An Afternoon with Phil

Invasion of Normandy

I was never a huge history buff in school, but since beginning my work at the Daily News, a community with two major Air Force bases and thousands of veterans, I have come to an understanding that history is one of the most fascinating topics you can find.

What’s more, because of the unique place I work I’ve had the opportunity to interview dozens of WWII veterans and each time they amaze me more and more.

There’s something remarkable about that generation.

Perhaps its the fact that they will never tell you they were heroes. They were all just doing their jobs.

Maybe its that they are silent in the feats they accomplished during that time. Silent until some nosy reporter knocks on their door.

For me, it’s the great deal of pride they feel for fighting a war where so many of their comrades died.

Earlier this week I interviewed Phil Hooper. A WWII 101st Airborne Division veteran who fought in the Invasion of Normandy, D-Day, that began June 6, 1944 and lasted six weeks.

Above is Phil Hooper, a retired staff sergeant from the 101st Airborne Division.

Mr. Hooper, 88, has been asked on several occasions by groups around the area if he’ll share his wartime stories. He told me Tuesday that revisiting would be too painful.

Instead, he says he can sit back and answer questions, just a few, so that the history he witnessed is not forgotten.

“You know, when you’re 18 or 19 nothing really goes through your mind. I guess that’s why I wasn’t scared when we were going to Normandy,” Hooper said sitting at his kitchen table, his 101st Airborne Division hat atop his head.

“We knew there was going to be an invasion, but we could have cared less.”

Featured is Phil Hooper when he first joined the war efforts in the early 1940s.

Mr. Hooper told the story of one of the men he rode to France with, a small man in stature with a large pack on when he stepped off the boat.

Invasion of Normandy

“As soon as he went into the water he just sunk down,” Mr. Hooper said laughing. “That’s when our captain, he was probably taller than 6-foot, put his arm in the water and just hoisted him up.”Neither of them made it. It was a real shame, they were good guys.”

During the interview, Mr. Hooper told the tales of escaping from France to Holland. Crash landing in Belgium, fighting in the Battle of Bulge.

Mr. Hooper is a hero in every way.

Confessions of a Journalist

I cried on my drive to work today.

Now some of you readers, the few who have been with me for the past couple years, may think this is an every day occurrence because for some unknown reason I’ve chosen to be very honest on this blog.

I promise you, I do not cry every day. I’m not the most emotional person in the world. I don’t even cry during Hallmark commercials. OK, I cry the first time I see them but after that I am strong like a warrior.

Yesterday, I had to get some work done on my car. My 2009 car that when purchased had less than 10 miles on it and that now has almost 140,000 miles on it.

I cried today, and  — since I’m being honest — yesterday, because when I got the bill for my car I realized I would soon be the poorest I’ve ever been in my history of comprehending my finances.

I’ve lived a relatively conservative life spending-wise. Yet, any hope of saving went out the window the second I said, “I think being a journalist is a good idea.”

The truth about this career is that most print journalists are struggling. I know I’ve discussed it ad nauseum here.

But this morning I started practicing my speech to my editor. “I know these are hard times and we’ve discussed my pay before, but I’m hoping you will reconsider and try to find it in the budget to just give me a slight raise …”

I was driving along in the dark at 5 a.m. practicing when the tears began streaming down my face.

No matter what I say, I’m not getting a raise. No matter what I do, how little I spend, I’ll still be on the edge of poverty.

I know there are people out there considering this job and I don’t want to crush dreams but the reality is that most of the time the good parts of this job are outweighed by the fact that I can barely afford groceries let alone the gas it takes just to get to the newspaper.

It’s moments like this that I tell myself to hang onto for the day I say goodbye to the business. I know that when that day comes I’ll have this voice in my head questioning the decision:

“Are you sure you want to do this? You won’t be able to tell people you have this super cool-sounding job anymore or see that by line on the front page. You won’t have this tiny bit of fame you’ve gotten used to. You won’t have adventures that make for excellent conversation later.”

I’m, unfortunately, sure. I can’t keep this up. It’s tearing me apart inside. I hate being the person constantly worrying about their finances, watching everyone have fun and live life while I’m counting pennies.

I don’t want to worry about paying for rent or groceries. I just want to have a little savings and be able to feel safe with my finances.

Is that asking too much?

 

We’ve Made It: Newspaper reporter ranks No. 1 as worst job of 2013

Congratulations are owed to all the newspaper reporters out there – you’ve done it! You have made the No. 1 slot for worst job of 2013.

How does it feel to finally win something? Is it everything you ever hoped for?

Careercast.com puts out a list yearly of the best and worst jobs that year. Last year, newspaper reporters were ranked No. 5 being beaten by lumberjack worker, enlisted soldiers, waitresses and dairy farmers.

This year, though, we’ve done the seemingly impossible. We’ve earned the right to say we literally have the worst job around.

This could be due to the meager pay (I haven’t gotten a raise in four years), the long hours (although overtime is strongly discouraged having your staff continuously cut down and high turnover makes it impossible), and the lousy working conditions (you’re in the elements, the people you have to work with often hate you, and you’re always on call).

Here’s what Forbes reported:

Tony Lee, publisher of CareerCast.com, says the profession has always been ranked among the worst jobs due to low pay, high levels of stress from working under deadlines, a poor hiring outlook and the requirement to be on duty twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

“But with newspapers cutting back so dramatically, the job actually has a negative growth outlook, meaning there will be fewer newspaper reporters in the future,” Lee said.

The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics anticipates that the number of traditional print newspapers reporter jobs will decline 6% by 2020. The median salary for these professionals—which is currently a meager $36,000 a year—is also expected to shrink.

Now back to me:

Last year I was a little more hopeful and gave a list of best and worst reasons to stay in this field. This year, I’m just keeping my head down and chugging along.

