Thank you, Professor Wood.

I did not set out to be a writer.  I was forced into it. 

Ok, maybe that is a bit strong, but it was not a conscious choice of mine. As a kid, I loved to read, and then when I was a teenager, I liked to write poetry and keep a journal, but I didn't want to make a career out of it. In the back of my mind, I thought it would be cool to write a book one day, but it was something that maybe I would get to down the line. 

I decided late in my sophomore year in college, I would be a communications major. To be honest, I didn't know what I wanted to major in, but I knew I could communicate. That was my story, and I was sticking to it. As part of the communications class selections, I signed up for Journalism I. The course was taught by a tried-and-true newspaper man - old school. He did not pull any punches and was the perfect person to help a kid hone their writing skills. He was not a person who would coddle the next generation of journalists. 

The course description included the caveat that students would have the opportunity to write for the college newspaper, The Advocate. This did not seem like a mandatory obligation to me. I thought I would learn a thing or two, tighten up my writing skills, and possibly, if I chose to, contribute to the campus rag. That is what I thought. 

A little back story, I never wrote for my high school newspaper. A good friend of mine was the editor and she encouraged me to join The Red and Blue staff, but I just didn't have the time. Marching band was a big commitment, along with my schoolwork, and various jobs, as much as I wanted to contribute to the paper, I just couldn't. College would be my first introduction to writing for print media. 

It has been more than 30 years since I was in this journalism class, so some of the details are fuzzy. I do remember starting out slow and doing the assignments as they came. I really liked my professor and the class was engaging. Looking back, it was one of my favorites of my college career. My roommate and I were inseparable on campus and when Professor Wood saw us, he always referred to us as 'Bishop and Brown'. He never called students by their first names. 

 

It wasn't long before I was working on a substantial assignment. I had to write an article about race relations on campus. This was a heavy hitting piece. On a campus that had a majority white population, this would be an interesting story to tell. It would be a good read for my professor, and I wanted to do a good job. 

I was able to get interviews from students and one prominent faculty member. I had some thought-provoking conversations, and the story started to write itself. I worked hard on this assignment, and I was proud of what I turned in. 

 

As I expected, my professor liked the story, in fact he liked it so much, he wanted to put in the next issue of the campus paper. I told him I didn't want it in the paper, because none of the people I interviewed were told it was going to be published. My professor told me I had to go explain this to everyone I interviewed and find out if they were ok with this new development. The staff for the campus paper was so small, students in the journalism classes were needed to help fill the space. It made sense. 

As I expected, some of the people who contributed to my story did not what their comments printed. My prominent faculty member pulled out of the story. Some of the students I spoke with were not comfortable either. My story was falling apart and I was frustrated. I started to run out of time before the paper was going to press, and I was trying to track down every last person. There was one person I did not get to talk to personally; he was a member of the basketball team. I tried to explain my situation to his teammate and hoped I smoothed everything over. 

The next day, I was shocked at what transpired. My article was on the front page of the paper. I expected my first printed story to be hidden in the back pages. I wasn't sure how to feel about it because I knew the controversial subject matter could upset some people. 

 

The one person who I didn't get a chance to personally speak with before the article was printed was not happy, and he and his teammate confronted me in the student union. This was a tough lesson to learn but it laid the groundwork for a future reporter.

 

Through this experience,  I learned I needed to be honest and respectful of my sources.  I learned how much I enjoy asking questions and getting the answers. I also gained an appreciation for the art of constructing a story. To me, a story is like a puzzle and putting one together has always been something that came easy - the words just flow.

I owe a career in media to my teacher, Professor Lee Wood. It is a privilege to still be writing today, using the skills he taught me. In fact, he helped me post college as well. After spending time writing for television and radio, two very difference styles from newspaper writing, I sent him a few stories back in 2009 to critique as I was trying to brush up on my skills. Instead of sending them back to me via email, he printed them, marked them up and mailed them to me. 

 

When I have having some challenges with my newspaper job and I reached out to him, back in 2015, he took the time to email a very thoughtful response. "I am happy you are working in the field. Each day adds to your knowledge and status."

Last week, a friend messaged me to let me know Professor Wood passed away over the summer. His memory will live on in all of the students he influenced over the years. 

I hope I've made him proud. There is a part of him in every single story I write. 

 

   

 

 

  *My blog is featured in The Valley Mirror each week in the On My Mind column. The Valley Mirror Newspaper covers the Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities.