There is a candy jar on one of my colleagues desks. It is a new addition to our newsroom and the center of a great deal of talk among my fellow LJs. We contemplate the contents as though analyzing a complicated police report. No one likes the red ones, but everyone LOVES the pink ones. We squabble for the last one. On top of the candy jar is a sticky note. It reads: Yield to Temptation. We do. Regularly.
While board the other day, two of my fellow Lesser Journalists decided to check out the state sex offender website. They were looking for the hottest chick. First of all, the sex offender website doesn't have a whole lot of women. Second, most are hideous. They were successful after trying out this municipality and that city. They found two "winners" in one of the hip towns. These two board LJs contemplated putting together a "Chicks of the Sex Offenders List" calendar. Oh my. I just marveled at how many people on the list smiled for their mug shot. I would not be smiling if that were me.
Speaking of mug shots, we keep a collection of classic mugshots. Updated regularly. We can't help ourselves. Some of them are just too good to pass up. The dude with the broken nose and crazy eyeball. The sex offender trying to look pathetic and innocent. (Someone drew a quote bubble over his head saying, "Love me . . .") We also collect classic headlines and crazy obits. Some poor dude died last week who's name was "Harry Knipple." How sad.
A bad thunderstorm hit today. We worried (OK, just me) about a tornado. Take cover would have sent us to the basement. "All we have down there is rubber duckies," my editor said. "Wha'?" asked one of the newer LJs. Yes. Rubber Duckies. We have 3,000 of them for some kind of charity function that takes place every year.
This past week I called a lady for one of my stories. After I rattled on for a bit about the story and started to interview her, she interrupted me. "Can I call you back? I'm in the bathtub." Noooo Problem. It reminded me of a phone call I made years ago. I don't even know what it was about, but when the woman answered, it was quite obvious that she was in the middle of having sex. As I giggled over bathtub lady I revealed the phone sex story as well. Our sports guy can't stop laughing over it. Even days later he's insisting that I tell the story to other LJs who weren't in the room for the original story.
Today we somehow got on the subject of high school crushes of actors, singers and other famous people. It is hilarious to hear the young kids say, "When I was in school all the girls LOVED Orlando Bloom." He was famous like two weeks ago, right? One girl said she had a huge thing for Dean Cain who played Clark Kent/Superman in the 1990s TV show. She became an LJ because she just loved Clark. When one of the other LJs came back from being out I admitted in code that I felt the same way. "Who are you talking about?" I wouldn't tell him. It's her business. "You just messed with the wrong cat," he said, slightly hurt. I wasn't trying to be mean. Later, guiltily, I admitted that she and I were talking about Superman. "Oh, I already know." As the afternoon wore on we learned that two other LJs - operating independently - emailed him the truth. Then I fessed up, too. "Look at us! We're reporters and we can't keep a secret!" I hollered. "Well he said he was a bad kitty!" one called back. Wrong cat. Not, bad kitty.
Just another day in the newsroom.
TARB
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Hated One
Small town politics is a remarkable thing and I'm getting a first-hand view of the dirty, dirty underbelly. As I report the news (you know, my JOB), I'm getting some interesting feedback from a variety of weird sources. Apparently, I'm getting trash-talked behind my back.
One of our LJs knows, well, everybody. She and a bunch of other LJs from other papers get together and gossip. They're gossiping about me. Apparently the PR chick from one of the school districts that I cover whined about my reporting to this other reporter from another paper. What sent me over the cliff was that she complained about something I never even printed. We changed the story at the last minute because they changed their story. My colleague ripped the reporter for reporting rumors.
(I have a cat's tail hanging over the screen. Now she's rubbing her head on it. I'll have to stop and pet her. Hold on.)
(OK, she's satisfied and in the window now.)
They don't like me because I'm "too pushy." When I was still green they treated me like a buddy. Then the director of HR didn't return my calls. I had a deadline. I called him twice a day for a week. He didn't return my calls or left blow-off messages. So, early on deadline day I showed up at his office and politely offered to wait. I only needed a few minutes. I understand that he's a very busy man, I told his disconcerted secretary. I understand completely, but I have a deadline. I'll wait, thank you.
I waited for nearly 45 minutes before he called me back. It wasn't so bad. They had chocolate in the waiting room. When I finally got into his office, he had to call the superintendent for some information.
"Guess what I have in office?" he sneered over the phone. "A reporter."
He didn't consider me a person. I was a very annoying and disgusting thing. Whatever. I got my quote and my info. My editor grinned when I told him the story.
When I was sick a few weeks ago they had a very important budget meeting. It needed to be covered and I was in no condition to do that. While they were debating cutting teaching positions my fever hit full bore. Shiver, sweat. Shiver, sweat. We sent a very competent LJ in my place (the one from above who knows everybody). She was very professional and introduced herself to everyone. When my editor told me that she would be covering the story, I breathed a sigh of relief - and went back to bed.
