On Being a Student Journalist

Once upon a time, I was a student journalist.

My stint as a reporter for the UCLA Daily Bruin and eventually as a city editor, took place in the last milenium.

I’m not going to say “covering the story” was different in “my day,” but it sure feels like it.

I’m not sure why. It’s just the usual Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How?

Isn’t it?

Who wanted to be a student journalist?

I did not go to college planning to be a journalist.

I sort of fell into it.

UCLA still does not have a journalism school, but it always has had a student-run and student-edited newspaper, The UCLA Daily Bruin.

(My father wrote for the sports section during his time at UCLA, a generation before me.)

Even all those years ago, I dreamed of being an author. I wanted to write books that would change how people viewed God and life in general. (I explain all that on my website here.)

I thought a degree in English Literature would prepare me for a literary, book-penning world.

Actually, in my time, a degree in English Literature means I got a degree in textual analysis.

It could be helpful for studying literature, yes, but it was extremely helpful for what I’ve done ever since I graduated from college: examine the Biblical texts and lead Bible studies!

Who knew?

Not me.

(Isn’t it interesting how God so often organizes our lives in ways we don’t even realize at the time! I’ve written a lot of blog posts about studying the Bible. You can see them starting here.)

Being a student journalist often means making mistakes

But during my first year, I never seemed to get around to writing the great American novel. I was too busy with the band, Bible studies (ripping apart the text just as I was taught), and figuring out life.

One day, I saw an ad in the UCLA Daily Bruin looking for student journalists.

I figured if I had a job, I’d have to write, so I went down and applied.

That turned out to be true. Typing words on paper was the job.

I also learned to edit and since being a student journalist often means making mistakes, I also learned how to accept responsibility for my words.

That’s an important skill to learn when you’re 18 years-old.

I learned to be very careful about taking down accurate notes during interviews.

Several times I learned how to apologize for misrepresenting people’s words.

How to make appointments and keep them, how to face down angry readers, how to not flinch over letters to the editor, and how to accept correction from my editor.

Important skills I took with me into adult life.

Most importantly, I learned how to respectfully ask questions and really listen to the answers–particularly of people I didn’t agree with.

And, of course, I learned how to write to a deadline.

(Back in those Dark Ages, we were taught if you could not respectfully present both sides of a story–particularly if you didn’t agree with one side–you were not ready to write the article.

(Do you see that attitude in the news today?)

Facing hostility as a writer

Hey, I didn’t write the editorial that caused all the trouble!

But I was one of the editors the day an angry mob–maybe 25 people–marched on the Daily Bruin office and burned a copy of our paper “in effigy.” (We were students, dramatic, remember?)

The campus police evacuated the offices. We locked up, grabbed our notebooks, and fled–to the top of Kerkoff Hall where we could watch events!

Nothing more happened–but we got great photos and a story for the next day’s front page.

In hindsight, I was not a particularly good student journalist. I’m sorry for that.

But I learned a lot about life, asking questions, and taking down answers. I showed up every day, supported the rest of the staff, and then graduated a year early.

My experiences as a student journalist helped form my novel A Poppy in Remembrance.

Even a former student journalist follows the action.

Years later, we woke up to words shouted outside our bedroom window: “Police! Stop or we’ll shoot!”

“What are you doing?” my husband whisper-shouted as I bounded out of bed to look out the window.

I raced down the hallway, listening as the police chased someone down the east side of our thin-walled Hawaiian bungalow.

What a surprise! The long-defunct reporter instinct was ressurected!

I dashed through the galley kitchen to the lana’i, where I saw the flashlights following a suspect.

(Using my sleep-addled brain, I did crouch beside the refrigerator lest any bullets come through the screened windows or one-board thick wall).

They ran around the back of our house, and then through the carport on the west side!

Hustling back down the hallway, I stood watching in my sleeping children’s bedroom as the police knocked the assailant onto the driveway not ten feet away, and arrested him.

After the police cars drove off, I climbed back into bed.

“What were you doing?!” demanded my Navy guy. “Are you crazy? They had guns!”

I shook my head and smiled. I’d felt that familiar adrenaline surging and the dormant journalist sprang back to action

“Once a reporter, always a reporter,” I laughed and kissed him goodnight.

Did I really major in textual analysis?

Yes . . . but I’ve always been interested in getting the story, too!

Thanks be to God.

Tweetables

On being a student journalist–do the reporter instincts ever die? Click to Tweet

Student reports can make mistakes but if they’re good–grow up to tell the accurate story. Click to Tweet