675 Published News Articles Later… What I Wish Businesses Knew About Community Journalism
That’s how many bylines I collected in my early career as a journalist.
I’m not going to pretend they were groundbreaking. Most weren’t deep investigations or sweeping narratives. They were stories about people and businesses that make a community…well, a community.
I’ve had a lot of titles in my life, but my favorite was probably newspaper lady. That’s what the kids called me when I wandered the school halls with my Canon camera hanging around my hand.
They weren’t excited to see me because they were loyal readers of my work. They were excited because I might put them in the paper. Then their mom or dad would pick up a copy, cut out the photo, and tape it to the fridge. There was something magical about giving people a moment to shine.
It wasn’t just the kids. I met two people who turned 100, and I got to celebrate with them. I sat at the bedside of a dying man surrounded by his family while they told me about his legacy of being the town clown (seriously, he did birthdays and such). A woman led me around her 118-year-old historic home with so much pride while showing me all the nooks and crannies.
The larger projects involved research into trains, electric rates, and the fluctuations in city budgets.
People cared about community journalism not because it was so deeply impressive, but because it was about them and the things they cared about.
Sometimes in business writing, I miss that kind of work.
The anonymity of branded content can make it easy to forget that behind every data point or campaign is a person with a story worth telling. I believe that if we returned to community journalism in our companies, people would be far more interested in all our blogs.
February 28, 2016 | I met Olive Stanley today.
I was visiting her because she was celebrating her 100th birthday. I asked her the question all reporters have to ask at these events.
“What’s the secret to living 100 years?” and she said, “Well, I don’t think I have one. In fact, I was so sick for some of my life that I am just happy to be here.”
Her son grabbed my arm and said, “She might not tell you her secret, but I will.”
He told me she blocked out nearly every unfortunate event in her life.
“You can quiz her all you want, but she doesn’t remember the struggles,” he said. “I believe she has lived this long because she has a sharp focus on the positive.”
I found the concept that negativity shortens our lifespan to be interesting. So, I tried to be positive for the rest of the day. But maybe she was a protective woman who only wanted to relish the happy things with her children.
Memories are interesting concepts. Over time, the details fade away, and all that is left are these broad themes. Olive was a single mother during a time when being a single mother was unacceptable. Her first husband died in a wreck five years into their marriage.
“I didn’t want to get remarried because I cared about my boys too much. What if my new husband had beaten them?” she said.
Even more impressive, she worked full-time as a banker during a time when it was mostly unacceptable for women to work.
I love stories about people who challenge social mores, and so I asked her to tell me about those years. She said, “It was tough, I wouldn’t do it again.”
I spent a moment looking into her eyes and studying her skin, and I wonder how many stories she could tell but simply can’t. I smiled and I asked her about some of the things she remembers.
She talked a bit about the Great Depression
She said, “I don’t remember much. I do remember being hungry, though.”
I took pictures of Olive with her certificate and of her holding her cake, and no, she did not have 100 candles.
I grabbed my gear and started heading toward the exit, but I glanced to a corner and saw a lady with short gray hair wearing a long-sleeved red shirt. She gave me a smile, slightly squinted her eyes, pointed her finger at me, and she motioned for me to come over to her. I set down my gear and began walking toward her. I didn’t know she would be the most interesting person I would meet today.
She motioned for me to tell her a secret. I knelt down by her seat and brought my face close to hers. She looked me straight in the eyes, and she said, “You are beautiful.” Slightly taken aback, I smiled at her and said, “Well, thank you, that is probably the sweetest thing I have heard all day.” She motioned for me to lean in once more, and I did. She said, “And, I am really proud of you.” Then she planted a kiss on my cheek and told me it is true because she “tells it like it is.”
It was an interesting exchange because it was so nice to hear, but I somehow knew she was telling me that because I probably looked like a daughter or granddaughter, and she wished she could share those words with them. Or maybe she wished someone had told her those words when she was my age. Either way, we left the conversation both happy with our brief friendship.