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If you haven’t read this speech, please do

21 May

Via @longreads:

“There are some people who don’t wait.” Robert Krulwich on the future of journalism

Excerpts:

I suppose this is his main point:

Some people when they look for a job in journalism ask themselves, What do I like to do and Who can take me there? Who can get me to a war zone? To a ballpark? To Wall Street? To politicians, to movie stars? Who’s got the vehicle? And you send them your resume and you say, “I want a seat in your car.” … And you wait.

But there are some people, who don’t wait.

I don’t know exactly what going on inside them; but they have this… hunger. It’s almost like an ache.
Something inside you says I can’t wait to be asked I just have to jump in and do it.

The perfect description of the fire that burns within (and when I discovered this inside of me, I realized journalism was the right path):

What you love can differ, but the love, once it comes, that feeling of waking up with a kind of eagerness, a crazy momentum that pushes you into your day, an excitement you realize you don’t ever want to go way… that’s important.

If you don’t have that feeling, maybe you’re lucky. You can lead a more sane life. But if you do – I say congratulations. You have what it takes to begin.

…

But what I’ve noticed is that people who fall in love with journalism, who stay at it, who stay stubborn, very often win. I don’t know why, but I’ve seen it happen over and over.

So, here, for what it’s worth, ladies and gentlemen of the Class of 2011, is my graduation advice. Some of you will say, “This is a fantasy. Pay this man no attention,” but hey, you invited me, so here’s what I’ve got:

If you can… fall in love, with the work, with people you work with, with your dreams and their dreams. Whatever it was that got you to this school, don’t let it go. Whatever kept you here, don’t let that go. Believe in your friends. Believe that what you and your friends have to say… that the way you’re saying it – is something new in the world.

And don’t stop. Just hold on… and keep loving what you love… and you’ll see. In the end, they’ll let you stay.

That’s just beautiful.

What it feels like when you’re denied locker room access

12 Apr

This sucks. I feel dumb for trying to walk in, because now I’m just feeling humiliated by the team’s staff members or building’s security officers. “We can’t let you go in there,” they say. “There are naked men in there.” No kidding. There are showers. I know these things, even though I physically can’t see them. So I wait. I stand against the wall, tapping my foot, waiting for the team’s PR person to bring out the three players I requested. My deadline is approaching, and I know all my competitors (male writers, obviously) are chatting with whoever they want. They can get the pitcher, catcher and three players with key hits interviewed before I even get my first interview. Oh, and that interview will take place in the hallway, in between the locker room and the training room as players and coaches keep walking in and out of both. Real quiet. Eventually, the players I requested come out. Well, most of them. One is showering. Then he’s got to go to the trainer. He ran out of time because he already gave a 5-10 minute interview to the other beat writers.

That is a flashback to the summer of 2008, when I was interning at The Trentonian, a newspaper in Trenton, N.J. I was covering the Trenton Thunder, the Yankees’ Double-A team. I was 18 and female. I was also an intern, which is the excuse that the organization used for denying me locker room access. I think my bosses had to talk to the PR staff to explain to them that I was to be treated as any full-time reporter would be. But that was after a week or two of the humiliating wait-outside-the-locker-room-door routine. I still made deadline each night, but it was a struggle. And I didn’t get the best quotes. Eventually, I was given the access I deserved — and my stories showed the improvement.

I bring this up because of the uproar (and lack of uproar) surrounding the news that Bergen County Record sports columnist Tara Sullivan was denied access to the locker room at the Masters on Sunday. I saw some outrage on Twitter by other female sports journalists. I saw a lot of people buying the excuse that the Masters gave her — that it was a “misunderstanding.” Mark my words, it’s never a misunderstanding if it doesn’t happen to male reporters as well.

I’d like to think female sports journalists have come far enough in the field that this sort of thing wouldn’t happen. At least some people feel the same way; to Tara’s male colleagues who shared quotes with her, thank you. That’s wonderful and appreciated, and I hope if I’m ever in a similar situation, male writers treat me with the same kindness. But keeping in mind that it is illegal to prevent a female sports writer to enter the locker room if male sports writers are allowed in, this shouldn’t even be an issue. But things still happen.

I’ve had male sports agents deny me interviews in large part because I’m female and young. (Official reason? I think something along the lines of the athlete being too busy for the interview.) That’s something I’ve dealt with and grown from.

But locker room access is a right. And it’s downright humiliating to get shut out of there.

The end of an era (otherwise known as The Michigan Daily)

19 Feb

I think, sometimes, about how different my life would have been without one seemingly insignificant moment.

It was welcome week my freshman year, and I was making small talk with the girl across the hallway. She asked me what my dream job would be — a little dense for small talk, I guess. Like a reflex, I responded I’d love to write for Sports Illustrated. I guess I forgot that I had plans of majoring in economics.

In the infinite wisdom only a sophomore has, she told me I should write for this thing called The Michigan Daily. Her friend was a news reporter, and she’d pass along contact info for the sports section.

I think I could have been an econ major if I really wanted to, and I might have learned to like it. But nothing will ever compare to the passion I have for sports writing, something that began and flourished at the Daily. So, I owe you a special thank you, Alessandra.

I’m not sure how many articles I’ve written over the past four years — but I know it’s hundreds. I don’t know how many road trips I’ve been on — but I know I would have never gone to places like Fairbanks, Alaska, or West Lafayette, Ind., otherwise. I don’t know how many athletes I’ve interviewed or coaches I’ve shook hands with.

None of the specifics of that stuff really matters. It comes down to this: The Daily has been the most challenging but most rewarding thing I’ve ever been a part of.

I’ve also met some incredible sportswriters along the way, and I can’t say goodbye to the Daily without mentioning them.

To those who have come before me in the Daily sports section, particularly Scott, Brom, Mark, Courtney, Andy, Alex, Ian and Podges: Thank you for making me stick around. It’s always about the people, and if I didn’t have you guys I don’t think I would have kept coming back for sports meetings to begin with. We’ve had a lot of fun outside of the Daily building, too, and I’m just really happy to have had you in my life.

To the current Daily guys, particularly Joe, Ryan, Tim, Burns, Zak, Florek, Nesbitt and Casandra: Thanks for keeping me sane and for teaching me how to steal memorabilia from other schools’ arenas. And weirdly enough, I already miss late nights at the Daily — and coffee breaks — with all of you. (I miss winning staff picks already, too.) Keep writing, and keep in touch.

To the professional journalists I’ve worked with, particularly Mark Snyder, Angelique Chengelis and Mike Rosenberg (Mike, giving you a Twitter shoutout was too tempting…): I don’t think you’ll ever understand the impact you’ve had on my life (but bear with me as I try to explain). I learned how to be a journalist from watching great journalists, and you three are great journalists. I watched you observe, ask questions, take notes and break news. My attempts at copying your strategies and came up short every time, but give me 20 years. Maybe I’ll get as good as you guys one day — and then you guys will let me pay for Benny’s.

To the Daily: I hated you. I loved you. Now, I thank you.

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