Change of direction

Journalism is unpredictable.
I got to the newsroom with a plan today. But my agenda, which included an interview with a village official and a trip to a small bookstore for a feature story, completely changed.

A former village president in the region died Sunday and I had to write the story. The editor said the length should be 10, 12, 15 inches. To me, that meant whatever I can get. For the record, it ended up being a 20-inch story. The change in plan is something that happens at least once a week. When breaking news happens, somebody has to write it. Being an intern does not exclude you from the rotation. But that's why the internship has to be taken seriously. When you stop interning and begin reporting on a full-time basis, these days happen.

I went out to the small town where he was president and beat the street. Because he taught for 20+ years, ran a business 20+ years and was president for 20 years in the same village, finding people who knew him was not difficult.

The story began with an interview with the village clerk. She had worked with the former mayor for about 4 years before his retirement. She was prepared, too. She had a box of tissues sitting there just in case. Fortunately, the water works never happened. A crying interviewee can change an interview. But that's a topic for another day.

We finished the interview and she gave me a picture of the man. Unfortunately, the newspaper will not use it. But at least I returned to the office with an option. That's what visual presentation is all about. You have to give the newspaper options.

Through different twists and turns, I found myself on the phone with a man who had been the former president's friend for more than 26 years. Early in the interview, I had to determine what kind of interview it would be. You are talking with a man who knew somebody for 26 years and the guy has just died. I don't have a lot of experience with that but from what I've been told, usually people want to speak about their friends. But i proceeded cautiously anyway. Fortunately, the man wanted to talk. He said he and his friend had coffee at least once a week at a local restaurant.

Again, another place to try and find a source. It worked as the owner of the place and his son remembered the man. In fact, the owner took a cup of coffee to the man before he died. He said he never drank it but they all knew he smelled it. That kind of memory makes the job interesting and fulfilling.

So it does not seem as if everything went perfectly, on my way back to the newsroom, I thought I'd stop at the police station to talk to somebody about the man. Nobody was in the office.

The lesson I got from today and days like today is that you never know what a day in the newsroom will bring you. My meeting with the village official and my trip to the bookstore had to be postponed until tomorrow. The way the system is set up, you give a constant update of what you will work on every day during the week. That update is now a day behind. But I guess that's just part of the gig and, like the paper, I'll have to adjust tomorrow.