JOURNALISM 101

“These kids are all Journalism majors, Jim.” Said, Ted Drake. “All pre-reqs are out of the way, this is the reason they’re attending college.”

“The reason their parents are shelling out fifty gazillion dollars a year?”

“Those are the lucky ones. The rest will be using what you teach them to pay off student loans. So teach them well, my friend. Or weed them out."

“Weed them out? Aren’t we here to inspire young minds?”

“Not,” said Ted. “That’s the job of their high school journalism teachers, parents, friends, misguidance counselors, whoever. By the time students get to me. Or you. They should be self-inspired, committed and clicking on all cylinders. If you come across a student who isn’t a motivated self starter and, most of all, curious then encourage said student to major in something else. Home Economics, Literature or Elementary Education. It’s not too late to change.”

“Alright.” I said.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see who’s who.”

FIRST DAY OF CLASS.

“Good morning, my name is Jim Mallam, I am standing in for, Ted Drake. I’ll be teaching two classes a week, Monday and Friday. My goal is to tell you what to expect once you get into real world journalism. I’ll expect you to take hand written notes throughout the class. Now can anyone tell me what I’ve just said?”

“Yes, I can.” Said a young man with almost waist length hair and an annoying nasal wheeze.

“Okay, stand up, let me hear it.”

“Good morning, my name is Jim Mallam, I am standing in for, Ted Drake. I’ll be teaching two classes a week, Monday and Friday. My goal? Tell you what to expect once you get into real world journalism. I’ll expect you to take hand written notes throughout the class. Now can anyone tell me what I’ve just said?”

“Wow! Did that come from your notes?”

“I never take notes, I just listen and repeat stuff.”

“What’s your name?”

“Kendall Davis.”

“Learn to take notes, Kendall. Write only what’s important. What’s the most important thing I said?”

Another student stood up. “My name is Devon Williams.” She held up her notebook, primarily for my benefit and read. “To tell you, meaning us, your students, what real Journalism is like.”

“Wrong.” I shouted out.

Devon sat down, disappointed. “What did I miss?” She asked.

Another student got up. I’m Jamal. “Your goal, you said, was to tell us what to expect In real world journalism.

“That’s close, Jamal. Not quite there.”

Another student rose up out of his seat with confidence bordering on arrogance. “Yeah.” He said, chewing a piece of gum, “yeah, first your standing in for Ted, teaching classes on Monday and Friday. Your goal is to tell us what to expect once we get into real world journalism. I don’t know if your telling or teaching. You seem a little conflicted there.”

“What’s your name?” I asked. I hate him.

“Ian Edwards”

“First, good job nailing down the essence of my message. Did you take notes?"

“Does it matter?" Asked Ian.

“Yes, it matters, Ian Edwards.” I really hate him now.

“Why?” He asked.

“Your writing a story, your editor is firing questions at you, questions you haven’t even thought about. He doesn’t want to hear, I don’t know or I’ll find out. If you rely on your memory you will make mistakes. If you misquote someone or cause your publication to have to retract a statement your head will be on the chopping block. And pray, pray your forgetfulness doesn’t land your paper in court, at that point kiss your career goodbye."

"I'm Julie Castro. Why are we deconstructing your class introduction? I don't think this is what I signed up for."

"Watch the news tonight, Jules. How many times does the President introduce new cabinet members? How many times does a politician introduce a new bill in congress? Ever watch the NFL Draft? It's all introductions. Same with the Academy Awards, sporting events, concerts. Half your career you'll be covering introductions and announcements."

Julie continued standing. "My name is Julie not Jules I think your being a little bit disrespectful."

"Okay, fair enough, Jules, does it anger you that I got your name wrong?"

"It does. It proves your unprepared."

"Then imagine someone with the outsized ego of a political candidate, a pro athlete or a rock star finding his or her named misspelled in the morning paper? In a story you wrote. If you can't get the name right what else is wrong? Jules, I'm talking to you."

"I don't make those kind of mistakes. I was editor of....."

No? Spell my name, Jules."

"You said Mallam?"

"I said spell it Jules, not say it."

"M A L U M?"

"Jules My name isn't spelled with a question mark. And since you spelled it wrong which is a sign of horrible disrespect and unpreparedness on your part, I will continue to call you Jules. If you walk into a news room with the arrogance you displayed here you will be called much worse than Jules. Listen up, all of you, don't tell me in the middle of a lesson that this isn't what you signed up for. Every lesson has a purpose, a meaning and a reason. Before objecting wait until the class is over then ask questions. And Jules, I only give nicknames to people I like."

