Back in 1971, I wrote and sent my very first article to our local paper. The editor replied with an acceptance letter commending me on my story and asking if I could drop by his office at my 'earliest convenient opportunity' to discuss a possible part-time job and to pick up my check. I got the check but I did not get the job because, at the time, I was only twelve...
In my lifetime, I've written for newspapers and magazines, documented crime scenes as a freelance photographer, DJ'd at radio stations and performed varied and asundry television jobs - sometimes juggling two or three of these things at the same time because I was a single mom - but my underlying function, no matter what form it took, was relaying honest information in a straightforward manner.
Before the who, what, when, where and why of any story was delivered, facts were checked, rechecked and checked again. With the exception of my radio shows, adding my own personal opinions would most probably have gotten me fired on the spot. I never slanted an interview or revealed salacious details to simply garner my own PR. The generation of people doing what I did followed in the footsteps of Edward R. Murrow, Walter Cronkite and Dan Rather. My grandmother was fond of saying: "In God and Walter we trust!" Integrity mattered far more than ratings or circulation.
That first published piece of mine, back in 1971, optimistically described the wondrous changes my grandfather had seen in his lifetime. Now, were I to pen a first-person narrative, honesty would bind me to add that while I've seen many technological advancements, sadly, our society has its share of regressions, not the least of which is in journalism. Because I had the good fortune to work with CBS Evening News anchor Scott Pelley at WFAA in Dallas when he was just starting to make a name for himself, I know the kind of standards he adheres to, so thankfully there remains one news person I still feel I can trust. I'm also a fan of Vice News, believe it or not, because they cover things happening in the world at large with a no-frills, down to earth style that's refreshing.
Before the advent of bubble-headed bleached blondes, talking heads and the internet, we would have scathingly derided much of today's media content as 'yellow journalism'. Today, of course, we call it 'Fake News'. Beyond maddening to anyone trying to ascertain fact from fiction, this kind of irresponsible reporting has a long history of creating irreparable harm. It pushed us into deadly conflicts as a country and quite literally pushed people over the edge. It is a vicious tool wielded by both political parties and those thoughtlessly seeking self promotion and fame. For the life of me, I cannot understand why we've stood for it - especially now that it is exposed for the world to see - and our reputation as a nation is circling the swamp drain.
Recently, speaking with a group of young people, I was asked what was the meanest thing anyone had ever done to me. I like talking to kids because I'm older and have wisdom I'll gleefully impart at any opportunity. Anyway, the event that came to mind was one I still remember vividly because it was my first encounter with fake news and it was written about me.
About fifteen years ago, I attended a small company party for a now defunct alternative weekly paper here in Las Vegas. It was one of those little free papers you find outside convenience stores and neighborhood strip malls, written mostly by younger writers looking to move up to something bigger. My son was one of those young writers at the time and he invited me to go along, primarily because he needed a ride, and, knowing that a reporter I'd long admired and respected might be there, offered to introduce us. So, albeit reluctantly, I accepted. Frat parties and their equivalent are not my thing.
The party was held in something of a dive bar near the paper's office. A non-drinker, knowing absolutely no one there, I was really feeling like a fish out of water and already secretly regretting my decision to attend. I ordered a coke from the bartender, listening as my son talked to a group of his fellow writers behind me. When he walked away, one of the older guys in the group started ragging about how unfair he thought it was that someone as young as my son should have so much talent. On and on he ragged. Finally, motherly defenses riled, I turned to gaze pointedly at the speaker. When he noticed me, he bristled.
"What do you want?"
"Pardon me," I replied innocently. "I was just listening to what you were saying about my son."
With that, I turned back to my soda, gracious enough not to watch him wipe the egg off his face. The reporter I'd wanted to talk to never showed and we left not long after.
In the next edition of the paper that man wrote harshly in his column about my son and crudely characterized me as a ''barfly" seeking an opportunity to seduce the reporter I'd been hoping to meet. To say I was mortified would vastly understate my reaction. No doubt long since forgotten by the perpetrator, his thoughtless, mean-spirited act to assuage a bruised ego is a perfect example of the lack of integrity in today's media and the lengths to which some will stoop to further an agenda.
Were I to write that "fake news is perpetuated by no less than the Liar in Chief himself", this would qualify as an 'op-ed' statement, conveying fact with personal opinion. Editorials have been with us as long as the published page. The problem is, there seems currently to be way too much op-ed masquerading as news. It confuses, obfuscates and confounds anyone looking for, as Dragnet's Joe Friday used to say: "Just the facts, ma'am". That's not to devalue editorial comment. My son, Joshua Ellis, has a large and loyal following on his Facebook page, primarily due to topical editorials he writes almost daily. Bombastic, sometimes profane, written with all of George Carlin's Seven Little Words (and then some - much to my chagrin) they are, as so often commented, incredibly thought provoking. He makes people think. If there's anything this country needs more of right now, I don't know what it is. What he doesn't do is make up fake massacres to spread intolerance or skewed statistics to strengthen his case or belittle someone to make himself feel like a man. I'm intensely proud.
I don't know know where we go from here, how we raise the bar back up high enough to have truly trustworthy information in this Information Age. Certainly not as long as we have an administration that has elevated lying to an art form and we continue to stand back drooling in rapt admiration.
I don't write much these days because frankly, my genteel southern sensibility just doesn't give a damn anymore. I can't find anything remotely resembling the industry I devoted so much of my life to. The technical skill set I polished for so many years has been replaced by spell checkers and cut-n-paste regurgitation in a world that ignores integrity, values quantity over quality, sensationalism over sensibility, scoffs at fact checking, offers a penny a word in payment and then happily settles for getting exactly what they paid for. That's a shame. My stories are priceless...
Posted with Blogsy
Posted with Blogsy