Installment+24

South of Denver - Chapter 24

October 8, 2005

Natasha came back into the journalism classroom after her interview with the school psychologist looking confused.

"What should I do?" she asked me. "He says he wants to edit my story after I get it finished."

The man had grown up in New Orleans, and had driven to Lafayette, where many members of his family still live, to make sure they were safe as soon as he realized the extent of the disaster. After some harrowing days, he found they were okay. But then he ended up staying for nearly a week, helping counsel young people uprooted by the hurricane and its aftermath.

He had requested that people back off when he first returned to school. It was just too overwhelming. His emotions were just too raw. Natasha had, of course, agreed, but now we were bumping into the deadline for the Oct. 12 issue, and she had been anxious to do this story for weeks. The man is only at school two days per week, but he finally found time to answer some questions.

Natasha was excited to finally get to do the interview. We were all excited, since this had the promise to be an actual "story," complete with characters and setting and conflict and resolution, of a sort. Here was the human story of someone students at Rock Canyon might actually know, which could still resonate even a month after the storm.

"Our policy is very clear," I answered. "We don't just hand over stories to be edited by sources."

"But what am I supposed to say to him?" Natasha looked stricken. A bright junior with a semester's worth of experience on the paper, she was a little put off by having to actually use in real life what we had discussed at some length in class about press rights.

We talked for a while. I suggested that she set up another appointment with him, and that she offer to read back her quotes and double check for factual accuracy. I suggested tools: "I heard you say. Is that correct?"

I also suggested, after she shared her rough draft with me, that she ask for expansion on several points. It's amazing how even our brightest young writers often have to be encouraged to simply ask for more. More information. More detail. More insight.

Natasha went back to his office armed with lots of questions and ideas (and a clear answer to his request to edit her work). She worried about what would happen if he simply refused to go along with our policy.

"I guess the story won't run then," I said. "But let's worry about that later."

It turned out that the school psychologist was worried that he would come off as "too emotional" in the story. He sees himself as the guy in the school who keeps it together when others are having emotional meltdowns. As Natasha noted, of course, that's exactly the sort of story people respond to: a man under pressure, showing his humanity while doing the job.

I don't know what went on in that second interview, but Natasha was smiling yesterday. It was all going to be okay. The man even stopped into class and talked with her again for 15 minutes. He wanted to tell his story after all. She is bringing her final draft Saturday afternoon, during our workday before the paper goes to press Monday evening. Then it will be up to Chelsea, her page manager, to help her get it on the page.

Why the change? My best guess is that Natasha - who had never met the man prior to showing up to interview him about what might have been one of the most stressful periods of his life - had finally earned his trust. After enough conversation, enough checking the facts, he realized she wasn't out to embarrass him, or exaggerate the drama. She just wanted to tell a story.

This was, I realized later, a classic example of something so fundamental to reporting that we often don't discuss it with our students. Sources need to trust us with their stories, and we need to earn that trust. It doesn't come automatically with simply identifying yourself as a reporter for the school newspaper. And that trust is not established in five minute "hit and run" interviews.

Great reporters are "out there," part of their world. They show their investment in a person, a team, a club by being there. The next time we need to talk with the school psychologist, we will have a better foundation of trust.

More importantly, Natasha is a more self-assured young woman than she was before she began this two-week saga. She spoke as an equal - a respectful equal - with an adult, had stood her ground on principal, and found a way to tell an important story.

Pretty cool.

Jack Kennedy

Rock Canyon High School

Highlands Ranch CO 80124

 jkkennedy@comcast.net

 jack.kennedy@dcsdk12.org

Note: This is the latest chapter in a series of columns on working with a young staff in a young school (8 of the 11 staff are sophomores and no senior class yet). It is cryptotherapy for me. It may occasionally provide something positive for you. Please go to the JEAHELP archives to read the previous chapters if you missed them and have absolutely nothing else to do.