CLASS DISMISSED

SECOND DAY OF CLASS

I walked in after everyone was seated, looked around and was pleasantly surprised to see I hadn't lost anyone. I wasn't expecting Julie to show up but there she was. The much hated Ian Edwards was in attendance dressed in a three piece suit with bow tie, no doubt calling attention to himself. Devon already had her note book out with a variety of writing instruments. I'll bet she was the teachers pet in high school. "Okay ladies and gentleman, first things first. Jules, can you spell my name? And keep in mind that I just played a sold out show last night after which I announced my candidacy for President and was a first round draft pick for much loved Supersonics. I'm reading the morning paper and see my name. Go"

Julie stood up, smiling. "S U P E R S T A R"

The class erupted.

"I have to admit after that intro your comeback was excellent. We'll try again next Monday.

"Okay quick review. What did you learn yesterday?" I asked.

Kendal rose up and looking at his notes said "We're going to be covering a lot of introductions and announcements like political announcements sports and rock stars."

"Great anyone else?"

Adrian rose. "Spell the name right."

"Yes absolutely. This is especially true of the not-quite-famous. They're climbing that ladder and any mistake you make will be perceived as a slight, an insult. and may cost you an exclusive interview somewhere down the line."

"Has that ever happened to you?" Jules asked.

I've never spelled a name wrong. and I've always managed to get small details correct. I'm obsessive about fact checking.

Ian stood up, gum in mouth. "I always felt it was more important to capture the feeling of a story. As well as facts of course."

“Ian sit down. First never address me while chewing gum. It’s disrespectful. You want feelings, get a job writing greeting cards.

Ian sat, looking a little dejected. Who raised this strange person?

The class laughed and I wanted to stop there, I made my little joke (at Ian’s expense) but this lesson needed something more. “We all have feelings. From feelings come expectations, expectations foster joy or disappointment, emotions. From emotions come good and bad memories. I’ll share one memory I have. I was sent to cover the execution of Gary Jo Duffy. Anyone remember him, ole Gary Jo? The class was silent. I continued. “Gary Jo Duffy had killed eight people, three college coeds, two children, a grocery store manager and two teenage boys walking down the road after their car broke down. Eight People over a three year period. I expected this execution to make me sick, literally sick to my stomach. I was against state sanctioned killing. That’s just how I was raised. I wrote in my note book: State Murders Gary Jo Duffy. That was going to be my lead off line. Grab the readers attention. When Gary Jo was first arrested the press and television news made him out to be a monster. They described who he killed, where each body was found, when each victim was killed and how each victim died. Each case was more gruesome than the next. I had all that info and I was still against the death penalty. Don’t trust the state that takes pleasure in killing a man. Even if that man’s a monster. My mother’s words not mine. The day of Gary’s execution mom’s words and beliefs were embedded in my head.

“So they turn him into a monster and he remains a monster until he receives his sentence. Death. Then he’s forgotten. The matter of, Gary Jo Duffy, has been put to rest as far as the public is concerned. Death penalty cases are automatically appealed. Just in case he didn’t commit the 8 murders he already confessed to. At this point the anti-death penalty advocates get involved. Instead of being a monster he becomes the victim. From monster to victim. A victim of child abuse, a victim of drug addiction, a victim of women who didn’t love him, including his mother. He couldn’t keep a marriage together, couldn’t keep a job going, Pretty soon everyone feels sorry for Gary. Don’t kill Gary, Gary’s had a rough life. Give Gary another chance. I was team Gary until I did a deep dive into the lives of his victims and how they had suffered, how their families had been destroyed. He was a monster. I had to balance My sure knowledge of his crimes and his victims and my feelings for the death penalty in general. This is a balancing act we all must take into account.”

“Did you become pro death penalty?” A student named, Adrian asked.

“I got my note book and turned to the page where I had written my clever first sentence, State Murders Gary Jo Duffy, and drew a line through it.”

CLASS DISMISSED

THIRD DAY OF CLASS

Covering a traffic accident. I wrote everything on the board before class.

What happened? “An accident.”

Where did it happen? “Location and address.”

When did it happen? “Time of day make’s a difference.” I said.

Who was involved? “Also important. Who are THE PEOPLE involved?”

How. "How did the accident happen?

“How sometimes takes a little research. Sometime we don’t know HOW until the accident investigation team has finished its work. If your up against a deadline you can look at the obvious and make an educated guess. Slick roads, car hits tree, deer wandered into the road. Always, Always get the who, what, where, when and how before you start taking statements.”

Sandy, a shy young girl who hadn’t said anything put her hand up.

“Yes?”

she stood up. “Do you think we’ll be covering a lot of accidents because my brother was killed in an accident, I don’t know if I could handle it.”

“I think I’m looking at an, Elementary Education major?”

“What?” Asked Sandy. “Elementary Education?”

“Sandy get out your notes from yesterday. Turn to feelings. What did you write about feelings? Read it to me.”

Sandy was now embarrassed. The room was silent as she flipped through the pages. “Okay, I wrote get job with greeting card company.”

“Is that all?”

She looked at her note book again. “Feelings, expectations, joy, disappoint, good and bad memories. Oh and State Murders Gary Jo Duffy.”

