Back in high school, I took as an elective Journalism class. The very first thing we learned was that as a journalist, every story should answer the following:
There was no “I” in your stories. It was to be a reporting of the FACTS. And the facts consist of the five Ws and the How. Anything written in first person pronoun “I” was to be kept for Editorials, and reviews. We were to read the major newspapers and watch newscasts and gain knowledge from them.
Over the years, I have watched the integrity of those same newspapers and news programs devolve into tabloid behavior. What was once sensational “news” magazines such as The National Enquirer and The Sun, among others, became integrated with those same major news outlets, and the major newspapers devolve into the “rag mags”, and that sensationalized news become our mainstream news sources.
I doubt that Journalism 101 is offered in high schools anymore. I also wonder what people learn at universities when they take Journalism courses. Do they even major in that anymore?
I looked and found they do.
- B.A. with Journalism – 3 yrs.
- Bachelor in Journalism (B.J) – 3 yrs.
- Bachelor in Journalism and Mass Communication (BJMC) – 3 yrs.
- B.A. with Mass Media – 3 yrs.
- B.A. in script writing – 3 yrs.
Interestingly I looked some things up. These are what struck me the most of what is missing in today’s reporting of the news:
- Truth and Accuracy. Journalists cannot always guarantee ‘truth’, but getting the facts right is the cardinal principle of journalism. …
- Independence. …
- Fairness and Impartiality. …
- Humanity. …
I don’t see anything on that list being practiced today. Do you?
Journalism Introduction. Journalistic writing or news writing is a prose style which is used for reporting in newspapers, radio and television. … According to “Basic News Writing” the ABCs of news writing are Accuracy, Brevity and Clarity (“Basic News Writing 1).
There is clarity, but accuracy? When you have the people who furnish the information being also the backup sources?
Journalists educate the public about events and issues and how they affect their lives. They spend much of their time interviewing expert sources, searching public records and other sources for information, and sometimes visiting the scene where a crime or other newsworthy occurrence took place.
Functions of Journalism are to Inform, Educate, Guide and Entertain. The press performs a very important role as means of mass communication in the modern world. The press tries to inform its reader objectively about what is happening in their community, country and the world at large.Sep 12, 2015
Rare to see all that in today’s society.
To maintain objectivity in journalism, journalists should present the facts whether or not they like or agree with those facts. Objective reporting is meant to portray issues and events in a neutral and unbiased manner, regardless of the writers opinion or personal beliefs.
There you go. What I wanted to see. But what one does NOT see in today’s media. Today the network newscasters report news with a biased agenda. You can tell what political stance the network or newscaster has based on their reporting. A lot of their stories are slanted towards inflaming the public. Dividing the public.
What we seem to have today is what was once referred to as “Yellow Journalism”, which is described as:
Yellow journalism and the yellow press are American terms for journalism and associated newspapers that present little or no legitimate well-researched news while instead using eye-catching headlines for increased sales. Techniques may include exaggerations of news events, scandal-mongering, or sensationalism.
Watch the news. Read the newspapers. Read online sources. Most have an editorializing sound to them. Most cover the news in one angle. They may interview people, but their questions and the editing usually leave out the ones who do not agree with the slant of the story.
We should no longer use the news to make our decisions. We need to carefully put aside our prejudices and research things for ourselves. The ability to process the truth in news has slowly been eroded by the news media themselves.
This is just my opinion. You do not have to believe me. You do not have to do anything. This is just my education rearing its head in disbelief of how far “journalism” has strayed from the core principles and ethics and rules that I learned in high school.
I hope you read this and leave comments. I encourage anyone who disagrees to also comment. I promise to give everyone’s opinions consideration.
Never has a day been so meaningful as Thanksgiving 2018 will be. Tomorrow across our great nation families will get together and eat a grand meal, then maybe sit down on the sofa to watch football games, movies, or just talk. Maybe the kids will go outside and play. Or maybe get lost in their electronics.
Most of the country may not even think of things they are grateful for. But I know we, in the Florida Panhandle, will be definitely counting our blessings.
This year a large portion of the Panhandle has been devastated by a monster hurricane. The third strongest to hit the US. The others include Andrew (1992) that demolished most of Homestead, Florida, and Katrina (2005) that changed the face of New Orleans, Louisiana. Now we add Michael. It took ten years for the powers that be to acknowledge Andrew as the first official Category 5 hurricane. Michael hit the Gulf Coast with sustained winds of 155 miles per hour, just 2 miles per hour short of a Category 5.