The school board? They asked where I was. They made it clear that they didn't trust her reporting. (She's young, but she likes covering meetings.) When she clarified a few things the next day, they attempted to positively rewrite her copy. She turned them down.
This past week I wrote a story that ended up going into both papers. Actually it was two VERY different versions of the same story with shared information and quotes from a state senator. She introduced a bill that would require the posting of salaries and compensation for superintendents. This is in response to a house bill that would cap the salaries of superintendents at the same rate as that of the governor. The senator's take: Local control. Constituents are able to make that decision, but they need easy access to the information.
One superintendent, already peeved because I got some vital info wrong (that happens, sorry to say) gave me a very quick quote and refused to say more. When I asked for the salary info, he curtly told me I'd have it momentarily. He hung up without a goodbye. Within three minutes later the info I requested appeared my inbox. I gleaned a couple of other quotes from a school board meeting. You get what you can, from anywhere you can get it.
The other school board delayed getting me the info (as usual). When they finally got back to me on Monday. They had a list of talking points. Read that as grievances. They had concerns about the administrative costs. They were concerned about having to post information already available through the Freedom Of Information Act.
When I asked for the salary info for the superintendent the other top ten paid employees in the district, they hemmed and hawed. Then I filed a Freedom of Information Act request. I'll hear back sometime next week.
The senator that I interviewed called me today. That doesn't happen. Busy politicians don't call us. We call them and beg for a quote. She called me and wanted to know why I wrote two such drastically different stories. I explained about different school districts wanting to hear from their people and not from the district next door. Then she confided that one district drives her crazy with their complaining while the other does an amazing job on very little money. Believe me, I noticed.
And that bill she introduced? Those complainers might just be the cause of it. The last Superintendent made $300,000. We'll have to see what the current one makes.
"That does it," she said. "I'm filing for the top ten salaries with the freedom of information act, too."
Hornets nest. Shaken, not stirred.
I miss the kids.
TARB
P.S. The Athletic Director I wrote about previously resigned under duress. They even wrote his resignation letter for him. He refused to sign it and wrote his own. The press release regarding his resignation was titled: "Athletic Director Seeks New Endeavors." What a load of bull.
One of our LJs knows, well, everybody. She and a bunch of other LJs from other papers get together and gossip. They're gossiping about me. Apparently the PR chick from one of the school districts that I cover whined about my reporting to this other reporter from another paper. What sent me over the cliff was that she complained about something I never even printed. We changed the story at the last minute because they changed their story. My colleague ripped the reporter for reporting rumors.
(I have a cat's tail hanging over the screen. Now she's rubbing her head on it. I'll have to stop and pet her. Hold on.)
(OK, she's satisfied and in the window now.)
They don't like me because I'm "too pushy." When I was still green they treated me like a buddy. Then the director of HR didn't return my calls. I had a deadline. I called him twice a day for a week. He didn't return my calls or left blow-off messages. So, early on deadline day I showed up at his office and politely offered to wait. I only needed a few minutes. I understand that he's a very busy man, I told his disconcerted secretary. I understand completely, but I have a deadline. I'll wait, thank you.
I waited for nearly 45 minutes before he called me back. It wasn't so bad. They had chocolate in the waiting room. When I finally got into his office, he had to call the superintendent for some information.
"Guess what I have in office?" he sneered over the phone. "A reporter."
He didn't consider me a person. I was a very annoying and disgusting thing. Whatever. I got my quote and my info. My editor grinned when I told him the story.
When I was sick a few weeks ago they had a very important budget meeting. It needed to be covered and I was in no condition to do that. While they were debating cutting teaching positions my fever hit full bore. Shiver, sweat. Shiver, sweat. We sent a very competent LJ in my place (the one from above who knows everybody). She was very professional and introduced herself to everyone. When my editor told me that she would be covering the story, I breathed a sigh of relief - and went back to bed.
The school board? They asked where I was. They made it clear that they didn't trust her reporting. (She's young, but she likes covering meetings.) When she clarified a few things the next day, they attempted to positively rewrite her copy. She turned them down.
This past week I wrote a story that ended up going into both papers. Actually it was two VERY different versions of the same story with shared information and quotes from a state senator. She introduced a bill that would require the posting of salaries and compensation for superintendents. This is in response to a house bill that would cap the salaries of superintendents at the same rate as that of the governor. The senator's take: Local control. Constituents are able to make that decision, but they need easy access to the information.
One superintendent, already peeved because I got some vital info wrong (that happens, sorry to say) gave me a very quick quote and refused to say more. When I asked for the salary info, he curtly told me I'd have it momentarily. He hung up without a goodbye. Within three minutes later the info I requested appeared my inbox. I gleaned a couple of other quotes from a school board meeting. You get what you can, from anywhere you can get it.
The other school board delayed getting me the info (as usual). When they finally got back to me on Monday. They had a list of talking points. Read that as grievances. They had concerns about the administrative costs. They were concerned about having to post information already available through the Freedom Of Information Act.
