The Life of a Journalist

As first published in The Western Carolinian newspaper of Western Carolina University...


"I assumed, like everyone else, that it would be several months before I became Editor-in-Chief of The Western Carolinian, if I became EIC at all. When my best friend and employer, Justin Caudell, announced his sudden departure, I was shocked and saddened. After returning from UNC-Greensboro, I looked forward to working alongside Justin again and getting back into the Catamount spirit by taking my time and going slowly. Two months later, I was named Co-Editor-in-Chief with Ryan Alexander, the former Sports Editor. Then, everything went haywire!
Before the first issue created by Ryan and me could hit the stands, a student over-corrected his vehicle and crashed over the edge of Speedwell Road, and a female student died. One of my sports reporters, attending the baseball game, saw the entire accident and texted me immediately. At first, I could not comprehend the message. When my brain slowly came to the conclusion of what the text meant, I shakily got in my car and hurried as safely as possible down the curvy roads of Cullowhee to campus. I parked on Speedwell behind several police cars all casting eerie blue shadows on the tall trunks surrounding the road.
It was my responsibility, whether I liked it or not, to take a picture of the destroyed car and find out the names of the victims. Unable to get close enough or talk to a police officer who would give me information, I did what every journalist must learn to do best. I waited on the side of the road with my camera. During this time, I was called "morbid" and "horrible" by bystanders who wanted free seats to the baseball game by camping out on Speedwell for the perfect view of the field.

I was mortified. Yes, I felt morbid and sick trying to get pictures of this horrible accident, especially after I learned someone had died. I wanted to quit my job and dedicate my life to an occupation that required less guts and more heartfelt feelings like saving the baby fur seals or baking cookies to raise money for the local high school's art program. I wanted to anything right then but be a journalist.
On the way home, I cried. I will admit to that. A student in our community, a small community that I ran back to after a horrible, isolated experience in Greensboro, had been lost in a horrific accident. No matter what my job means or how I am supposed to act as Co-Editor-in-Chief, I had to cry in the privacy of my car and my home after standing on the crumpling edge of Speedwell Road and watching the police, fire fighters and paramedics try to save two lives.
It is no easy task to be a journalist. Through this column, I plan to expose the myths about us and how we do our jobs. I will tell you about the late hours, the constant text messages, the never-ending work week, and I will explain the joys and rewards of reporting, too.
What happened to Stephanie Deese was an appalling misfortune that should not be wished on anyone's young daughter or son. Although my job is morbid, the community needs to be aware of what had happened to one of their own. My staff and I provided that service and will continue to provide information that students, parents and Cullowhee/Sylva community members should be aware of for as long as our right to freedom of press exists."