I have lived in Florida all my life, never farther north than Hollywood, until October 2014. During those years I saw many hurricanes – in no particular order: Andrew, David, Opal, Irma, Wilma, Charlie, and Ivan, to name a few. When I was young, we had awnings and plywood on our windows, then shutters. I never actually SAW a hurricane until this year.
My husband Bob and I, along with our two cats Peekaboo and Lovey, rode out Hurricane Michael at our local shelter about 1 1/2 miles away – our local library. They had impact resistant windows, so there was no need for any covering. We sat on chairs at tables, or around the common area of the library, and watched television as the news station kept us up to date, and watched out the window. I was mesmerized. I saw the rain and wind start out as a breezy drizzle, slowly then quickly gain strength until the rain was horizontal. We watched the tall pine trees in a vacant property across the road blow as the winds came through in a West to East direction. Then the eye wall hit. The sound of it was like a freight train, and someone thought we had a tornado. But we did not. The eye wall is that strong.
You have probably heard the phrase like the eye of a storm. Well, the eye is the center of a hurricane. When it goes over, the winds stop, the sun might even shine, and you can go outside. Well, a lot of the people taking shelter took their dogs out for a bathroom break, or they went out for a cigarette break. It can really be beautiful during the eye. But you should never go far. The winds come back in an instant, as strong as they were when they stopped. No gradual working up to the strength. Right as the eye ended, a number of people who had thought they could ride it out in their homes frantically entered the building.
We watched the strong wind now blow East to West, breaking a lot of the tall pines that had withstood the opposite force but had been too weakened. Debris blew horizontally again. The back side of the hurricane did not last as long as it did arriving. The “feeder bands” take a while to go through.
When it was over, we were told that we had to stay overnight. We could not leave to go home or check our homes and properties.
The next morning everyone throughout our section of the Panhandle who were able to access our areas took stock of the new landscape. It is amazing how much we rely on landmarks. As with Andrew, most landmarks were gone. It was amazing what did stay. A lot of the campaign signs along the roadsides were still there. A lot of trees were down, but amazingly a lot were still standing. Power lines were down all over, and the electricity was out everywhere. The dirt road our long driveway was off of was blocked by downed trees. Bob and I walked to the house with the cat carriers, and found the house was still standing. The skirting was gone in a lot of places, and the siding on a gable end was gone. A tree had broken off our pressure tank for our well, the riding mower was in pieces. But our house still stood.
In the following days we all took stock of the damages, everyone who had insurance called their insurers, and we all did our best to help each other clear debris. Eventually the military came and supply stations were set. Water was generously distributed and MREs (military “Meals Ready to Eat”) were handed out at relief centers. Trucks with showers showed up, so we could at least feel human again.
Power was restored in stages. We were blessed. Our power came back on 10 days after the storm hit. A lot of people are still without power depending on how badly damaged things are. Our communities came together to help each other. All someone had to do was mention they had trees blocking their home or drive, and the “chainsaw army” came to help. Blue tarps sprang up everywhere. Life eventually went back to almost normal. But even now, over a month later, the landscape is still littered with downed trees, cut limbs and trees, debris from houses, and linemen still at the sides of roads bringing back our electrical grid.
So tomorrow, as Bob and I sit down to have dinner, we will be especially thankful. Bob is alive, cancer-free – though not yet back to full health. We survived a major hurricane – Bob had lost everything in Andrew. Our children are healthy and happy, and our families are safe and sound.
Because yesterday things were put in perspective for me. We were in Panama City to pick up prescriptions and to get our flu shots. Everywhere you go here almost everyone speaks to everyone now, but the first thing usually asked is how did you do during the storm? Yesterday I met four people whose homes were badly damaged, and they are still waiting for contractors. And I had been complaining the other day that the people I had contacted for estimates hadn’t come yet, and that FEMA had rejected our application since we “didn’t have enough personal damage”. I was reminded that we had very little damage, while others have homes that are gone, destroyed, damaged, still awaiting the basic repairs. Some who are still fighting with their insurance companies.