When I asked for the salary info for the superintendent the other top ten paid employees in the district, they hemmed and hawed. Then I filed a Freedom of Information Act request. I'll hear back sometime next week.
The senator that I interviewed called me today. That doesn't happen. Busy politicians don't call us. We call them and beg for a quote. She called me and wanted to know why I wrote two such drastically different stories. I explained about different school districts wanting to hear from their people and not from the district next door. Then she confided that one district drives her crazy with their complaining while the other does an amazing job on very little money. Believe me, I noticed.
And that bill she introduced? Those complainers might just be the cause of it. The last Superintendent made $300,000. We'll have to see what the current one makes.
"That does it," she said. "I'm filing for the top ten salaries with the freedom of information act, too."
Hornets nest. Shaken, not stirred.
I miss the kids.
TARB
P.S. The Athletic Director I wrote about previously resigned under duress. They even wrote his resignation letter for him. He refused to sign it and wrote his own. The press release regarding his resignation was titled: "Athletic Director Seeks New Endeavors." What a load of bull.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Clap-Out
School is out and I got to participate in a great year-end event yesterday. It's called a "Clap-Out." At this particular elementary school the fifth graders are moving on to the middle school next year. Every year for the past 14 years the students are sent on their way on the last day of school by parents, friends and families. The younger students and all of the visitors lined the hallways. The fifth graders walk through while being cheered and clapped into summer and, in the fall, a new school.
It was a great way to say good-bye to the children and to the school year. The parents gathered at the two balloon arches representing the elementary school colors and the middle school colors. One mother admitted that she cried when she dropped her daughter off that morning. In the gym where the fifth graders gathered, teachers and staff members passed out tearful hugs and said good bye.
When the parade began the children whooped and clapped, slapped five and congratulated the fifth graders. The parents swung into action, cameras in hand, video rolling. Once again, it was an event that was hard to capture. Emotional, yes. I wish I had better pictures.
Once the kids went out to the buses, the teachers and staff followed. As the buses pulled away all of the windows filled with little arms waving good bye. In the parking lot, horns blared and children howled with joy.
"My daughter cried, I cried, my son cried. It was great," one dad said.
What a send-off.
TARB
It was a great way to say good-bye to the children and to the school year. The parents gathered at the two balloon arches representing the elementary school colors and the middle school colors. One mother admitted that she cried when she dropped her daughter off that morning. In the gym where the fifth graders gathered, teachers and staff members passed out tearful hugs and said good bye.
When the parade began the children whooped and clapped, slapped five and congratulated the fifth graders. The parents swung into action, cameras in hand, video rolling. Once again, it was an event that was hard to capture. Emotional, yes. I wish I had better pictures.
Once the kids went out to the buses, the teachers and staff followed. As the buses pulled away all of the windows filled with little arms waving good bye. In the parking lot, horns blared and children howled with joy.
"My daughter cried, I cried, my son cried. It was great," one dad said.
What a send-off.
TARB
New York Comes Calling
Before I ever started this blog I wrote a story about a kid who won an essay contest. He wrote about what it is like to have ADD. He won a huge national award, got to go to a major league baseball game, met a lot of famous people and generally just had a great time. We published his essay right along with the story. It was a really great essay from a really great kid.
Right after the story appeared I got a call from New York. My story was republished on an ADD website that goes to out to 8,000 people every day. That's more than our weekly circulation. It was a nice complement. Then today, nearly two months later, I got another email from New York. A magazine wants to interview this little boy and his family. I put the two in touch.
Since we published that story and published the essay, many people have come to realize that their families were unknowingly being affected by ADD. Months later I'm still hearing great things.
We LJs have small voices. We don't reach a lot of people, but sometimes our voices reach further than we ever imagine.
TARB
Right after the story appeared I got a call from New York. My story was republished on an ADD website that goes to out to 8,000 people every day. That's more than our weekly circulation. It was a nice complement. Then today, nearly two months later, I got another email from New York. A magazine wants to interview this little boy and his family. I put the two in touch.
Since we published that story and published the essay, many people have come to realize that their families were unknowingly being affected by ADD. Months later I'm still hearing great things.
We LJs have small voices. We don't reach a lot of people, but sometimes our voices reach further than we ever imagine.
TARB
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Behind the Lens
Our photographer has a very bizarre sense of humor. One of the LJs arrived at work and found an odd photo of guy's back hair gleaming in the sun taped to her computer. Ick!
He's got a long lens camera and he uses it to capture the craziest things. People doing things they just don't want anyone else to see. Captions to photos that make the rest us snicker. If these things got out, we'd be lynched.
One long boring baseball season our photographer decided to take photos of the guys scratching their crotches. I asked him what pictures he's most proud of. He said this collection of 200 photos - which no one will ever see.
He's notorious for his drive-by shootings. "Did he even get out of the car for this?" Sometimes, no.
