Saturday, November 21, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Retooling and Launching Planet Forward (RWU) 2.0
Last year, I used the three-week January mini-semester to create the Planet Forward (RWU) workshop and now we're poised to do it all over again.
This time around, we're in a new building, we've got access to better tools, I've got more students trained to edit, and I've got a total of 15 students standing ready to work through Planet Forward (RWU) 2.0.
They've got pretty big shoes to fill.
In the last cycle, the 2009 team was given the task of creating FOUR videos, but they ultimately produced a total of 12. All were submitted to PBS and four were added to the unedited TV version of the show. This next team has more things working in its favor but still has to stand and deliver.
Will these kids make the grade? Can they match the load? We'll see.
Stay tuned and stay interested.
[where: 02809]
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
My life as a print journalist
ALEXANDRIA, VA, April 1991 __ My friend and colleague, Scott Bryant, took this photo during a news assignment to cover the Dr. Cecil B. Jacobson fraud trail.
I was standing outside the Alexandria Federal Courthouse just moments after Dr. Jacobson hosted a news conference.
The negative is actually flipped. The photo was shot on slide film which, when I had prints made, got flipped, so the image is backwards.
I was standing outside the Alexandria Federal Courthouse just moments after Dr. Jacobson hosted a news conference.
The negative is actually flipped. The photo was shot on slide film which, when I had prints made, got flipped, so the image is backwards.
The Trial of Cecil B. Jacobson
BRISTOL, RI __ Back in 1991, when I was starting this professional experiment I'm now calling my career, I sat inside the Federal Courthouse in Alexandria, Virginia to hear the arraignment for Cecil Jacobson, an OBGYN who was artificially inseminating women with his own sperm.
I remember thinking that I was going to make a career in Journalism covering "cops and courts." Ahead of the court hearing, the courtroom filled with lawyers, journalists and other legal jetsam and flotsam. I ended up sitting next to Rob Howe, the legal reporter for The Washington Post, and many of the lawyers cruised him to share stories (they were calling the doctor "The Sperminator").
At one point, I looked to my left and sitting just down the pew from me was a young Hispanic couple with a toddler who looked suspiciously like Dr. Jacobson. I said nothing but took lots of notes. Then the room hushed and we sat there and watched as the Doctor walked into the courtroom and sat down with his lawyers at the front table. We were silent for a while and then the buzz of conversation resumed.
In time, the judge entered, the bailiff called us to rise, and when the judge situated himself behind bench, the proceeding began: First the prosecutor read the charges ; then the federal court judge cleared his throat, and looked down at the defense table and asked: "How do you plea?" Jacobson muttered something to his lawyer, stood up and -- with his back to the congregation -- muttered something to the judge. With that, the Judge set a date for the trial and the proceedings were over.
Outside the courthouse, I couldn't believe how quickly the whole thing went. In and out in an instant. On TV there was all this drama; in real life, court proceedings have a much different appeal.
As I stood there in the spring rain, Rob Howe came outside and we were pressed together by a gathering of TV reporters.
"I'm going to take off," I said to him.
"Hold on, Mike," he said. "I hear Jacobson is going to come outside and make a statement."
I couldn't believe it when he told me. Rob could have let me disappear into the day. Instead, he offered a surprising moment of professional courtesy. As a senior reporter, he took a moment to help me -- a new reporter (and a competitor) -- by offering me some quick advice.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Jacobson came out of the courthouse and stopped on the marble steps to offer a statement. Rob and I were pressed back against a black railing; I stood there just behind Jacobson's shoulder with my notebook open; as the mist fell, I scrawled out quotes from the accused doctor.
Jacobson basically admitted that the allegations were true: He used his own sperm samples to impregnate women. His argument? He used his own sperm because he knew that these samples were the only ones he could guarantee would be "100-percent HIV negative." I was stunned by his candor.
As he walked down the crowded steps and through the scores of TV cameras and reporters, I stood there and looked down at the press corp. It was then that I realized, because of where I was standing, I was probably going to make the evening news... and did. That night, I appeared in the local TV stories -- notebook in hand, scribbling away in the spring rain -- and a week later, Primetime Live did a story, and the same video clip aired again.
Jacobson was later convicted on 51 counts of mail fraud.
As for me, I realized that court reporting was never going to be my thing.
I remember thinking that I was going to make a career in Journalism covering "cops and courts." Ahead of the court hearing, the courtroom filled with lawyers, journalists and other legal jetsam and flotsam. I ended up sitting next to Rob Howe, the legal reporter for The Washington Post, and many of the lawyers cruised him to share stories (they were calling the doctor "The Sperminator").
At one point, I looked to my left and sitting just down the pew from me was a young Hispanic couple with a toddler who looked suspiciously like Dr. Jacobson. I said nothing but took lots of notes. Then the room hushed and we sat there and watched as the Doctor walked into the courtroom and sat down with his lawyers at the front table. We were silent for a while and then the buzz of conversation resumed.
