On anniversary of Carl Drega rampage, thoughts turn to how world of journalism has changed.

 Aug. 19, 1997, was a beautiful summer day in northern New Hampshire. Like many days when the world changes forever, there was no hint that something was going to happen.

Lorna Colquhoun, at the time a reporter covering the North Country for the New Hampshire Union Leader, got a call from her editor in Manchester early that afternoon. She had to get up to Colebrook — two state troopers were dead.

By the time the day ended, two others — a judge and a newspaper editor — would be dead and several more in both New Hampshire and Vermont would be injured at the hands of Carl Drega, who also didn’t live to see the end of the day.

There was no Twitter feed, no websites to check, no emailed press releases. Cellphones were an ungainly novelty. This weekend Colquhoun reflected how that hot August afternoon she drove into Colebrook — eerily empty and quiet — prepared for anything, knowing nothing.

She settled in at an ice cream shop across the street from the office of the Colebrook News and Sentinel, the local newspaper. Vickie Bunnell, a judge and Colebrook selectwoman she knew well, had been shot outside that office, which was next door to her office. Dennis Joos, the editor of the newspaper, was also shot and had been taken to the hospital. Colquhoun was in the shop when someone called from the hospital to tell the owner Joos had died.

She called her boss to tell him what she knew, and he asked her if she could keep the phone line open. The owner of the shop told her the line was hers. Later, as more reporters descended on the area and wanted to use the phone, the owner told them, “Sorry, we have to leave it open for the Union Leader.”

It was 16 years ago, but Colquhoun remembers the details like they were yesterday — someone from a nearby store that sold sporting goods put a camouflage-print sleeping bag over Bunnell’s body. When Colquhoun was let into the newspaper office — at the insistence of an acquaintance who told the cop guarding the door that she was OK, she was a reporter — Joos’ computer screen still showed the story he’d been working on.

Drega, of Bow, N.H., was pulled over by New Hampshire State Trooper Scott Phillips in an IGA parking lot earlier that day. Drega shot Phillips, then chased him into a field and shot him again, killing him, before shooting Trooper Les Lord, who didn't even have time to get out of his cruiser. Drega stole one of the cruisers and drove to Bunnell’s office. She was involved in a years-long local dispute over a shack he owned on the Connecticut River.

Bunnell saw him coming through the front window and alerted the next-door newspaper office, “It’s Drega, and he’s got a gun.”

Joos — an unarmed, mild-mannered pacifist, Colquhoun said — tackled Drega in an attempt to stop him or at least slow him. He was no match. Both Joos and Bunnell were fatally shot before Drega took off across the Vermont border, eventually dying in a rain of gunfire, but not before wounding several other officers.

The story lasted for days. Colquhoun can remember what certain reporters were wearing — most of them were staying at local hotels and didn’t have a change of clothes.

If you Google Carl Drega you’ll find a partially inaccurate 1997 New York Times article, the inevitable Wikipedia entry, a Time magazine story that will cost you money to read and some blogs that have various takes on what happened, depending on the writer’s agenda. When the shootings happened, newspapers weren’t online, so the Union Leader’s extensive and thorough coverage won’t be found there.

Colquhoun said everything changed after the Drega story. Most journalists who were around then will agree.

We didn’t recognize it at the time, but changes in technology became changes in relationships. Changes in relationships became changes in how information is not only gathered, but seen.

In an era when reporters couldn’t do email “interviews,” they had to talk to people person-to-person. They knew people in the community and the people knew them. Because people had to connect on a personal level, it was normal for a reporter to ask strangers if they could use their telephone, to engage them in conversation.

Information came from talking to people, finding things out and digging for it, which gave stories detail and variety that the other guy wasn’t getting if it was done right. It also meant reporters and editors had that personal stake that can only come from really working it, figuring it out, asking questions.

Reporters would gather at the scene of a big story and become a brother and sisterhood, trying to outwork and outscoop each other, but united in the heady knowledge that they were on the front line, that they were doing something big and special and the whole wide world was watching.

When good storytellers had to work the story, it gave them an ownership, a visceral association with the events. Most reporters from that era and before can tell you every detail of the biggest stories they covered, because they were there and held those details in their hands.

There have been lazy reporters who weren’t that good at their jobs since newsprint first rolled off a press. Today, there are many kickass reporters who go after stories with passion, knowledge and ferocity. It’s what keeps journalism alive.

But there’s been a slow erosion of the foundation that made covering the big stories so, well, big.

Newspapers, as well as other news organizations, were slow to recognize what was happening as the news business began to change in the late 1990s.

When we did, the response was panic that sent many organizations down dead ends while everyone ignored the little things that were eating away at the business.