Don't get me wrong. This guy has won a ton of awards. One of the high schools has it's walls decorated with his photos. They are remarkable. And his office once belonged to a photographer who went on to become Pulitzer Prize Winner. But his crazy sense of humor?
We love it.
TARB
He's got a long lens camera and he uses it to capture the craziest things. People doing things they just don't want anyone else to see. Captions to photos that make the rest us snicker. If these things got out, we'd be lynched.
One long boring baseball season our photographer decided to take photos of the guys scratching their crotches. I asked him what pictures he's most proud of. He said this collection of 200 photos - which no one will ever see.
He's notorious for his drive-by shootings. "Did he even get out of the car for this?" Sometimes, no.
Don't get me wrong. This guy has won a ton of awards. One of the high schools has it's walls decorated with his photos. They are remarkable. And his office once belonged to a photographer who went on to become Pulitzer Prize Winner. But his crazy sense of humor?
We love it.
TARB
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Bits of Bytes
1) My Vietnam Vet story struck a few nerves. I got a lot of emails and phone calls thanking me. The bitch-slap Marine even got interviewed on the radio. The Marine called and thanked me. "That's the first time I've ever been accurately quoted in a newspaper." I think that's a compliment. Right?
2) I attended a school board meeting this week (and by week I mean Tuesday to Tuesday). I was the hated person in the room. We printed a story this week that the school board didn't want me to print. I'll say it again. My job is not to act as a PR machine for the schools. I'm a reporter, not a lap dog. Good or bad, I report the news.
3) One of my fellow LJ's got reamed by a source. "That's not what I wanted you to print!" the woman screamed. "How could you do this to me!" This particular LJ is young, but she's smart and talented. Bigger newspapers are looking her way; she's got a bright future, but this conversation really upset her. The whole newsroom read over her story and we all agreed that she did nothing wrong. She wrote a balanced and unbiased story. She did a good job and we reassured her of that.
4) I might be covering a teenager who spotted unusual lights in the sky by Wal-Mart. He took video. His librarian told me about it. Hmmmm. Never thought I'd be doing an Alien story.
TARB
2) I attended a school board meeting this week (and by week I mean Tuesday to Tuesday). I was the hated person in the room. We printed a story this week that the school board didn't want me to print. I'll say it again. My job is not to act as a PR machine for the schools. I'm a reporter, not a lap dog. Good or bad, I report the news.
3) One of my fellow LJ's got reamed by a source. "That's not what I wanted you to print!" the woman screamed. "How could you do this to me!" This particular LJ is young, but she's smart and talented. Bigger newspapers are looking her way; she's got a bright future, but this conversation really upset her. The whole newsroom read over her story and we all agreed that she did nothing wrong. She wrote a balanced and unbiased story. She did a good job and we reassured her of that.
4) I might be covering a teenager who spotted unusual lights in the sky by Wal-Mart. He took video. His librarian told me about it. Hmmmm. Never thought I'd be doing an Alien story.
TARB
A Lowly Beat
This is the kind thing that happens at work. We're sitting there quietly, keyboards clicking, papers rustling. Then someone says, "What exactly is 'Sexual Intercourse?'" Snide comments ensue about the educational abilities of said reporter's parents. A lengthy discussion begins that involves all the ins and outs (I couldn't resist . . .) of legal definitions and personal opinions.
As an education reporter it is rare that I have to deal with these kinds of questions. A couple of towns away a teacher got caught in a "relationship" with a fifteen-year-old. Some reporters would salivate to have that kind of story. A couple of jealous LJs in our office certainly had to wipe the drool from their mouths. But me? I'm not a fan of that kind of story.
It's been a week filled with sex offenders. The most dramatic case had the whole metro area talking. About a month ago a man walked by an apartment at about 3:30 in the morning. He saw a little girl sleeping on the couch, opened the door and kidnapped her. He took her to the roof of the apartment and proceeded to molest her. Here's an interesting detail: an illegal immigrant called 911 at about 4:00 in the morning. He risked being deported to do the right thing. He even testified in court. The police showed up. They thought they were being called to a man on the roof, not a kidnapping/molestation of a eight year old.
The officer - with his civilian ride-along in tow - climbed the stairs. The little girl screamed. The kidnapper put his hands up. The girl ran off and disappeared. The kidnapper pushed the officer down and plowed down the stairs. The civilian ride-along tackled the guy. The little girl ran home and awakened her mother. She said she thought the girl just had a bad dream. Then the police showed up. In court, the astounding testimony of an eight-year-old girl will put away a dangerous criminal. He choked her into submission. She still fought against him and refused to put herself in a position where she could be raped. She admitted to liking the part where the police tasered the guy.
I hate these kinds of cases. In the coming weeks I'll interview a elementary principal of a severely underfunded school who spends the summer visiting the homes of every pre-kindergartner in her school. I'll go to babysitting school. I may even visit Chinese Camp. Those other reporters can have their sex-offender/kidnapping/murder/mayhem/chaos stories.
