It keeps coming up. And, I noticed when I mention it casually to friends or in passing, people raise their eyebrows. So, I figured maybe it was a bigger deal than I originally thought, and maybe I should write about it- -you know get it down on paper so that maybe I could forget about it…a little…more.
It has been a while, but the outcome is still etched in my head and the images, I think, kind-of scarred me for some time. But, I didn't see that feeling at the time. Acting on adrenaline, I just kept going.
You see, in Journalism school you hear that sometimes investigators refer to bodies as "fancy" furniture and you would also hear the mother's response, "my baby's not fancy furniture." But, it's a coping mechanism.
And, journalists may talk about the "hamburger meat" flung all over the ground after a serious car accident. And after awhile, the tragic events become another news story assignment: you get the facts and you write the story.
The blockage came with me though, and, I think it might have been one of the reasons I stepped aside from journalism full time. Heck, I was 23 and, it was a bit too much to process at the time. It's like time softens the heart and well, looking back, I realized that leaving was my own survival mechanism.
Scarred in my head is the image of the man's Converse shoes hanging out of the sheet covering his body. It was like he was sleeping, yet there was no room for his face or air. He was laying on the bar sidewalk just five feet from his exit. His head was at a diagonal from the door and his feet facing me. In just a few seconds, his story was over.
***
When we heard the news on the police scanner, Dwight, the tiny Texas City town photographer and Gallagher lookalike and I didn't think it was going to be a story. We literally packed up and jogged over to the bar thinking it was a false alarm.
Then, we realized it was going to be a much bigger story. The bar was surrounded by yellow ribbon, staring spectators, and people hanging out on their front porches. The bar, located on a busy city corner street, backed up to an old neighborhood.
Rumor spurred that the man had hostages in the bar and had been in there a while. We hear 2-3 people are in there with him and he is communicating with the police on the phone.
Several police cars have surrounded the building and it's clear negotiations are in motion. I am there standing next to a few other reporters that seem jolly to arrive at the scene. They arrive with a smile and post themselves to the yellow line like it's their starting mark.
I stand with them at the yellow rope observing- -reporting pad in hand. I think I glow green.
Then, "POP! POP! POP!"
I remember turning left and ducking. My knees went to water. I remember running low and racing toward a house and hiding behind a bush looking over just as soon as my head stopped spinning.
Dwight was near me. I looked down and then back up again and the man running out of the bar shooting was on the ground. He was quiet.
Allegedly the guy came out pretty drugged up and started shooting at officers deliriously and at everyone in the vicinity. In the end, the guy was dead and three officers were injured- -one in the arm. At a later interview, the officer hit in the arm said he was happy to be healing and relieved. The other officers were cheering him on and comforting themselves with a band of camaraderie.
I remember going back to the paper and writing until almost nine that evening- -a few hours past the time of the shooting. It was much more than an eight hour day. You see we are expected to stay longer if the news happens. The news is your clock. It is your sun. When I left at nine pm, the editor wondered why I didn't stay even longer. And, later, without my permission, he reworked my story, added his name as a contributor and it was picked up by the AP wire http://newspaperarchive.com/us/texas/texas-city/texas-city-sun/2001/08-11.
****
The next day I was congratulated.
I didn't think about it being my moment to shine as a journalist. In fact, I was numb. And, I was asked to cover it again. I circled the house of the dead guy, knocking on the door to reach the family after the TV news crew "threw me a bone" of information. The dusty blonde haired TV reporter looked at me, determines I'm not a threat and says to her videographer, "Just give it to her." No one answers the door to my relief.
And, that story like the 24/7 coverage of 9/11 pretty much melted my ambition. You see, even as a journalist --even though it was my job (for $8 an hour even with a Journalism degree) to cover the news, I was still human. The news was happening, it was what made my job a job, but, I needed a break from it too.
Later that day, I went back to the Texas City bar. I took on a brave face and walked right in before the bar was even open for business. I couldn't help but to notice the smudge of red wave stains on the sidewalk along the way. Numb.
To my right in the empty bar was an employee in the kitchen molding hamburger meat for the evening's prep. And, to the left of me, in the office was an accountant. I asked about the story from yesterday (about 12 hours before my arrival). And I got, "No comments" as my response.
I took a breath and left. I piled safely back into my Nissan Sentra relieved.
And, a few months later, I left the journalism field full time too. After two years of optimistic yearbook staff writing, four years of study while working full time in the Journalism field, I was done. I said I was leaving to make more time for my "family", but I was newly married and I didn't have children yet. And, we were both work-a-holics at the time, so that wasn't exactly the truth.
In reality, I was excited about the $12,000 raise as an admissions analyst at the University of Houston- -I'd be making 26 grand a year. It was an 8 am - 5 pm predictable day and, no bullets.
It ended up being completely boring- -even suffocatingly so. I think the highlight of the year for me was when I got to write a profile story about a woman retiring after 30 years of service (http://archive.thedailycougar.com/vol68/32/news/news3.html) and the power point presentation I created for her with 10 hours of overtime pay.
But, I used the time to recreate myself as a positive-writing journalism teacher. And, as a journalism teacher with a masters in Education, I used my stories to teach young journalists about what they could do, what they could expect and what they could become.
I taught them they didn't have to be out for blood, they didn't have to be all about the news at whatever cost. And, instead of shootings and board meetings, we covered teacher profile pieces, stories promoting the schools and we made the daily 4,000-member audiences laugh.