The panic led to staffs being decimated and some of the best journalists leaving the business. Smaller staffs made it harder for journalists to get to stories, harder for organizations to cover them. Good thing it became so easy to “cover” stories from a chair at a desk.

The easier it got to gather information, the less in touch we became with our sources. The sources changed, too. They didn’t have to talk to us, either.

Everyone shrugged and said, “What are you gonna do?”

Less was expected of overworked, skeleton staffs because what are you gonna do?

Less is expected of young journalists today, many of whom are no longer schooled in how to work a story, because, you know, what are you gonna do?

When something horrific happens, good journalists feel the horror, too. But the best ones know that the story needs to be told and they’re the person to tell it. They HAVE to be the one to tell it.

The best news organizations know it’s about the content. Reporters and editors who have that passion to tell the story and tell it right are going to produce content that people will read. Put it on paper, put it in cyberspace, etch it on a cave wall, doesn’t matter, people are going to want to read it.

Still, those of us who were around for Drega and all the little and big stories that came before can’t help but mourn a time when that passion was the norm and when news broke, things went into high gear and the world stopped while we went after it.

Of all the things we didn’t know yet in 1997, one of the biggest is that we didn’t know we were the lucky ones. 

Won't get fooled again? Yes we will.

We've been paying a lot of attention in the news this week to liars. I know, I know, that's nothing new. The difference is the lying is the story.
First, let's look at Manti Te'o, the star Notre Dame football player who got a lot of mileage out of the "death" of his fake girlfriend this fall before it was revealed to be a hoax this week.
Some believe he was the unwitting victim of the hoax -- something that's hard to believe. I'm in the group that believes he knew exactly what he's doing, that everyone loves a sob story and being a haunted hero would do a lot to enhance his press in his push toward the Heisman and an NFL career, not to mention that golden goose -- endorsement contracts.
Hard to believe a kid that age would be satisfied with a "virtual" relationship. Also hard to believe that the fact this relationship was online and he never saw or felt the flesh-and-blood woman never came up in all his tearful interviews.
The hardest thing to believe, though, is the press itself.
Did not one reporter covering this sob story from September through the Heisman ceremony in December look for her obit? Just to enhance the story, not even to catch him out. Did not one reporter try to find her family? Call Stanford, the university she "attended," to get some quotes? Find her friends?
Apparently not. Or if they did, when they couldn't dig anything up, they just gave up rather than wonder why.
Maybe every reporter out there -- yes even sports journalists -- need to rent a copy of "Shattered Glass." But I digress.
Part of the problem with Te'o's story is the same one we saw when Jovan Belcher of the Kansas City Chiefs shot his girlfriend, Kasandra Perkins, before killing himself in the NFL team's parking lot in December.
There were stories that never mentioned Perkins' name, much less sought out information about her or talked to her family until days later, when some people began calling the media out on it.
This is the byproduct of our sports culture -- Kasandra Perkins was just a detail in the Jovan Belcher story.
This myopic view was in full play in the Manti Te'o story, too. The pretend girlfriend, Lennay Kekua, was only a vehicle for his story as far as reporters were concerned. So no one bothered to flesh out their story by finding out who Lennay Kekua was. Mind-boggling in this Internet world, where instead of calling funeral homes and newspapers, like we would have back in the dark pre-internet age, all someone would have had to do was google her name to find her obit. And if they didn't find it, it should have raised some questions.
Hell, we even knew what day she was buried, since Te'o made a point to let people know that he played that day instead of attending her funeral, because that's what she would have wanted. She told him so (so...he wasn't part of the hoax? C'mon). Would have been nice to get some quotes from her family on that, right?
In a world in which the press is struggling to stay relevant, it's hard to make a case for ourselves when we're so easily fooled. One reason we're here is to report, not what people tell us, but what we find out.
Sports writers are journalists, too. The five Ws -- remember them? who, what, where, when and why -- apply as much to sports reporting as any other kind of journalists. If we're not asking questions, we're just PR people.
On that note, the world's biggest liar, Lance Armstrong, also continued his manipulation of the press with his "stunning confession" to Oprah this week about his doping.
Anyone who hasn't been aware for years this man was lying was living in a cage. Yet almost everyone bought into it.
I don't get OWN, so I'm at the mercy of others reporting what Armstrong said.
Here's hoping Oprah asked him how he could live with himself after suing news organizations for libel for reporting the truth. Here's hoping she asks him if he's going to give the money back that he won in those cases now that he's admitting he lied.
Because one of the biggest issues with Armstrong is the vitriol he rained on those who tried to shine the light on his lies. His self-righteous crapping all over on people who tried to bring the facts to light.
Some say all he's done for cancer survivors with LiveStrong cancels out the lies. That's pathetic. Nothing cancels out the lies or the attacks on those who tried to reveal them.
LiveStrong has done a lot of good in the world, but it's not instant penance for the bad Armstrong did and the lives he destroyed, the people he dragged down with him.
A cynic may say a lot of the "good" he's done was a smokescreen to keep people from focusing too much on the bad. If it was, it will continue to work that way for him.
Te'o and Armstrong. Two lying liars who managed to bamboozle a lot of people, including the journalists.
You know the old saying, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me"?
These aren't the only two guys who have pulled the wool over the eyes of the easy-to-manipulate-with-a-moving-story news media. They're only the two guys who did it who are making headlines this week.
Fool me twice? Hell, fool me a zillion times.