I'll take my lowly education beat, thank you.
TARB
As an education reporter it is rare that I have to deal with these kinds of questions. A couple of towns away a teacher got caught in a "relationship" with a fifteen-year-old. Some reporters would salivate to have that kind of story. A couple of jealous LJs in our office certainly had to wipe the drool from their mouths. But me? I'm not a fan of that kind of story.
It's been a week filled with sex offenders. The most dramatic case had the whole metro area talking. About a month ago a man walked by an apartment at about 3:30 in the morning. He saw a little girl sleeping on the couch, opened the door and kidnapped her. He took her to the roof of the apartment and proceeded to molest her. Here's an interesting detail: an illegal immigrant called 911 at about 4:00 in the morning. He risked being deported to do the right thing. He even testified in court. The police showed up. They thought they were being called to a man on the roof, not a kidnapping/molestation of a eight year old.
The officer - with his civilian ride-along in tow - climbed the stairs. The little girl screamed. The kidnapper put his hands up. The girl ran off and disappeared. The kidnapper pushed the officer down and plowed down the stairs. The civilian ride-along tackled the guy. The little girl ran home and awakened her mother. She said she thought the girl just had a bad dream. Then the police showed up. In court, the astounding testimony of an eight-year-old girl will put away a dangerous criminal. He choked her into submission. She still fought against him and refused to put herself in a position where she could be raped. She admitted to liking the part where the police tasered the guy.
I hate these kinds of cases. In the coming weeks I'll interview a elementary principal of a severely underfunded school who spends the summer visiting the homes of every pre-kindergartner in her school. I'll go to babysitting school. I may even visit Chinese Camp. Those other reporters can have their sex-offender/kidnapping/murder/mayhem/chaos stories.
I'll take my lowly education beat, thank you.
TARB
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Best Friend, Biggest Fan
I heard them long before I ever saw them coming. On Friday afternoon I sat in my car at one of the high schools. Hot and steamy air oppressed us all day long. The clouds billowed into threatening storms with spikes of sunlight streaming through. I napped for a few minutes in my car and then I heard the rumbling.
"Here they come," I said to myself. I grabbed my notebook, pen and keys and hopped out into humid air. At the stoplight the Hogs thundered.
So here's the question: What does an education reporter have to do with a bunch of bikers? It's a weird juxtaposition.
The bikes thundered around the corner into the lot at the high school. Parents waiting to pick up their kids sidled into their cell phones, calling around to ask what heck is going on. The bikers revved and rumbled. Students pressed against the windows of the classrooms, jaws dropped. The kids playing tennis stopped and stared. They pulled to the end of the lot in front of the art classrooms and revved some more before turning off their engines.
As I approached, one of the art teachers came out of the building and into the leather-clad loving arms of his wife. This is his 37th year as an teacher at this particular school. After next week he is retiring to paint - what else - the chrome on Harley's. He and his wife belong to a biker club and she even rides her bike to work. She's a special ed teacher. He designed her tattoo. And their granddaughter's, as well.
His wife has been planning this surprise for weeks. She let me in on the secret, but asked me not to say a word. The Principal appeared, walkie-talkie in hand. Once he figured out that all was well he went over and shook hands and gave the teacher's wife a hug. I asked him what brought him outside this afternoon.
"I started getting calls that the school was being invaded by bikers. This is even better. He's a great teacher," he said.
The revelers (and rumblers) headed over to a local eatery where friends, family, former students and community members were invited to spend the evening. A live band would be playing at around nine.
Here's the kicker for me with this story. It's not just about a teacher retiring and the great surprise by his wife. When I interviewed her a couple of weeks ago she and I sat together, looking at pictures of her husband and his artwork. At one point her eyes teared up.
"You know, he worked two jobs for eight years to put me through school," she said, her voice choking with emotion. "He started talking about keeping the second job, but I made him promise to quit as soon as I started teaching."
Best friend, biggest fan.
"He's easily hoodwinked," she said with a laugh as the Harley's started to rev again.
What a great story.
TARB
"Here they come," I said to myself. I grabbed my notebook, pen and keys and hopped out into humid air. At the stoplight the Hogs thundered.
So here's the question: What does an education reporter have to do with a bunch of bikers? It's a weird juxtaposition.
The bikes thundered around the corner into the lot at the high school. Parents waiting to pick up their kids sidled into their cell phones, calling around to ask what heck is going on. The bikers revved and rumbled. Students pressed against the windows of the classrooms, jaws dropped. The kids playing tennis stopped and stared. They pulled to the end of the lot in front of the art classrooms and revved some more before turning off their engines.
As I approached, one of the art teachers came out of the building and into the leather-clad loving arms of his wife. This is his 37th year as an teacher at this particular school. After next week he is retiring to paint - what else - the chrome on Harley's. He and his wife belong to a biker club and she even rides her bike to work. She's a special ed teacher. He designed her tattoo. And their granddaughter's, as well.
