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Calling a truce was not so easy, though.
It does not take much time to regain the bitterness of some dismissed Times-Picayune employees who have landed at The Advocate and who still feel that they have been unceremoniously deported. Or the irritation among the reporters who stayed at the Times-Picayune and who find that their rivals are a little self-righteous because journalism is somehow purer if it is presented daily on paper. The entry code on a certain keyboard from The Advocate's office in New Orleans is, for those who are aware, a vulgar blow to the contest.
But last fall, Mr. Shea and Mr. Georges both felt that something had changed at Advance. The Newhouses suddenly seemed open to some sort of agreement.
"I spent six months literally with the most sophisticated people at the top of the food chain in New York," Mr. Georges said in his office, where a double magnum of champagne sat on his desk, sent by a local banker to congratulate him. .
In the end, he and his wife, Dathel, had a deal. The newspaper and the website were now theirs.
"In times of crisis, you can pack your bags and leave or dub," Mr. Georges said, comparing his embrace of a seven-day printed document to residents' refusal to leave New Orleans after Katrina.
Journalists who lose their jobs at The Times-Picayune are fine-tuning their resumes, reviewing their finances, and meeting for a drink at the Howlin 'Wolf, a bar in front of their office.
Last month, when the Pulitzer Prize winners were announced, The Advocate set up a payment system for the first time, limiting the number of articles that non-subscribers can read for free online. After six years of battle and a big newspaper in the city, New Orleans journalists are now turning to the real newspaper war: surviving in the newspaper industry.
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