So tomorrow, when you sit down to Thanksgiving dinner, remember all the things to be so very thankful for. Health, family, home, the basics, and the luxuries that we all still have. And see what you can do for others. Donate some food to your local food pantries so that others who lost everything can have something again. Instead of buying more clothes, think about donating the clothes you don’t wear to shelters for others who have nothing, who have lost everything, and who are starting over.
And never forget to be thankful. Because there but for the grace of God, go us.
I know you are probably busy today so I will be quick! Here are few tips to help your kitty feel safe during times of noise and fireworks.
1. Play classical music. If you have Alexa, my favorite station is Classical Focus. You can also just ask her to play relaxing music. If you haven’t jumped on the Alexa bandwagon, try playing relaxing music by Mozart.2. White noise. Use a fan or air filter to create noise that will drown out some of the sounds.3. Safe place. Make sure that your kitty has a safe, dark place they can escape to if needed. Some cats prefer to hide under a bed, while others would rather be on your lap. If you have an indoor/outdoor kitty, bring them in tonight.
The Internet is both a blessing and a curse. A curse because a lot of people seem to only live on it. It is their lifeline – their tether to their existence. It can take over their lives.
When I was little and in school, whenever I asked my Mom or Dad what something was, they would say “look it up”. I didn’t complain, but it got old. But by looking it up, as in getting a Dictionary or Encyclopedia off the shelf and opening it up, and searching physically for the word, the item, the place, etc, I learned. Plus it didn’t hurt that I loved books, and was reading by the time I was 3 or 4.
The internet, to me, is a way of ordering things we need without trekking 45 miles to Walmart, or things we are unable to find in a brick-and-mortar store. Also a way of getting the things we need for a much lower price. The internet has social media, which is, most of the time, the main way we have of keeping in touch with our children.
Recently, within the last couple of years, I have used the internet to find childhood friends with whom I lost contact, possibly long ago. As I’ve gotten older, I yearn to find out what happened to them, to make sure they are okay. But mainly to let them know how much they are treasured for their friendship.
I’ve written on here about being “bullied” – tortured – through my elementary and high school. A person will usually remember the name of the worst tormentor. But do we remember those who did not bully us? Those who saw through the outside and were true friends? Sometimes we do not appreciate them during those years. But as we get older, we appreciate people and things more.
The term “actions speak louder than words”. We’ve all heard that. Well, sometimes no action speaks much louder, and deeper. Those true friends who never even think about what others see and find easy to make fun of, are the most important people in our lives.
I have reached out to some of them. Those friends from yesteryear who were true friends. I have been able to find a few. I have let them know how much they are appreciated still for being themselves. I had a teacher, my seventh grade math teacher, who for years I wanted to find and thank. Finally, about ten years ago, I met her again at a Mass that was held at Immaculate Conception Church in Hialeah, Florida. The elementary school was the same name, and was having an open house after the Mass. I found out that the teacher was still there! I went immediately after Mass to see her. I remember her with longish brown hair, stylish blouses and short skirts, and the shoes of the time. When I saw her, I looked in her eyes, and she was the same young teacher from back then. Oh, she was a little older, her hair stylishly shorter, and yet she was still the teacher I remembered. I FINALLY had the chance to tell her how grateful I was to her. I knew that she probably had no idea, but wanted her to know what a difference she made in my life. The confidence she gave me, and how I had never forgotten her.
We sometimes do not know the impact – both good and bad – we have on others. I have made it my goal to let those who were kind to me know how much they are appreciated, how much they are remembered. As I said, they may not have any idea that anything they did made a difference, but they should be made aware of it when they do.
I recently reconnected with a girl who lived across the street from me in Hialeah. I do not remember how long her family had lived there, but for however short a time, she and her brother and sisters remained in my memories and heart. We had a short reminiscence the other night, and when it was late, and she had to get to sleep, I ended our Facebook messaging with I love you. I don’t know if that was awkward for her or not. But I needed to let her know. It isn’t a romantic love, and it’s possible she wondered how I could say that. But the love I have for her and her brother and sisters is a deep one. One of gratitude, friendship and caring. I even am having trouble defining it, but I know what kind it is. It’s one that has to be felt. I love the child she was. I love that I am able to have her in my life again, and I feel a love that is one that I guess could be called responsibility. Caring. For lack of a better description, it is love.