His wife has been planning this surprise for weeks. She let me in on the secret, but asked me not to say a word. The Principal appeared, walkie-talkie in hand. Once he figured out that all was well he went over and shook hands and gave the teacher's wife a hug. I asked him what brought him outside this afternoon.
"I started getting calls that the school was being invaded by bikers. This is even better. He's a great teacher," he said.
The revelers (and rumblers) headed over to a local eatery where friends, family, former students and community members were invited to spend the evening. A live band would be playing at around nine.
Here's the kicker for me with this story. It's not just about a teacher retiring and the great surprise by his wife. When I interviewed her a couple of weeks ago she and I sat together, looking at pictures of her husband and his artwork. At one point her eyes teared up.
"You know, he worked two jobs for eight years to put me through school," she said, her voice choking with emotion. "He started talking about keeping the second job, but I made him promise to quit as soon as I started teaching."
Best friend, biggest fan.
"He's easily hoodwinked," she said with a laugh as the Harley's started to rev again.
What a great story.
TARB
Friday, June 8, 2007
A Quick Update
The "Bitch-Slap" quote made it into the paper. I even got a compliment on the story and a request from a radio host about how to contact the ex-Marine who made the quote.
The big desk belonging to Eus made the move to the office just fine. She proudly dotes over that desk.
I hate the phrase "going forward." At a school board meeting tonight that phase was used 7 times. Six of those were by one board member. From now on I'm keeping running total regarding usage of that phase.
It's late (or really early). I'm going to bed.
TARB
The big desk belonging to Eus made the move to the office just fine. She proudly dotes over that desk.
I hate the phrase "going forward." At a school board meeting tonight that phase was used 7 times. Six of those were by one board member. From now on I'm keeping running total regarding usage of that phase.
It's late (or really early). I'm going to bed.
TARB
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Bugged
Our Sports Guy's Monday started weird. Two bizarre voice mails left the rest of us giggling. A grandma called demanding that he write something about a semi-athletic granddaughter. The other one involved a confused woman asking about mouth guards. He made me listen to that one.
I hate the term "Going Forward." I deal with politicians. I hear it a lot as they discuss their plans. I bitched, but another reporter called me on the fact that I had complained about "Going Forward" before.
"Remember?" she asked.
"Yeah, but not with these people," I said. "There must be something that bugs you?"
"I hate 'Trials and Tribulations!'" she said with a southern accent.
"I can't stand, 'These Ones' or 'Those Ones,'" another LJ joined in.
"The one that gets me is 'One of the Only.' If it's really One of the Only, that still means it could be one of hundreds. I hate that."
"'Couple Few.' What's with that?"
"So Sports Guy, what's your least favorite thing?"
"Grandmas calling me," he grumbled.
TARB
I hate the term "Going Forward." I deal with politicians. I hear it a lot as they discuss their plans. I bitched, but another reporter called me on the fact that I had complained about "Going Forward" before.
"Remember?" she asked.
"Yeah, but not with these people," I said. "There must be something that bugs you?"
"I hate 'Trials and Tribulations!'" she said with a southern accent.
"I can't stand, 'These Ones' or 'Those Ones,'" another LJ joined in.
"The one that gets me is 'One of the Only.' If it's really One of the Only, that still means it could be one of hundreds. I hate that."
"'Couple Few.' What's with that?"
"So Sports Guy, what's your least favorite thing?"
"Grandmas calling me," he grumbled.
TARB
Keeping Scavengers At Bay
Yesterday I was thanked for my morality. That kind of thing doesn't happen in most other kinds of jobs. When was the last time you were thanked for your ethics?
The Athletic Director at a local high school was fired. Well, not exactly "fired." His contract was not renewed which is pretty much the same. Understand, this is a decent guy who got caught up in a political situation.
"You know the day I found out I picked up my four year old son and I could look him in the eye and know that I did the right thing," he told me.
The thing he did is support a coach that the administration wanted gone. He inherited the situation and didn't know that he was supposed to give a bad evaluation to the coach.
So I caught wind of the situation and started making calls. The athletic office said he wasn't in. The schools PR person said they were making some changes, but they were not prepared to make a statement at this time. Ummmhummm.
A few minutes later the AD called me back from his cell phone. Panicked. I reassured him that I wanted to get the truth out there. My story would reflect the truth of the situation. He refused to comment on the record. But off the record he spilled his guts. "I'm putting down my pen," I told him. "If it's not in the notebook, it's not in the paper."
All I had were two no comments. That's not a story.
My third call went to the president of the school board. She apparently didn't get that memo about not making a statement at this time. I chatted with her before I asked the money question. And she proceeded to run her mouth about the AD being let go.
Confirmation.
I now had a story. I had to call back the AD and let him know that I would be printing something. He was panicked again. This poor guy lost his job, is looking for work elsewhere and now the paper is printing a story about it. My editor stood off to the side watching me handle this interview.