“Alright. So using just those words How would you start your story. What’s your first sentence?”

Sandy shifted from one foot to another, looked at her notes, finally spoke. “Duffy PTD: Feelings, expectations, Joy, disappointment, good, bad memories.”

“PTD meaning put to death?”

“Yes.” Said Sandy.

“Not a bad first sentence. The girl's thinking on her feet.” I said. “A little grunge, a little gonzo it got my attention.”

The class broke into applause. Sandy took a bow and sat down, visibly relived.

Jules looked over at Sandy, "congrats you've been Mallamized."

After the cheers died down I said, “Sandy do you think you could balance your bad memory with the job of reporting a car accident?

“Wow, this class is better than therapy.” Said Sandy.

Okay not the answer I was looking for but I continued on. “Apart from the who, what, where, why and how there is a concept I learned a long time ago from an old reporter named, Lenard Gate. Gate taught me the idea of Fanning Out. Or expanding the story. This is what I came to class today ready to teach.”

I glanced around the room and noticed everyone taking notes.

“Lenard spent 40 years working for a small town newspaper. He reported on little league games, baking contests, county fairs, funerals, the local bowling league, elections, court cases, everything you could do in a small town, Lenard had it covered. My first job out of college was writing obits. Not the wars, elections, revolutions I thought I’d be covering. The world was going crazy and there I was stuck in the basement writing death notices. Lenard always said there was enough news in this town to keep a good reporter busy for a lifetime. And he stressed Good Reporter. I wanted to know what Lenard knew.”

“What did, Lenard know?” Asked Jules.

“Lenard knew how to make a story fan out.”

“What’s that?” Devon wanted to know.

“So one day I’m in the basement writing obits and Lenard calls. Get down here fast, Jimmy, big accident on Old 42 and it’s starting to fan out. Like Devon I had no idea what fanning out meant and before I could ask, Lenard said drive west on Main you’ll see the smoke. So I followed his, somewhat limited, instructions and in five minutes found an ugly, massive pile up. A gasoline truck had collided with a dump truck and in between was a Volkswagen camper van with five kids in it.”

“Oh my gosh.” Sandy said putting her hand on her chest.

“The two truck drivers died in the blaze but somehow the kids in the camper made it out alive. Lenard was getting their story by the side of the road. I came running up and he says, traffic’s piling up Jimmy go see how everyone’s holding up. So now I’m walking through dozens of parked cars asking folks if they’re okay. The first thing I noticed was the range of emotions. Some folks were scared, some were angry, other’s were bewildered. One thing everyone had in common was that they all had to be somewhere else. About the fifth car I checked was a young couple, she was pregnant and they needed to get to a hospital. So I jumped into oncoming traffic, which was moving at a snails pace, and managed to stop a guy willing to drive them to the hospital. In every car stuck on that highway was a story. There was a Marine trying to get back his base. There was a den mother with five rambunctious cub scouts in the car. She was going crazy. A bunch of smart-ass high school boys who had taken one of their dad’s cars joy riding found themselves in trouble when dad reported the car stolen. Everyone had a story because of the story happening right in front of Them. That’s fanning out. I got my first writing assignments following up some of those stories.

“Did you get out of doing obits?” Asked Ian.

“Not at all. In fact one day I was really struggling with this piece about a 15 year old girl who had committed suicide.”

“How did she do it?” Asked Sandy

“She hung herself.”

There was a small collective gasp from the class.

“I found out from friends and family that she wanted to be a movie star and had plans to go to Hollywood. Of course her parents were not supportive of the idea. They’d heard all the horror stories about young girls in Hollywood….”

“The Black Dahlia?” Someone interrupted

“Yeah. They were very frightened for her. But instead of letting it go and letting her find some other interest as young teens will do they continually nagged her about it.

“Poor thing.” Devon said. “She was only fifteen.”

“Exactly,” I said. “So I’m writing and rewriting when Lenard comes along. He looks at my notes and says, no support from parents, made fun of in school, wants to be a movie star. Write it like she’s Marilyn Monroe. If the town can’t crown her the newspaper will.”

Laughter from class.

“We got a yearbook photo, touched it up a bit, wrote the obit like she was a movie star and published it in the entertainment section of the paper along with a list of her favorite movies.”

“Did anyone think that was in bad taste?” A student named Terrell asked.

“No.” I said. “Unfortunately Our efforts were overshadowed by the fact that she hung herself wearing her sister’s wedding dress five days before her sisters wedding.”

“Was there any fanning out from that story?” Devon asked with some interest.

“We didn’t pursue anything.” I said. It’s not a story I talk about a lot.

I heard someone ask, “Why not?”

“We tried to grant a young girl’s wish and succeeded in making her look like a joke. Police photos of her hanging in the wedding dress leaked. One person wrote, ‘This is something I would expect from National Lampoon, not you guys.’

CLASS DISMISSED

TBC

5th Ticket Buster Lee.

Thanks for reading.