I am so grateful to have these opportunities to let those who impacted my life know how grateful I am, and how much they are remembered.
What you do creates a ripple effect. You never know how you affect someone’s life, nor how that affects others. Try to be kind. Let those ripples be those that make a good difference. And when someone expresses their love, understand that there are many kinds and depths of love. And that you have made a difference. You are important to someone.
He should have been 37 this year. My first child. The child that never lived. I don’t know what gender it would have been, really. But I would like to think it would have been a boy. I had even had a name picked out. But its life was snuffed out before it even had a chance. Deliberately snuffed out by a doctor, whose first oath was “Do No Harm”.
The younger sister of a friend of mine came to me, I think it was in November, of the year I turned 19. She had bummed rides from me to the beach to meet with a boyfriend. But that was okay. I was going anyway. This boyfriend of hers was not a nice guy, and, to be honest, she was not very nice either. One time he reached over and pulled the string to the bow behind my bikini top, and it came loose. I was humiliated, and quickly grabbed the strings and tied them back again before I was exposed. He laughed. She got angry. At me! I believe that was the last time I took her anywhere.
So she showed up with a friend of hers at my parents’ house (where I still lived). She wanted to speak with me in private, outside, so I went out. She asked me to take her to a clinic about 2 miles away. I wanted to know why. She told me she was pregnant, and that she was getting an abortion. Within a split second, I asked – begged her not to. To let me pay for everything, and to allow me to adopt the baby. Within those moments, a whole life flashed before my eyes.
I was unmarried, no prospects. But I would make sure I asked for a raise, and saved up money while paying for her medical bills. When she had the baby, I would name him, and adopt him. He would be Graydon Robert, after my Great-Uncle and the middle name was my Dad’s. I would have a child to love, to raise. He would have the most loving extended family. If she wanted, I would keep her up-to-date with him. I didn’t care in that moment that having a child might keep the guys away. I would have given anything to have that child. To save him from being killed. I pictured being there at his birth, him growing up, going to Kindergarten, going to high school, his prom, graduation. Marriage. Grandchildren.
With her next words all that was torn from me. She said, and I can remember the words as if it were yesterday and not 38 years ago, “if I’m going to carry this kid, I may as well keep it. And I don’t want to keep it.”
My heart broke. I felt as if the baby were being torn from my womb, from my heart. My world shattered with her callous words.
I didn’t take her to the clinic. I don’t know how she got there, but I do know she went. There was no pregnancy. There was no child.
The hurt is still there. She went on to later marry and have 3 children. I saw her in a store at the Mall one day, and she was pushing a baby carriage. Her “first” child. I wanted to cry. To scream. To ask her if she even remembered the child that never was. But I kept everything inside. I congratulated her, and walked away. Years later I have seen her on Facebook, all the pictures of her children, the weddings, her happy life with her husband. I wonder if she ever told him about the other child. I wonder if she even gives it a thought. The way she was when she was younger, that girl would never have. I don’t ever mention that day to her. I keep it in my heart. The grief is less.
I went on to marry a wonderful man, Frank Davis. We tried to have children, and went through fertility treatments, but we were unable. We had just bought a house and were applying to adoption agencies when he was diagnosed with cancer. We only had 7 years and 10 months together. Then 3 years later, I married Bob Pickin. He had 4 adopted children and had also been widowed. We married, and tried to have children, but were unable. We also attempted fertility treatments, to no avail. But I had adopted his children, and they were mine from the moment we married. Our son died in 2016, at the same time Bob was recovering from colon cancer surgery. Another child was ripped from my heart. The hurt is deep for our son. Nothing takes that away. But it does get a little easier. It’s definitely not the same as the first. It’s much, much worse.
Every once in a while I remember the first child I could have had. I know he is in heaven. I know he and my adopted son know each other now.
The child that should have been. I lived his life in a moment during a moment in my life.
Every time I see/hear that word, I think of Tevye from “Fiddler On The Roof” and his baritone voice singing “Tradition…… tradition”.
“Here in Anatevka we have traditions for everything… how to eat, how to sleep, even, how to wear clothes. For instance, we always keep our heads covered and always wear a little prayer shawl… This shows our constant devotion to God. You may ask, how did this tradition start? I’ll tell you – I don’t know. But it’s a tradition… Because of our traditions, everyone knows who he is and what God expects him to do.”