| August 2004 | |
Good work starts at community newspapers
Random Thoughts A newspaper editor at a small paper undertakes all those tasks that qualify for membership in the Renaissance man club. In addition to being walking compendiums of sometimes useful knowledge, we’re also called upon to be accountants and financial planners, human resources administrators, civil engineers, labor arbitrators and judges in all manner of contests. From the familiar, essay writing, to the scientific, tree longevity; and the provocative, lip kiss-ability. Writing obituaries and explaining the effective tax rate to readers sharpen our skills and keep us humble after the heady rarity of interviewing a presidential candidate on his SUV-stop through town. This range of opportunity is what makes our newsrooms the recommended training ground for young journalists. Community newspapers are where novices learn about good work by doing it. In these days of specialty writing and niche journalism, where else could a beginner fill a string book with bylined stories that veteran reporters might earn only after a decade of proving themselves. It’s the reason why journalism professors advise their brightest stars to learn the trade in small newsrooms. Teacher-journalists like Griff Singer, Keith Shelton and David McHam teach the theory and preach the benefits of a couple of years of datelines from Azle and New Braunfels and Decatur. Delivering those benefits to up-and-comers is the teaching part of a newspaper editor’s job and the main reason I’ve stayed at small papers. It’s the opportunity to work alongside those smart youngsters, eager for their own opportunities: to learn about themselves, learn from their mistakes, and learn how to tell stories that matter, no matter the size of the story. Frequently, they also learn that small town papers sometimes tell big stories. That little papers can win the big prize, the Pulitzer, for local reporting. Like Caro Brown’s coverage of political corruption for the Alice Daily Echo. Ken Towery’s series of articles in the Cuero Record exposing Veterans’ Land Program scandals. Oscar Griffin’s expose of Billie Sol Estes in the Pecos Independent and Enterprise. And if the young reporters don’t happen to win the big
prize while they’re at the small paper, they surely acquire the savvy and experience to win it when they hit the big league. Resumes of accomplished, prize-winning journalists might only hit career highlights, but their acceptance speeches typically bow to lessons learned at hometown, community presses. Over the years, I’ve been proud to teach some of those lessons and offer opportunities to scores of young journalists. My dedication to community journalism faltered only once, in a rush of prize-driven ego believing that I should share my talent with a wider audience. Happily, my flirtation with metro stardom was brief. After an expensive lunch amid a series of interviews with the paper’s cadre of powerful editors, I came to my senses and broke off the engagement with a big-city suitor interested in adding my name to its masthead. Of course, the resources were tempting: a small army of reporters, (no computer sharing here), a sophisticated gang of graphic artists with new software, a separate staff devoted to the Sunday edition and special sections. And the foreign bureaus and the Oriental carpets were seductive, too. Traveling between those artfully decorated offices for my interview appointments was a virtual stroll through Architectural Digest. But when I learned there were elevators between the newsroom and the press room, I began to realize this was not my kind of journalism. The feeling solidified during the last interview of the day when my final questioner asked me why I thought I was good enough to make such a big leap from little paper to big paper. “What makes you think you can go from a 25,000-circulation paper to one of the country’s biggest?” he asked. Surprised first by the fellow’s arrogance and then staggered by his obvious disconnect from the real world, it took me a couple of breaths before I answered. “Well,” I said, gathering my things and heading to the door, “good work is good work no matter where you do it.” That’s why I work at community newspapers, where good work starts.
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