It breaks my heart to think about the future of newspapers and newspaper reporters. These are bleak times we are in, but this is a longstanding profession that has managed to stick around for hundreds of years.

I believe in the power of journalism and I believe in the importance of the newspaper.

This country needs us.

They need reporters who stay longer than 30 minutes at the scene. They need folks who are willing to sit on the phone for an hour to get the one quote needed for a story. They need the tireless efforts of editors and fellow reporters to rip apart stories only to help put them back together again.

Reporters are a part of the fabric of this country and I pray they continue to exist and to, one day, actually thrive while doing their jobs.

I’m Calling You Out

When I started this job almost six years ago I was a timid 21-year-old with very little life experience. I was easy to plow over should you want to get your way. I was a pushover.

That, though, was years ago and I’ve added some life experience and work experience to the ole resume.

Since starting out, I’ve been called every name in the book been told to quite, get a job at McDonald’s and never write another word again. Those comments are easy to write today. Upon receiving them, though, I subsequently went to the bathroom and had a nice little cry before returning to my desk.

Today, I received a snarky comment from a local fire department. That’s right, on my story was a blatantly rude comment from the agency’s own Facebook page.

I was given the name of an agency that worked a case by the primary investigators and went on to report that in my story. That agency, however, was not the correct one it was the local fire department.

Instead of calling me, though, they chose to tell me that I was wrong, that I call every day and should have known and said “Angel, thanks for the support” all through Facebook.

The old Angel would have changed the information and never said anything again. The 26-year-old me writing to you now was annoyed that they chose to comment on Facebook rather than call so I could explain what happened.

So I called them.

I spoke with the chief there who wanted to tell me it was a positive comment. I told him I knew better and explained that perhaps, in the future, it would be best just to talk to me so we can work things out as adults.

I’m not unreasonable, but I’m no longer a pushover.

Future journalists — Stand up for yourselves. There’s no need to be rude or disrespectful while doing this but you can certainly explain yourself and ask for a better system to handle whatever problems that may arise in the future.

I guess this whole courage thing is a nice part of growing up in the industry.

Driving Miss Daisy

There are a lot of things that people know about being a career reporter. I mean, heck, who hasn’t seen at least one journalism film (and those are all accurate, right?)

One thing I never thought about was the multitasking. Yes, I realized there would be a million things coming in through the scanner, email and my editors all at once.

I never thought about the multitasking when it came to the driving. I’ve got you now, you never thought of that either.

Yesterday, I was out in a small neighborhood that was struck by a freak storm — I believe the proper term is a straight-line wind event — so I found myself looking for people to talk to, noting the damage in my head and working to distinguish what was from the storm and what was not.

That much thinking while driving a car is not an easy task.

I was sitting at a stop sign peering at the road ahead of me when I started easing forward then slammed on my brakes.

God was good because there was no car coming, but I realized in that instance that I was so focused on my story that I neglected to give my attention to my driving.

Being a reporter is a difficult task. You have to be unbiased, you have to be eloquent and succinct in your words, you have to be incredibly persistent and charming to get information.

Add to that list, you have to drive well while never looking at the road. Can we say impossible!?

Here’s to passing a law that all reporters should get their own drivers!

Changing Times

At the ripe age of 26 I’ve decided to change my ways.

That’s right, I’m looking ahead at a different me. Well, at least the way I write.

A few nights ago I picked up a book that I have found to be a personal favorite, Rick Bragg’s Somebody Told Me. Bragg is a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter and an inspirational writer.

In school, we learned about his writing technique. The former St. Petersburg Times and New York Times journalist would sit with those he was interviewing and just listen. Rarely writing anything down, just soaking it all in.

My professors told me the only time his pen would move was when he was getting THAT quote. The one quote that embodied everything the person was trying to say, that spoke of their character and of their background.

When I first started working at the Daily News my editor told me to look at those writings that I really enjoy and look at what aspects I like most about them.

It’s easy for reporters to have a formula when writing: Lede, nutgraf, quote, transition, quote, fact, transition, end quote. Your story is done.

But with Bragg’s work, and now with mine, it’s a journey. The reader is transported into the world your reporting on. They can taste it, smell it and truly get to know your subjects.

So, henceforth and from here on out throughout my journalistic career, I will be the writer I’ve always wanted to be. I, hopefully, will be a writer that can inspire the next generation of reporters.

Wanna see my first attempt? Read here!

I’m a Reporter

It’s strange to think that I’ve been in this business now going five years full time. There’s been some pretty hard days, but then again there’s been some pretty great days too.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my career. Where I want to go, what I want to do, who I want to be.

A few months back I spoke with some high school students on the value of being a reporter today. Ironic, since I’m going to graduate school with the intention of pursuing other career options.

But talking with the students made me feel like maybe this journalism thing is a higher calling, so to speak. No, I’m not a preacher or a prophet. But I am a professor of truth.

It almost makes you forget about the lousy pay, terrible hours and little to no thanks.

I guess this post is my musing. Who am I if I’m not a reporter? It’s all I’ve ever done, at least as an adult.

I think it may be all I know how to do.

After years of working in this business I no longer can have normal conversations with people, including my own parents.

My mother told me a story about a student who got into the attic and the only thing I could think about was calling the paper to tell them about a great little story we could pick up.

Even outside the office when I’m talking to people on the phone or in person I automatically have a pen and paper in my hand and am taking notes. I don’t think I can focus without doing that now.

I’m quick to not trust and quicker to look both ways when I cross the street.

I guess, five years later, I really am a journalist. No longer a newbie. No longer wading through the unknown.

I’ve become one.

Hello. My name is Angel and I’m a reporter. Nice to meet you.