the newsroom, waiting hours for something to finally happen. I ordered pizzas for the team and sketched out the schedule for each paper, each deadline. We owned our own printing press, so we could shift everything to accommodate coverage.

My desk phone would ring (remember, no cell phones), and one of the reporters would read me the results, so we could get started on their story. Then another, then another.

Those closest to the office would swoop in, give a brief report, and begin typing.

Rolls of film were delivered to our darkroom manager to begin developing, so images could come to life while stories were taking shape.

Nothing ever went exactly as planned. A reporter missed something. A plan went awry. A deadline was missed. The press team grew anxious and agitated.

But it was the best night of the year.

Of course it’s not the same anymore. We don’t own our press, and we don’t hold the papers. There are fewer candidates, fewer parties, and fewer actual parties. There are no more runners or chalkboards or the quiet hush of anticipation.

These days, poll workers flip a switch and results post to the Rhode Island Board of Elections website. Everyone in the world sees the results at the same moment. The local reporter has no advantage. You can be at a bar with friends or at home in your pajamas and watch the results the same as anyone else.

That’s how I spent my election night — at home in my pajamas, laptop open, waiting for our scattered news team to post a handful of stories to our website.

There were still moments of excitement. The “blue wave,” both locally and nationally, provided  compelling storylines and juicy headlines. Editor Jim McGaw had a decidedly old-school night. He was on the scene for a political party’s party, at Ragged Island Brewing, where Portsmouth Democrats had a boisterous gathering that turned out to be the story of the night. The Dems swept back into control of the local government, and Jim captured the energy, the storyline, and the best photo of the night.

Across the region, with many reporters working from home and calling candidates for quick quotes, we hastily wrote stories and posted them to our website. As they arrived, I pushed out breaking news alerts for our subscribers. We did a really good job, and there were no mishaps. Everyone did what they were supposed to.

But it wasn’t the same. No angry press men. No missed deadlines. No frazzled reporters. No cold pizza. The night lacked that familiar sizzle, and I couldn’t help but think about the good, old days — as too often I do.

Scott Pickering is publisher of East Bay Media Group. He can be reached at: spickering@eastbaymediagroup.com.