IT LASTED FOR JUST SIX SWEET MONTHS. WE barely had time to note its presence, before it was gone again. From July to December of last year, Vancouver upstart Terminal City kept it together, spewing opinionated gonzo reportage all over the hipster hangouts of the downtown core. A Canadian city finally had a street-savvy, culturally credible, weekly newspaper.

Originally founded in 1993 as an alternative to the ensconced yuppie-oriented Georgia Straight, Terminal City has been a bimonthly, a monthly, a website, a weekly and--in bad times--not at all. In good times, it is has been a paragon of independent arts reporting in an era when most alt-weeklies in Canada consider harsh slap-downs of Harry Potter the pinnacle of their indie cred.

When Terminal City (re)opened its doors under new management--namely, publisher Graeme Atwater, the banker brother of founder Darren Atwater--the idea was twofold. First, put an end to a peripatetic publishing schedule and prove that an alternative to an established weekly can survive and thrive in a Canadian city. Second, give Vancouver--a town saddled with generic, unadventurous media--something else to read.

Terminal City published 30,000 copies a week, featuring a collection of rambling columnists--most notably scenester Rob Dayton who, among other things, managed to turn a column about hanging with Gordon Jump (current Maytag Repairman and former boss on WKRP in Cincinnati) into a treatise on the far reach of the small screen. But Terminal City wasn't just a collection of weird slacker-pop moments. The paper's nexus was local issues. The debut issue of Terminal City's latest incarnation, for example, took aim at the city's lengthy bus strike. The cover featured a caricature of TransLink head George Puil on a bullseye backdrop. The feature article demonized Puil in a way no other paper would dare, ending with: "For the good of Vancouver, all future Skytrain projects must be stopped before they are started and George Puil must die." According to Darren Atwater, protestors brandished copies of the issue at city hall and TransLink board meetings.

"Adult content was acceptable and encouraged, there was no censorship," explains former editor Jen Cressy. "Contributors were encouraged to have strong opinions and also to write with personality."

The backbone of Terminal City was its coverage of the independent Vancouver arts scene. This burgeoning cultural community, spanning everything from art-rock to underground film, was the direct beneficiary of the paper's existence. "For a local art show," says Darren Atwater, "Terminal City was the difference between 50 people and 200 people."

The contribution Terminal City made was incalculable. Vancouver has the most sterile media environment in the country. Both dailies, the major TV station, and almost half the community weeklies are owned by Canwest Global. Meanwhile, established weekly the Georgia Straight regularly grosses around $10 million a year. In an interview with The Globe and Mail, its publisher Dan McLeod attributed its success to having made the move from "being a protest voice in our day, to being a service." In an age when "successful" media positions itself as nothing more impressive than a service to consumers, Terminal City was cultural manna from heaven.

Alex MacKenzie, who runs Vancouver's virulently indie Blinding Light Cinema, sums up what Terminal City accomplished in its latest incarnation: "TC acted as a genuine alternative to what many see as a bland print landscape in Vancouver--while growing in fits and starts and definitely struggling with puberty, it showed a potential no other paper seems to. As a weekly it felt imperative, despite its growing pains."

LAST NOVEMBER, I SOUGHT OUT THE TERMInal City staff. We met in their squalid office near Hastings and Main, and wended our way through grimy streets that seemed far away from the glitter of Canada's Pacific jewel. But our destination, a local restaurant which fed them in exchange for advertising space, wasn't open. The staff took turns moaning and peering through the window. Pallid, overworked, and low salaried, they now faced the added indignity of having to pay for their lunch.

Just after grudgingly placing our order at the sushi place next door, a new arrival announced that the TC-preferred eatery was now open. There was an awkward pause. Then, the inevitable: "You guys," someone said. "I'm really broke...I think we should..." The order cancelled, we trooped back to the joint next door.

This was Terminal City in a nutshell. Convinced that they could take a new approach, they tried to invent their own system, fusing potlatch reciprocity with street-level consciousness. But things didn't work out the way they hoped. One month after my lunch with the gang, unsuspecting fans were left holding an upbeat Christmas issue that, packed with ads and indie culture info, gave absolutely no indication the venture was about to fold. Similarly, dining and joking with the hipster staff, I had the impression that I was watching the beginning of something, not its demise.

Says Cressy: "It was a blow, not so much for me but for the media landscape here in Vancouver."

"There is a feeling of sadness in the community," comments Darren Atwater. "[The paper] was just reaching its stride in becoming a credible alternative. Given another six months and an additional eight pages [of ads], it would have really made a difference."

So what put the terminal back in Terminal City? On the books, the venture was breaking even. But when push came to shove, many of the small businesses who supported the paper with ads couldn't--or wouldn't--pay their bills. After six months of losing money, publisher Graeme Atwater decided to pull the plug.

EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT IT TAKES LONGER than six months to get a business on solid financial ground. Even publishers with Conrad Black's deep pockets find that getting a paper up, running and paying for itself isn't exactly easy. From from the beginning, Terminal City was a work of blind optimism perpetuated by enthusiastic editors and writers, but lacking solid financial planning. What happens if the restaurant closes unexpectedly? Without a contingency plan, everybody starves.

The fact that the paper has come and gone so many times probably didn't help this last incarnation either. Readers remembered it, but businesses seemed unwilling to spend big money or sign long-term contracts until the paper proved that this time things would be different.

Darren Atwater cites a slumping economy and argues that the inherent structure of Vancouver's corporate environment is one that preserves the status quo.

"Vancouver is not really an entrepreneurial city," he tells me. "It's all really small retail which has been our bread and butter." Alas, small retailers don't exactly have huge bucks to blow on advertising. And for the bigger fish, it made more sense to buy up space in Terminal City's tamer, more established competitor.

"With the head office in Toronto or Calgary, you don't want to rock the boat," says Atwater. "No one was ever fired for advertising in the Straight in the last 10 years."

The TC staff did their best in difficult times. With Terminal City gone, Vancouver is really only a bit worse off than the rest of Canada's urban centres. This country's so-called "alternative" weeklies come in two basic forms. Most are moribund, paper-thin reads staffed by writers who sit at their desks all day acting cool, waiting for Warner to send over their latest releases so they can scroll amateurish critiques. A few cities have thick weeklies whose editors and writers want to have connection to the community, but--overworked and penned in by advertisers and publicists--produce newspapers only slightly more interesting than their dull daily counterparts.

Not a single city in Canada has a viable rival to take on the established weeklies that are too comfortable or too dependent to shake things up. Terminal City came close. The paper's near-success can probably be attributed to the Vancouver situation, where the contrast between a lively arts scene and a media that couldn't care less is particularly glaring. Terminal City's struggle for survival reflects a determination and demand that isn't likely to go away.

Darren Atwater is now putting together a more sober, volunteer-run monthly called Confidential. And, despite her six months working for the equivalent of $3 an hour and a free lunch, Jen Cressy remains optimistic.

"I find solace in the energy that went into Terminal City," she says. "The people who came out to make it what it was aren't going anywhere. They'll be ready when things swing their way."

So what put the terminal back in Terminal City? On the books, the venture was breaking even.