Small Town News

No Virginia, there is not a Santa Claus

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This is my recurring nightmare: A male African lion is beginning to move toward me, across a small patch of dirt yard.

Knowing that all of his 600 pounds of muscle, claws, teeth and terror will soon be upon me I watch as he accelerates with every step and I turn to the ramshackle house in my dream, hoping to make it safely inside.

When I cross the threshold and slam the door I can still see him coming, now in full charge, because there is only a screen door and it bounces with a bang and the lion leaps toward me.

The lion, I have come to believe in my waking hours, is my ego. Sigmund Freud would have called him my Id. That is, my will to live that supersedes all my other desires.

He will devour me if I let him and in my dreams it appears I have no choice.

When I was young enough to have a mentor I was told things like "real newspapermen have no friends and "never stop doubting your own beliefs" and "we have nothing to fear from the truth."

These platitudes are meant to keep the ego in check, the lion at bay.

If you start to believe that your work is somehow special, that you are the righteous protector of the citizenry, that it is some kind of mission from God, then you doom yourself to be eaten by the lion -and then you become the lion.

If I am to believe the good things people say about my work as a newspaperman then I must also believe the bad and so I have learned to take little stock in either.

Today I was reminded of a time when that wasn't so, when the lion ruled my psyche.

A potential advertiser complained to someone (not me) that they would not support the newspaper because of the way we had failed to adequately cover one story or that we were too harsh in oUr coverage of another story.

Any criticism of how a reporter covers a particular story is inherently fair because it is subjective in nature - just as the reporter's hearing and re-telling of that story is subjective, so that rarely bothers me.

The threat of losing potential advertising bothers me because I've got to eat but I must, in good conscience, push those emotions aside if I am to maintain any credibility. To allow an advertiser to dictate the content of any story is a lose/lose proposition. The only reason this newspaper has existed longer than just about every other business in town is because generations of readers have come to trust that those people charged with the care of their paper will not be ruled by the man with the most gold.

And if we allow our advertisers to dictate the content of our stories then we give them their advertising for free - meaning we have nothing to sell them.

But here is what bothered me then and bothers me still: "I don't want to support the paper..."

Well guess what? I don't want support. When I first heard that line it was from a cafe owner and I was insulted enough to fire right back.

"How would you feel," I queried, "if I told you the only reason I come to this restaurant and eat your food is because I want our town to have a cafe?"

What I had been schooled to say was more along the lines of "look, we don't want to lose your advertising but the only reason to spend money with us is because you'll make more money by doing it."

But I let the lion win that day and maybe he's winning now as I write.

Today I also had the singular pleasure of interviewing Bill Ohrman. The Drummond artist's work is a treasure of truth and talent that surrounds engulfs the viewer.

He told me a story about a man whom he thought to be a Saudi. The story was spurred perhaps by my questions on the killing of Osama bin Laden.

Bill hesitated in telling the story because he too tries to keep the lion at bay and I apologize to him here for retelling it because I know he wouldn't want me to.

After viewing Bill's work the Saudi bowed deeply to him several times and when their eyes finally met Bill could see tears streaming down the Saudi's face.

The truth in Bill's work had touched the man deeply and revealed for Bill, and me and now you, the humanity that we all share.

And sometimes the truth is painful but I wasn't taught to hide it.



Copyright 2011 Shelton-Mason County Journal, Shelton, Washington. All Rights Reserved. This content, including derivations, may not be stored or distributed in any manner, disseminated, published, broadcast, rewritten or reproduced without express, written consent from SmallTownPapers, Inc.

© 2011 Shelton-Mason County Journal Shelton, Washington. All Rights Reserved. This content, including derivations, may not be stored or distributed in any manner, disseminated, published, broadcast, rewritten or reproduced without express, written consent from DAS.

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