I explained that we would be printing something. That because I had gotten on the record confirmation that he was let go and that nothing scandalous happened, nothing I printed would reflect badly on him. If anything the school board looked like idiots.
"This is your opportunity," I told him. "Now is your chance to say something on the record. " So he did. And he ended up looking like a saint. He talked about his appreciation for the staff, coaches and students. Particularly the students.
I always could count on him for a good quote.
That's when he thanked me for my morality. "At least you're not like these other people. You're not under their thumb."
I don't work for the school board. I work for the people of this community. That's where my loyalties lie.
Everyone must have had time to think about things over the weekend. The PR chick called on Monday morning begging me not print the story. She found out that the president of the school board talked. The school board chick called too, begging me not to print anything. I called them all back and assured them that I would be printing something. They were crushed.
Then this morning my editor asked me to rewrite the story. The director of human resources met with the AD and they are looking at keeping him on.
I called the AD. After an conversation with a lot of off the record quotes. (Really good ones, too.) I finally asked him the question that had been bugging me the whole time.
"Do you really want to continue working for these people?" I asked.
There was a very long pause. "I want to continue working with the coaches and the kids," he said. "I love this place. The people here have been very welcoming."
So the story has been heavily edited, but at least it will run.
Hopefully this will stop some of the scavengers who like to tear apart decent people.
TARB
The Athletic Director at a local high school was fired. Well, not exactly "fired." His contract was not renewed which is pretty much the same. Understand, this is a decent guy who got caught up in a political situation.
"You know the day I found out I picked up my four year old son and I could look him in the eye and know that I did the right thing," he told me.
The thing he did is support a coach that the administration wanted gone. He inherited the situation and didn't know that he was supposed to give a bad evaluation to the coach.
So I caught wind of the situation and started making calls. The athletic office said he wasn't in. The schools PR person said they were making some changes, but they were not prepared to make a statement at this time. Ummmhummm.
A few minutes later the AD called me back from his cell phone. Panicked. I reassured him that I wanted to get the truth out there. My story would reflect the truth of the situation. He refused to comment on the record. But off the record he spilled his guts. "I'm putting down my pen," I told him. "If it's not in the notebook, it's not in the paper."
All I had were two no comments. That's not a story.
My third call went to the president of the school board. She apparently didn't get that memo about not making a statement at this time. I chatted with her before I asked the money question. And she proceeded to run her mouth about the AD being let go.
Confirmation.
I now had a story. I had to call back the AD and let him know that I would be printing something. He was panicked again. This poor guy lost his job, is looking for work elsewhere and now the paper is printing a story about it. My editor stood off to the side watching me handle this interview.
I explained that we would be printing something. That because I had gotten on the record confirmation that he was let go and that nothing scandalous happened, nothing I printed would reflect badly on him. If anything the school board looked like idiots.
"This is your opportunity," I told him. "Now is your chance to say something on the record. " So he did. And he ended up looking like a saint. He talked about his appreciation for the staff, coaches and students. Particularly the students.
I always could count on him for a good quote.
That's when he thanked me for my morality. "At least you're not like these other people. You're not under their thumb."
I don't work for the school board. I work for the people of this community. That's where my loyalties lie.
Everyone must have had time to think about things over the weekend. The PR chick called on Monday morning begging me not print the story. She found out that the president of the school board talked. The school board chick called too, begging me not to print anything. I called them all back and assured them that I would be printing something. They were crushed.
Then this morning my editor asked me to rewrite the story. The director of human resources met with the AD and they are looking at keeping him on.
I called the AD. After an conversation with a lot of off the record quotes. (Really good ones, too.) I finally asked him the question that had been bugging me the whole time.
"Do you really want to continue working for these people?" I asked.
There was a very long pause. "I want to continue working with the coaches and the kids," he said. "I love this place. The people here have been very welcoming."
So the story has been heavily edited, but at least it will run.
Hopefully this will stop some of the scavengers who like to tear apart decent people.
TARB
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Testing the Bitch-Slap
The other day I went to a panel discussion with a group of five Vietnam Vets. Every year for the past 25 years they have been coming to the high school to talk to the students about their experiences. These men pull no punches. They lay it on the line and speak some uncomfortable truths. I'm sure there are plenty of people who just don' t want to know the dirty bits of war, but these men lived through that whether they volunteered for it or not.
The men talked about joining up and coming home. They talked about what they saw and did and did not do. They talked about this current war and what that means for this new generation. They didn't mess around.
They talked to the students about the role of the media then and now. The students didn't seem to understand that what they see on tv isn't an accurate representation of what is really happening in Iraq and Afganistan.
"What you see on tv isn't even one tenth of one percent of what is really going on," one of the men said. "When was the last time you saw a disemboweled body of a soldier on tv? It happens every day in Iraq. And they just can't show you what it smells like. That's what I'll never forget. The smell."
