Best experiences

This summer I looked into the eyes of a killer and knew if I could be on assignments like that for a career, I would be happy. While interning in Mississippi this summer, I got to cover the trial of reputed Ku Klux Klansman James Ford Seale. Sitting with the family of the victims (who died in 1964), Seale would turn around and look at different people in the courtroom. One day, before the rest of the press got back from the press room, there were only a handful of people in the courtroom, and he looked right at me for a few seconds before I looked away. Right then, I was connected to the story, and with history in the making. I know that wasn’t a typical assignment, but it’s the type that make every bad day at work worth it.

http://www.vicksburgpost.com/articles/2007/06/15/news/news02.txt

Although That experience taught me about the courtroom, and reporting on cases, there was another experience I have much pride in. The last story was someting I was assigned; I would wake up every mornign for two weeks and make the our-long drive to Jackson to cover the trial. But after the trial was over, and I still had civil rights pumping through my veins, I found this next story. I appreciate the story because it was something I found and pitched to my editor. She was really reluctant about letting me do  it because she said it wasn’t newsworthy. It ended up being on the front page and  I wrote two follow-up on the same subject.

http://www.vicksburgpost.com/articles/2007/06/22/news/news04.txt  

I found out through a press release that the Senate was passing a bill to reopen civil rights-era cold cases, and i found out that one of the murder cases being reopened was in my town. I got the initial story, the went on to find the people who were involved with the case and family members of the victim from 40 years ago. It was fun to dig, especially when i was trying to prove to my editor it was a worth-while story. 

My worst experience

Visiting the principal’s office in high school was no big thing for me. I interviewed on a weekly basis, so I got used to sitting in those cold purple chairs outside is door, getting looks form parents and studnts who thought I was in trouble. It never bothered me until the last week of my senior year. I sat in one of those chairs, knowing I was in trouble. Instead of wandering up to his office of my own accord, I was sent a pass through my English teacher to go see him.My high school newspaper hit the stands by 5 p.m. Thursday night. Friday morning, by 8, my principal already wanted to see me.I walked into his office, and he had a coy on his desk, with a red ink marks and a yellow hilighter inhis hand, circling different bits of my story.  I had written a story about students bringing guns to school. I figured it wasn’t a very controversial story, seeing as how the World Herald scooped me on it, but apparently I was wrong.I had interviewed gang members who brought guns to school on a daily basis, and I promised to protect their  identities once the paper was published, and I told my principal the same thing.That wasn’t a good enough answer for him.He demanded to know the names my sources and said he’d have the right to expell me for jeopardizing the safety of our school. I stuck to my guns (no pun intended) and eventually the situation blew over.Now that wasn’t the only run-in I had with my high school’s administration, but it was the worst experience I ever had. Never before had someone called into question my ethics, or my integrity as a reporter or a student. I was fighting this battle alone, instead of alongside the rest of the department.

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