Journalism Blues
By Jack Kennedy
Heritage High School
Littleton, CO

Audience part (think of Elvis Presley's "I'm Evil" and you'll have the basic
pattern):

Da da da da da
Da da da da da

I woke up this mornin'
Had a deadline on my mind
My hard drive was smokin'
This issue's in a bind.
Guy at Wal-Mart lost my photos.
Principal's knockin' at the door.
I started to question, just what I'm workin' for...

I got them journalism blues
From early morn to late at night.
I got them journalism blues,
Can't seem to ever get things right.

My adviser's really steamin'
Reporters fit to scream.
Ain't seem my mom since last Wednesday?
Can't you wake me from this bad dream?
Eatin' last night's cheese pizza
Not feelin' very well.
Can't somebody save me from this journalism hell?

I got them journalism blues
From early morn to late at night.
I got them journalism blues,
Can't seem to ever get things right.

By Jack Kennedy
(Keynote Address modified to include book references rather than full narratives.)

It really is a pleasure to be able to speak with some of the top students and advisers in the nation. Indiana is, without a doubt, one of the top states in the nation for scholastic journalism, and has been for many decades. You are also the most polite group of people I have ever seen. You've sat through nearly two hours of awards and announcements, and you are still here.

I read a passage from Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut (the last few pages of chapter 42, pages 66-68 in my ancient edition). It is all about the term "granfalloon," which is a false karass, or a seeming team that is, in reality, meaningless. I worry about whether we are, perhaps, a granfalloon, when we get together for such journalism conferences, but have decided that we actually do share something important: we are all story tellers.

This is true for newspaper, yearbook, video, and web design. Or at least we should be telling stories. We live in a superficial world, with a President, for instance, who is darn proud of not reading books.

There is a lot of pressure to publish lists, meaningless quote collections, calendars and isolated images. Too much journalism is like a walk down a school hallway, full of quick, superficial greetings, with appearance closely noted. Is your newspaper, yearbook or in-school TV show like that?

Perhaps the world just seems too complicated. There's so much to cover. But another great Indiana native, Ernie Pyle, once said, "If you want to tell the story of a war, tell the story of one soldier." My humble corollary is, "If you want to tell the story of a high school, tell the story of one
student."

And there are amazing stories to tell.

Here's the start of one: (Here I read the first 800 words or so of Tom French's South of Heaven, introducing the audience to YY and Mike, who represent typical extreme students. I know South of Heaven is out of print, and it is about the late '80s, but it still works.

The second piece I read from is by Ken Fuson, and appeared in the Baltimore Sun June 1-6, 1997. The series is titled"A Stage in Their Lives", and it won the ASNE Distinguished Writing Award. My advice is to contact The Sun and
inquire as to availability of reprints. I used to have six of them, but I am down to one after giving them away from time to time. The excerpt I read relates the drama of the posting of the cast list for a school musical, and the differing reactions from two girls who both wanted the part of Maria in West Side Story. Everyday drama that, I'm afraid, we are not recording in our publications.

This series covers the making of a musical from auditions to the final curtain, and it is magnificent. I ran out of time, so I couldn't read the conclusion, which is a superb, lyrical celebration of youth. Here are the last four grafs:

..."Later that night, after tearing apart the set, the cast celebrates at an ice-cream shop that remains open just for them. Let's leave them here, giddy and triumphant -- the fedora-topped Eli Senter nuzzling his girlfriend; Brian Forte and Anna Schoenfelder flirting with each other; Angie Guido laughing as her boyfriend clutches a rose in his teeth; the shimmering Starr Lucas digging into a mountainous ice-cream sundae; and Angela Brown waering the exultant expression of a young woman who has dicovered this wonderful gift -- a voice so pretty people cry when they hear it.

"Years from now, Angela will happend upon a copy of the West Side Story program from the 1997 spring musical, and the memories will wash over her...the first time she hit the high C... seeing her name next to Maria's on the cast list... watching Eli perservere... Angie's help... the duet with
Anna... Starr's curtain call... Mr. Shipley's final show.
The program will have faded, but if Angela closes her eyes -- if she's willing to suspend her disbelief for just a moment -- she will feel it again, all of it, every instant of that stage when the girl she was became the woman she is, two glorious nights when the world was wild and bright and time stood forever still."

I then read from the conclusion to Another Planet (A Year in the Life of a Suburban High School), by Elinor Burkett, published by Harper Collins in 2001. She points out the inconsistencies and mixed messages we send students in even our best high schools. But why is it that we must depend on 40-somethings to write about the quintessential American experience, namely high school? And it's not just the authors I read from. The list is much longer: Friday Night Lights, by Bissinger, is still an incredible feat of story telling and analysis. Another great narrative is In These Girls, Hope is a Muscle, by Madeline Blais, published in 1995 by Warner Books. She follows a Massachusetts girls basketball team from a disappointing junior year to a glorious state championship. Women are athletes, too, and we need to share their experiences. I still have kids reading Be True To Your School, by Bob Greene. He wrote it as a sophomore in high school in 1965, but it is still absolutely crystal clear in making that age come alive.

Who better than you, bright, talented high school students, to tell your story? Warning: it's not easy. It takes curiosity, attention to detail, respect for your subject, and, most importantly, time. Are you willing to invest dozens or hundreds of hours to report on some group or team or activity?

Carl Bernstein once defined journalism as "the best attainable version of the truth." Is your truth worth more than a series of 8-10 inch stories? Do we trust our readers (and viewers) to hang in there with us for more extensive stories? I'd like to finish up today with one of my favorite movie scenes. It's from the 1939 classic, "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington." Jimmy Stewart's character has been elected to Congress in Washington state, and is about to head to D.C. He is worried that his voice will not be heard there, that he doesn't stand a chance of getting anything meaningful accomplished. His father looks at him for a moment, and says, "Son, lost causes are the only ones worth fighting for."

My friends, we are all fighting a lost cause. There will never be a perfect newspaper or yearbook or video. For that matter, high school itself is a lost cause. We could all make a list of the mistakes, ommissions, etc. that plague us day after day. Adviser know they will never be able to stop teaching the difference between to and two, or between affect and effect. But we do it anyway, and there's nothing more noble than every day, going out there and fighting the fight, even though we are inevitably doomed to fail (at least partially).

Sometimes, when I get down, it helps to sing about this doomed condition. I see my band has not shown up, so would you mind doing a little singing this
morning?

(See full version of Journalism Blues in left column of this page).

Thanks, Indiana!