In time, the judge entered, the bailiff called us to rise, and when the judge situated himself behind bench, the proceeding began: First the prosecutor read the charges ; then the federal court judge cleared his throat, and looked down at the defense table and asked: "How do you plea?" Jacobson muttered something to his lawyer, stood up and -- with his back to the congregation -- muttered something to the judge. With that, the Judge set a date for the trial and the proceedings were over.
Outside the courthouse, I couldn't believe how quickly the whole thing went. In and out in an instant. On TV there was all this drama; in real life, court proceedings have a much different appeal.
As I stood there in the spring rain, Rob Howe came outside and we were pressed together by a gathering of TV reporters.
"I'm going to take off," I said to him.
"Hold on, Mike," he said. "I hear Jacobson is going to come outside and make a statement."
I couldn't believe it when he told me. Rob could have let me disappear into the day. Instead, he offered a surprising moment of professional courtesy. As a senior reporter, he took a moment to help me -- a new reporter (and a competitor) -- by offering me some quick advice.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Jacobson came out of the courthouse and stopped on the marble steps to offer a statement. Rob and I were pressed back against a black railing; I stood there just behind Jacobson's shoulder with my notebook open; as the mist fell, I scrawled out quotes from the accused doctor.
Jacobson basically admitted that the allegations were true: He used his own sperm samples to impregnate women. His argument? He used his own sperm because he knew that these samples were the only ones he could guarantee would be "100-percent HIV negative." I was stunned by his candor.
As he walked down the crowded steps and through the scores of TV cameras and reporters, I stood there and looked down at the press corp. It was then that I realized, because of where I was standing, I was probably going to make the evening news... and did. That night, I appeared in the local TV stories -- notebook in hand, scribbling away in the spring rain -- and a week later, Primetime Live did a story, and the same video clip aired again.
Jacobson was later convicted on 51 counts of mail fraud.
As for me, I realized that court reporting was never going to be my thing.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Digital Downtown
What's odd to me is the fact that while Facebook continues to be a sensation with college-aged students, who gravitated towards this social networking medium organically, most professionals in the classroom and in the news industry look down upon the site. I think, given its allure, Facebook and its incarnations may be the unexpected future of the news industry.
What I'm seeing in the classroom: In the moments before and just after a class session, many students linger in the Roger Williams University Mac labs to check email and visit their Facebook page. Often, I hear my peers bleeting on about this student obsession with Facebook and about the great lengths professors take to stall Facebooking in the academic setting. I suppose, if you're teaching English literature or History, Facebook has no place in the classroom but Communications? Facebook should be a resource.
Right now, the news industry is collapsing, a trend, due in part to the fact that college-age students are finding news and entertainment online. The Facebook obsession is a fascinating part of this. To me, Facebook is the "digital downtown" for the companion brick-and-mortar host community. To log in as a citizen of the digital Roger Williams University network, you must have a RWU email address. Because of this connection, the two societies are conjoined by the same people; and a digital-analog association is created.
The fascinating thing here is the fact that the news industry hasn't found away inside the Digital Downtown. The audience is there... waiting. News can be easily delivered; in fact, a news digest written specifically for this audience can be created, scripted, and published in a way that it will attract attention from across the digital community.
Right now, the news industry seems to be fascinated with these other pop trends. Twitter is getting lots of attention; as is the RSS feed; and the static host websites including www.NYTimes.com. But these models are wrong. Twitter is a spamming device; RSS feeds are self-created spamming devices; and static sites are truck stops with awkward points of access.
News, in its most traditional sense, always had to find its audience. Newspapers are hand-delivered. Sure, magazines and newsletters reach subscribers through subscriptions; but there's a difference here: Newspapers demand to be read.
So, how does this formula apply to the Digital Downtown?
Well, there are a few things at play. First, the news package online is different. When we buy newspapers, we pay one price for two dozen stories. Online news packaging is different. We seek out individual stories; not prepackage compilations. It's like what happened with the music industry: We don't buy CD compilations any more; on iTunes, we buy one song at a time instead. This trend is becoming pervasive. This one-story-at-a-time trend may actually work in the industry's favor.
Right now, through "bookmark" postings like the one I have at the base of this blog post, allows readers to "share" stories with friends on Facebook and elsewhere. This movement actually circulates the content beyond its origin; this trend, in my opinion, is the most under-estimated benefit of the growing integration of social network sites. Now, it's possible for the content of the New York Times site to find an incidental readership outside the confines of the NYTimes "truck stop."
Clearly, social network sites are the future and right now, Facebook is king. But I think Facebook is in trouble.
There's more here... but I'm going to stop... and breathe.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
photo poetry
BRISTOL, RI __ I play this game with a buddy in North Carolina. He sends me a photo and I write some free verse. In this round, he asked for a Haiku, which is what I wrote. He's much more talented than I am... but the drill is still kind of fun. To me, these are quick brain teasers designed to keep the creative process sharp and lively.
My checkered past:
a smearing cacophony
on graying pavement
My checkered past:
a smearing cacophony
on graying pavement
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
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