On Monday, July 11, I started what I hope to be a long, fruitful career in the field of journalism at WBAP and KLIF.
Just four days prior, one of the biggest tragedies to ever strike Dallas took the city by storm, breaking our hearts while also bringing us together in ways I personally haven’t seen since 9/11.
On my first day on the job, I spent my morning speaking with Dallas police officers in front of a breathtaking memorial outside police headquarters, speaking with them and passers-by about how deeply the tragedy cut them emotionally.
On Tuesday, July 12, my second day, President Obama and a litany of high-profile guests landed at an airport I’ve frequented, cruised the streets I so often drive on, and converged at the Meyerson – a venue I have performed in as a musician — to honor the fallen officers. Oh, and hundreds, if not thousands, of Dallas residents filtered into the streets just to catch a quick glimpse of the President’s motorcade, while hundreds more gathered in unison at Klyde Warren Park to experience the historic memorial via simulcast.
Talk about baptism by fire.
It may be a naive thought, but I can’t imagine another line of work where, on your first days on the job, you’re asked to experience something, albeit in tragic circumstances, as significant as being within a stone’s throw away from the President of the United States (and his body double, too!). I definitely didn’t imagine it the afternoon of July 7th, when I was bouncing back and forth between a college radio station and a college newspaper newsroom, doing jobs that now pale in comparison to learning of the President’s whereabouts – not to belittle the work of those entities by any means.
Well, here I am nearly a month after the whirlwind still with a job, so I must have done something right through the chaos. Reflecting on those opening days has been surreal, to say the least, reminiscing on how my feet were thrown to the fire so incredibly quickly.
But more importantly, what I kept coming back to in reflection was the actual story itself.
I joked that I still had a job after those first few days – but five police officers did not. Five families of those officers didn’t even have their husbands, fathers, brothers or uncles anymore. While I gained experience that can never be replicated, they gained massive holes in their hearts that will likely never be filled.
The only thing I can hope through my reporting and story-telling is that the job we did as a station did those families justice when covering the memorial, funerals, and relief efforts. Because in the end, it’s selfish for me to reflect on how a tragedy that affected dozens impacted the start of my career. As I mentioned, I’m alive and able to write this reflection – something I wish I could say about those five courageous officers.
It’s sometimes a cruel reality that journalists often are forced to make their living in the midst of heartbreak. All I can hope is that I did those families right in our coverage of their unimaginable loss.