A Dark Day in History

The wind whipped across the sky as dark clouds rolled over the mountains. A couple hundred people were gathered in what seemed to be a not so special place. The grass was tall and itchy. The smell of stagnant water was carried on the air by the wind and random dried cow pies lay hidden in the grass.

Today was the day where men, women and children remembered those souls from a tragedy long since past; the Mountain Meadows Massacre.

I only knew bits and pieces of this part of history. I had the opportunity to be formally educated about the event by direct descendants of the victims from the Fancher-Baker wagon train from Arkansas and relatives to the Mormon frontier men who massacred them.

All in all, it's a terrible dark day in history. I understand now why Mormons don't like talking about it. The day at the memorial reflected the mood of the event.

When I showed up with my friend and photographer, Chris, it was sunny. There was a slight breeze but nothing to complain about. People were mingling and enjoying being together.

When the program began the day steadily grew darker, more dreary, more windy, more cold. The feeling from the present company was solemn, yet understanding, and united in a strange way. Whether they were descendants from Arkansas or the Mormon frontier men, everyone was united in one cause, to honor those who lost their lives and to never forget it.

For 152 years the descendants from Arkansas have let the pain of the massacre fester and grow into a hatred, while the Mormons spent those years trying to bury and forget it. From what I can tell, it's only been in the past decade and a half the two groups have united in the common effort to let those murdered in cold blood be remembered and get the memory throughout the years they deserve.

And I say, what took so long?

To Err is Human

To be a journalist, it takes more than having a love of writing and talking to interesting people. With all the ups, like with any profession, there are some downs. Keep in mind, I love my job. I

wouldn't trade it for anything. That doesn't mean there aren't days I don't want to tear my eyes out.

For some reason if you're a journalist, I have found, the public doesn't think you're human. It's probably because all they see is a name and a story. So since they don't think you're human, people can't BELIEVE when you make an error.

STOP THE PRESS! We have a journalist who's human and makes mistakes? That's front page news if you ask me.

I vent this to you because I want to write for the record that I am human and the past couple days at work have been horrendous because I made mistakes that I let slip through my fingers.

I wrote a story about a city's budget and how the community center they built is $1 million in a deficit. I misquoted the city manager in regard to the city budget general fund and the role it played with the community center. I don't really have an explanation for my mistake except I didn't read the story before I
sent it off to be copy-edited. When the assistant to city manager called me and related the mistake to me, I apologized and told her I would make a correction. Of course I got nothing but a condescending attitude from her. Why do people who are employed by cities think
they're so much better? And why do they think and expect me to be perfect?

Of course I know journalists are held to a higher standard of accuracy, but when mistakes do happen. When they do, is it really necessary to be condescending and rude? Really?

There were a couple other indiscretions this week that hit the stands. They were small, but big enough to aggravate the public. As a journalist you have to learn to let the meanness of people just roll off your back, because if you hold on to it, you'll never be productive.

The Fight Against Domestic Violence

While working on the public safety beat I found there were certain topics I really enjoyed writing about. One of the many was domestic violence.

Of course domestic violence isn't a necessarily uplifting topic, and usually the stories that go with that subject are horrifying and sad. That's not why I liked writing about it.

When I wrote about domestic violence it made me feel in a small way I was providing justice to the victims and punishing the perpetrators. By bringing the shameful crime out from behind its closed doors and bringing it to paper and ink I felt I was doing something good, providing a service no police officer could. I was, at least I hoped, educating masses about the ugliness of domestic violence.

Anyway, since I've been off the public safety beat I haven't had to deal with the monsters of society, which to be honest is kind of nice. But I have to confess I do sometimes miss the blackness.

On Tuesday I was at a work session for city council. Two women approached the council entreating them to support them in obtaining a grant to get 24 apartments in able to house women and their children who were victims of domestic violence. I was amazed to see the overwhelming support of the council, and so were the two women. I wrote a story about the request which ran in today's paper.

It always amazes me the power, conviction and passion women have, especially when it comes to fighting against domestic violence. It also astounds me the number of people who turn a blind eye to the issue.

I hope these two women can get their apartments for their cause. More people like them are needed in the war against domestic violence.

How we remember

As a kid growing up in Hawai'i Memorial Day didn't mean much to me. Throughout my teenage years the day was always portrayed to be a holiday where everybody had barbecues, went to the lake or beach and just got out of town.

It wasn't until I was an adult that I began to realize the sanctity of the day.

It was in 2007 that I covered my first Memorial Day. My assignment was to go to the city cemetery where a presentation was planned to be put on by a group of veterans. Not expecting anything spectacular I decided this was going to be a "quick and dirty" assignment. Just get in and get out.

First was the presentation of the colors, then of course the Pledge of Allegiance and then I think for the first time I heard a veteran play "Taps" on the bugle. On an assignment I hoped to breeze through, changed in an instant. The somber sounds moved me nearly to tears.

Listening to those vets as they told their stories made me realize how lucky I was to live in this country and how I stood on hallowed ground where so many brave soldiers were buried at that very cemetery.

Before this experience I've had the opportunity to speak to soldiers from wars past. Some of their stories have literally brought tears to my eyes. And as I reflect now on this Memorial Day I can say that I'm not glad I have the day off because it's a chance to hit the lake or get out of town. I'm glad I have this day off to observe this hallowed, sacred day for those men and women who have served our country and those who have long since died to protect our freedom.

Graduations

The past three days I've been doing nothing but attending graduations. There are seven high schools in our school district and we had to divide that up between four reporters. Lucky me, I got to cover three of them.

After attending so many of these commencements it really starts to get boring, but yesterday I had the chance to cover the graduation of the alternative high school in our county. You know, the school where people throw the "unmanageable kids."