I think it made for a much better story after all.
It has been a while, but the outcome is still etched in my head and the images, I think, kind-of scarred me for some time. But, I didn't see that feeling at the time. Acting on adrenaline, I just kept going.
You see, in Journalism school you hear that sometimes investigators refer to bodies as "fancy" furniture and you would also hear the mother's response, "my baby's not fancy furniture." But, it's a coping mechanism.
And, journalists may talk about the "hamburger meat" flung all over the ground after a serious car accident. And after awhile, the tragic events become another news story assignment: you get the facts and you write the story.
The blockage came with me though, and, I think it might have been one of the reasons I stepped aside from journalism full time. Heck, I was 23 and, it was a bit too much to process at the time. It's like time softens the heart and well, looking back, I realized that leaving was my own survival mechanism.
You see I got into journalism to change the world. But, when I realized the job was changing me, I decided to take a step back.
Scarred in my head is the image of the man's Converse shoes hanging out of the sheet covering his body. It was like he was sleeping, yet there was no room for his face or air. He was laying on the bar sidewalk just five feet from his exit. His head was at a diagonal from the door and his feet facing me. In just a few seconds, his story was over.
***
When we heard the news on the police scanner, Dwight, the tiny Texas City town photographer and Gallagher lookalike and I didn't think it was going to be a story. We literally packed up and jogged over to the bar thinking it was a false alarm.
Then, we realized it was going to be a much bigger story. The bar was surrounded by yellow ribbon, staring spectators, and people hanging out on their front porches. The bar, located on a busy city corner street, backed up to an old neighborhood.
Rumor spurred that the man had hostages in the bar and had been in there a while. We hear 2-3 people are in there with him and he is communicating with the police on the phone. Several police cars have surrounded the building and it's clear negotiations are in motion. I am there standing next to a few other reporters that seem jolly to arrive at the scene. They arrive with a smile and post themselves to the yellow line like it's their starting mark.
I stand with them at the yellow rope observing- -reporting pad in hand. I think I glow green.
Then, "POP! POP! POP!"
I remember turning left and ducking. My knees went to water. I remember running low and racing toward a house and hiding behind a bush looking over just as soon as my head stopped spinning.
Dwight was near me. I looked down and then back up again and the man running out of the bar shooting was on the ground. He was quiet.
Allegedly the guy came out pretty drugged up and started shooting at officers deliriously and at everyone in the vicinity. In the end, the guy was dead and three officers were injured- -one in the arm. At a later interview, the officer hit in the arm said he was happy to be healing and relieved. The other officers were cheering him on and comforting themselves with a band of camaraderie.
I remember going back to the paper and writing until almost nine that evening- -a few hours past the time of the shooting. It was much more than an eight hour day. You see we are expected to stay longer if the news happens. The news is your clock. It is your sun. When I left at nine pm, the editor wondered why I didn't stay even longer. And, later, without my permission, he reworked my story, added his name as a contributor and it was picked up by the AP wire http://newspaperarchive.com/us/texas/texas-city/texas-city-sun/2001/08-11.
****
The next day I was congratulated.
I didn't think about it being my moment to shine as a journalist. In fact, I was numb. And, I was asked to cover it again. I circled the house of the dead guy, knocking on the door to reach the family after the TV news crew "threw me a bone" of information. The dusty blonde haired TV reporter looked at me, determines I'm not a threat and says to her videographer, "Just give it to her." No one answers the door to my relief.
And, that story like the 24/7 coverage of 9/11 pretty much melted my ambition. You see, even as a journalist --even though it was my job (for $8 an hour even with a Journalism degree) to cover the news, I was still human. The news was happening, it was what made my job a job, but, I needed a break from it too.
Later that day, I went back to the Texas City bar. I took on a brave face and walked right in before the bar was even open for business. I couldn't help but to notice the smudge of red wave stains on the sidewalk along the way. Numb.
To my right in the empty bar was an employee in the kitchen molding hamburger meat for the evening's prep. And, to the left of me, in the office was an accountant. I asked about the story from yesterday (about 12 hours before my arrival). And I got, "No comments" as my response.
I took a breath and left. I piled safely back into my Nissan Sentra relieved.
And, a few months later, I left the journalism field full time too. After two years of optimistic yearbook staff writing, four years of study while working full time in the Journalism field, I was done. I said I was leaving to make more time for my "family", but I was newly married and I didn't have children yet. And, we were both work-a-holics at the time, so that wasn't exactly the truth.
In reality, I was excited about the $12,000 raise as an admissions analyst at the University of Houston- -I'd be making 26 grand a year. It was an 8 am - 5 pm predictable day and, no bullets.
It ended up being completely boring- -even suffocatingly so. I think the highlight of the year for me was when I got to write a profile story about a woman retiring after 30 years of service (http://archive.thedailycougar.com/vol68/32/news/news3.html) and the power point presentation I created for her with 10 hours of overtime pay.
But, I used the time to recreate myself as a positive-writing journalism teacher. And, as a journalism teacher with a masters in Education, I used my stories to teach young journalists about what they could do, what they could expect and what they could become.
I taught them they didn't have to be out for blood, they didn't have to be all about the news at whatever cost. And, instead of shootings and board meetings, we covered teacher profile pieces, stories promoting the schools and we made the daily 4,000-member audiences laugh.
I think it made for a much better story after all.
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