One of the men was in information. He said he would go out with Walter Cronkite and his film crew. That night their story about the mission would appear on the evening news. He said he didn't recognize the mission. What he saw standing next to Cronkite and what Cronkite reported had nothing to do with each other. The war became about the numbers - VC killed compared to our soldiers. "It became a football game," he said. "I'll tell you this I always hated the term 'Light Causualties.' There's no such thing when you are the causualty."
At the end of the discussion, one of the men read a passage from his book. He wrote about his experieces as a grunt in Vietnam. The students who arrived chatty with their talk of summer vacation listened to him read about comeing home in complete silence. I've never heard a quieter classroom filled with students. They responded to his emotional reading with resounding applause. Afterwards many of the students went to the front to shake the men's hands.
When the students finally left I went to talk with the them.
"Sorry about bashing the media like that," one of the guys said.
"Believe me, I wasn't offeded. I'm not anything like Cronkite. I'm what's known as a 'lesser journalist,'" I said.
"Not in our eyes," one vet said. "All you have to do is tell the truth."
I do my best.
When I got back to the office, the news room was full of talk. The editors were both gone and we were busy, as usual, but that never stops us. We were talking about our big stories, our hardest interviews and the good and bad editors we've had. One reporter talked about a murder that happened at his college campus. He ended up meeting big, angry football players in dark parking lots. Others were bizarre stories of oddball crimes. Then the conversation switched to what it takes to be a good paper, a good editor, a good journalist. One reporter talked about an editor who never stood up for her reporters, who always played it safe and never risked offending some portion of the readership.
"Jesus! Grow some balls!" I growled.
"Yeah! What she said," one of my more conservative colleagues laughed.
I can't stand sticking my neck out and then getting executed infront of our readers. My editor, he's pretty good. He stands up for us when he needs to and never lets us down when we need him most. Thank God for that.
Of couse with that Vietnam Vet story I'm giving him a little trouble. One of the Vets talked about some of the kids testing them with questions that are meant to get a rise out of their classmates.
"That's when we bitch-slap them back into place," the vet said. ("I don't think you can put that in the paper," he immediatly said. "I know," I answered. "But I'm gonna try.")
We'll have to see if the "bitch-slap" makes it into print.
Small joys for a Lesser Journalist.
TARB
The men talked about joining up and coming home. They talked about what they saw and did and did not do. They talked about this current war and what that means for this new generation. They didn't mess around.
They talked to the students about the role of the media then and now. The students didn't seem to understand that what they see on tv isn't an accurate representation of what is really happening in Iraq and Afganistan.
"What you see on tv isn't even one tenth of one percent of what is really going on," one of the men said. "When was the last time you saw a disemboweled body of a soldier on tv? It happens every day in Iraq. And they just can't show you what it smells like. That's what I'll never forget. The smell."
One of the men was in information. He said he would go out with Walter Cronkite and his film crew. That night their story about the mission would appear on the evening news. He said he didn't recognize the mission. What he saw standing next to Cronkite and what Cronkite reported had nothing to do with each other. The war became about the numbers - VC killed compared to our soldiers. "It became a football game," he said. "I'll tell you this I always hated the term 'Light Causualties.' There's no such thing when you are the causualty."
At the end of the discussion, one of the men read a passage from his book. He wrote about his experieces as a grunt in Vietnam. The students who arrived chatty with their talk of summer vacation listened to him read about comeing home in complete silence. I've never heard a quieter classroom filled with students. They responded to his emotional reading with resounding applause. Afterwards many of the students went to the front to shake the men's hands.
When the students finally left I went to talk with the them.
"Sorry about bashing the media like that," one of the guys said.
"Believe me, I wasn't offeded. I'm not anything like Cronkite. I'm what's known as a 'lesser journalist,'" I said.
"Not in our eyes," one vet said. "All you have to do is tell the truth."
I do my best.
When I got back to the office, the news room was full of talk. The editors were both gone and we were busy, as usual, but that never stops us. We were talking about our big stories, our hardest interviews and the good and bad editors we've had. One reporter talked about a murder that happened at his college campus. He ended up meeting big, angry football players in dark parking lots. Others were bizarre stories of oddball crimes. Then the conversation switched to what it takes to be a good paper, a good editor, a good journalist. One reporter talked about an editor who never stood up for her reporters, who always played it safe and never risked offending some portion of the readership.
"Jesus! Grow some balls!" I growled.
"Yeah! What she said," one of my more conservative colleagues laughed.
I can't stand sticking my neck out and then getting executed infront of our readers. My editor, he's pretty good. He stands up for us when he needs to and never lets us down when we need him most. Thank God for that.
Of couse with that Vietnam Vet story I'm giving him a little trouble. One of the Vets talked about some of the kids testing them with questions that are meant to get a rise out of their classmates.
"That's when we bitch-slap them back into place," the vet said. ("I don't think you can put that in the paper," he immediatly said. "I know," I answered. "But I'm gonna try.")
We'll have to see if the "bitch-slap" makes it into print.
Small joys for a Lesser Journalist.
TARB
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