That's all a crock. Those 70 kids who graduated Thursday night are amazing. They are truly worthy to wear those caps and gowns, worthy to accept those diplomas and ready to move into the next stage of their lives.

It's true each one of those graduates has his or her own story; their struggles they had to overcome. One girl was nine-months pregnant when she accepted her diploma. One graduate started with only 10 credits. Another graduate said she will be the first in her family to ever graduate.

These graduates fought for their education. They didn't skate through it. These graduates have had to deal with the struggles that were placed before them or that they've placed before themselves, and turned out on top.

I have a story about this graduation on The Spectrum's Web site and a blog about graduations.
Photo was taken by Christopher Onstott.

Pseudo Bomb/Terrorist Threat

There was a pseudo bomb/terrorist threat made against a nice hotel here in town a couple days ago. Since it is my job to find out what happened, I called the hotel and asked for the general manager. After Mr. Manager gave his statement, he paused and then asked me the most ridiculous question. "This isn't going in the paper is it?"

I have been asked this question many times. What I don't understand is, when people know they're talking to a reporter about a specific event, why else would we want all the details? Maybe to feed our sick need of wanting to know? Maybe it's because we have nothing to write about and we just call people to get information and not write about it. COME ON!

But that wasn't even the best part of all of this. Since this was a "touchy subject" being a pseudo bomb/terrorist threat and all, and since this was a nice hotel, Mr. Manager put me on speaker so a woman could tell me that I'm "not allowed to write about this."

"Excuse me?" Was my reply. I sternly informed this woman she couldn't give or not give permission for me to write my story. It's public record and if she wanted an accurate story she better let me use Mr. Manager's comments.

In the end Mr. Manager spoke to my editor and I got my comments for a my brief. Sometimes you have to jump through a lot hoops to get a story. Sometimes they're necessary, sometimes they're not. This time they were absolutely ridiculous.

Burr

When I got to work today at the bright early hour of 10 a.m. I felt like an ice-cold wind rushed right through me as I opened the door to the office. You see, in St. George it gets hot, REALLY hot. Today we broke 100 degrees. So of course air conditioning is absolutely necessary and absolutely appreciated.

What I don't appreciate is when "the powers that be" keep the office at an ice-box temperature. How do they expect me to function in that kind of environment? I keep a jacket at the office all sumer long to fight off frost bite and take regular trips outside to defrost in the blazing heat. 

The first summer I was at this office, I entreated the IT guy to assist me in my plight, and get the temperature turned up a few notches. Come to find out the thermostat is locked in a plastic box which is nailed to the wall. I don't know who can get there, the IT guy doesn't know and it seems I haven't been able to find anyone who knows how to control the temperature in the office.

So here I am into my third summer. I have the features editor in a sweater, my editor with a space heater under his desk and coworker around the corner from me wrapped in a blanket. Yep. This is going to be another chilly summer.

What Do Women REALLY Want?

So for probably the third time now I've covered this event called the What Women Want Expo. I guess I wouldn't mind covering it so much except it's put on by the newspaper that I work for as a moneymaker. I feel, in a way, dirty every time I go, come back and write a story that is totally PR.

Like I said, dirty.

Anyway, although this expo is a moneymaker, it has some cool things and to the company's credit; it does try to give back to the community. Yet I had a problem because I would say a lot of the booths were just jewelry. It was a variety of jewelry but still, just jewelry. Honestly, do women really only want look for the bling when they shop?

Next to the bling of course were the smelly good lotions and of course all the booths dedicated to beauty.

Then we had the booths that really made me mad; the vendors advertising cleaning products like mops, vacuums and such. Who let those guys in?! I thought the expo was for women, not men. I felt I had stepped back a few decades into the 1950s.

However, my favorite booth was a vendor advertising obedience training for dogs. I thought that was pretty awesome. If anything, every woman needs a well-behaved pet, because God certainly knows us ladies can't get our men trained to do even simple tricks - but I'm sure they feel the same about us.

Anyway, my award-winning story on What Women Want will be on line tomorrow.

The Randomness at City Council

I walked into the city council chambers this evening to find the chambers nearly empty and all the council members staring at me. I must admit I felt slightly awkward.

We progressed into small talk and the reason for the stare-down unfolded, they were unhappy with the coverage (or lack thereof) during the city's week-long celebration of its founding.

"I could go into a long dissertation as to why I didn't come out, " replied with a certain about of sarcasm. "I could tell you it's because I'm stretched too thin, I cover the college, the school district and dabble in the police beat."

What's a girl to do?

After a few of the council members had their fun watching watching me be uncomfortable, one of them decided to come down from the high chair and mic, and share a piece of her life with me.

I must say this was a bit strange, to see the city councilwoman turn into proud grandma minutes before the meeting, then back to councilwoman.

Talk about random.

Anyway, the councilwoman felt compelled to show five or six photos of her 5-year-old granddaughter dressed in an elaborate costume for a "twinkle-toe recital."

The kid was cute, and it was fun to see the councilwoman so proud.

Just before I thought the meeting couldn't get any more random, the city manager decided to try and make me feel guilty.

"You have my cell phone number, I need yours. Alyson gave me hers and Rachel before that," he said.

I hate when people try to guilt me into doing things, even in jest. So his remarks invoked a bit of a defiant response.

"You're trying to guilt me, sorry, it's not working."

Well, the mayor finally decided to start the meeting, 5:30 p.m. on the dot. And of course one of the first things from his lips is some award the city received.

Can you believe they award people with ingenuity in logos? I figured that was more for advertisers, but apparently this city struck the fancy of the state, along with its logo.

By the end of the meeting I was ready to go back to my office and write a riveting story on the city council, and council members wandered off into executive session. It's definitely on of the more random meetings I've been in.

And yes, we all exchanged cell phone numbers.