Tears and beer
Working in the newspaper business puts one at risk of chronic cynicism.
This is hardly revelatory for many of you. We read so many accounts of death and corruption, it's hard not to develop a crust. Take, for example, September 11. The first days after the attacks brought fresh stories and fresh tears. But as the weeks went on, those tears were replaced by fatigue and numbness. By the time we stopped devoting extra space to it, I felt some horror and shame that I'd been desensitized. It was months before I could cry again.
The same thing has happened to me with a number of other events: the shuttle disaster, the tsunami, the deaths of Reagan and the pope. I cry at first but have to suck it up and make deadline. In the end, deadline wins, and my eyes are dry -- sometimes prematurely, I think.
Obviously we can't let our emotions control us. If we wept while editing every sad story that came our way, we'd be less productive, not to mention swollen and dehydrated. And yes, I do think Americans need to be less self-indulgent (and cool it with the vigils) and get on with living. But I am afraid of what this industry could do to me. I'm afraid someday I'll wake up and not be able to cry at all.
Tonight I met my 1A assignment -- a centerpiece about Memorial Day -- with a groan. Every year it's the same: a story with ample quotes from veterans about the meaning of the holiday accompanied by emotional photos of said veterans saluting those who've died serving our country. Our challenge as copy editors and reporters is to avoid writing exactly what we wrote the previous year. Usually we don't meet this challenge. It's easy to complain about, but then I catch myself. This is important. It's important to those veterans and people in active service, and it should be important to the rest of us. People have died and continue to die to protect our country's interests and what we perceive to be the interests of other nations. They die for this. They leave spouses, children, mothers and fathers behind for this. It may be an age-old story, but damn it, it does deserve giant play. If it frustrates us journalists, tough. It won't kill us.
The story tonight struck me. Instead of churning out the usual cookie-cutter article about death and valor, this reporter interviewed vets about Memorial Day's intended purpose fading from national memory. I've been told this isn't a new angle, but I'd never edited a story about it. I appreciated its frankness. Some vets we quoted bemoaned the holiday's transition from an occasion of earnest remembrance to just another three-day weekend. But a different vet showed optimism. He thinks September 11 reawakened patriotism, especially among the young.
Who's right? I don't know. On the one hand, I think many people have indeed been forced to think about freedom and what it costs. The thousands of men and women who enlisted after September 11 didn't do it just for the hell of it. They knew they could die in action. Still, as I was driving home tonight, I saw that every bar on my route was buzzing with activity. Once home, I stepped outside to indulge my favorite vice. I looked down at the countless lazily parked cars and shook my head. Then an SUV pulled up and deposited two hopelessly drunk people on the sidewalk. They could barely stand up they were so inebriated. It took them a full five minutes to make it from the curb to the gate. I had to turn away once they started teetering up the stairs. It was too painful to watch.
I don't know that couple's story, but it does seem to me we need to be careful that we don't use Memorial Day as an excuse to get loaded and urinate in the driveway. We have plenty of other holidays for that.