I'm in love with Dennis Lehane. And I know he loves me back.

As a reader, I’ve been around the block many, many times. Kind of the Wilt Chamberlain of reading relationships, if you get my drift. I’ve been in love, out of love. Done a lot of one-nighters.

Sometimes you want to love them, but you just can’t. Sometimes you don’t even like them, but endure because you paid the $25 for the book, or the overdue fees are piling up at the library.

Sometimes you think you’re in love, but when the honeymoon is over it’s U-G-L-Y.

I recently ended a relationship because she kept using purposefully when she meant purposely. Drove me nuts. Sure, the relationship was already on the rocks. All the annoyances were piling up the way they do when it's not true love. Bad subject-verb agreement, inconsistent characters, hitting me in the face with descriptions every time someone new walked onto a page (Ouch! Hurts every time).

Being too obvious, too trite, too bland. She did this thing – oh, I know it’s a little thing and my friends said I was being too picky – where all the names in her book were run-of-the-mill WASP-type names. Think of everyone you know -- how many of them have generic names? I know, I know. A little thing, but it was hard to take, even when I was still in like.

And she over-explained, like I’m stupid. If she really cared about me, she’d know I wasn’t, right?

But she is very popular, and it’s so hard to leave them when they’re popular. You keep going back, even though they hurt you over and over again, because you want to be part of the popular crowd.

The purposefully-purposely thing finally made me see our relationship through clear eyes, though. It finally made me realize how little she cared.

And that’s why I love Dennis. You know him, right? Dennis Lehane. I fell in love a decade ago – goofy, head-over-heels, stay-up-all-night love -- and have never fallen out.

It took a little while to remember. I’ve been too pissed off, too jaded lately. You get hurt too many times and you almost want to stop trying, right? Even when there’s love, it just seems so hard. It’s just so much work. Especially when they don’t love you back.

Then I remembered Dennis. Remembered how our love doesn’t get stale, just better with each year.

First of all, he does all those little things that mean so much --  dialogue that rings true, sentences that flow so easily you forget they’re there, descriptions that are feather-light.

He does the big things, too. He’s funny without resorting to that action-movie faux-cool dialogue that so many writers mistake for funny. His plots make sense without being too easy to figure out. And his characters – few do it like Dennis does. He’s got insight and heart. He even gets the women right without making them a bunch of clichés the way most male writers do. (Sorry guys, I know we’re hard to understand, wink wink.)

Dennis loves me back. All those things tell me he does. He cares enough to make his books not just good enough – good enough to be published, good enough for people to buy, good enough to be popular – but better. I’m not talking about super flowery literary writing, the English major stuff. I’m talking about the kind of writing where I forget I’m reading. I’m just there.

Anyone who tries to write knows it’s not easy. It’s hard work. And that’s one of the really beautiful things about Dennis. He’s probably a natural talent. Just like Larry Bird. Only like Larry, he doesn’t fall back on that. You know he works at it, works to make it right. Shooting foul shot after foul shot, even after the janitors have turned off the lights. Too many writers make me feel like they’re just not working hard enough. They’ve got me already, why work at it? I’ll keep coming back.

But the really good ones – like Dennis – you know they care enough about the relationship to shoot those foul shots, no matter how good they are. They want to get it right. They care about our love.

I know I’m not his only reader. Guy like him? He has millions. And, let’s face it, I’ve got a few writers in my stable. Sometimes I go months and months without even thinking of him. But when we get together, it’s even better than before and I wonder why I stayed away so long.

I was reminded of that this weekend when – pissed off, remember? -- I finally read the copy of Moonlight Mile that’s been on my shelf for a while. No surprise, Dennis, you kept me up all night.

If it wasn’t special enough, one thing made it really special. Really, really special. Special enough to finally go public with our love.

He had something in there just for me.

I’ve read five books in a row this summer where the media were “vultures.” Among all the other things that are pissing me off, that really pissed me off. As though those of us in the news biz haven't taken enough hits lately, once again we’re the trite plot device. Those writers didn’t reach down and figure out how they felt about journalists, they just needed an easy cliché to make their characters feel more pitiful and victimized.  I know they didn’t mean it, but yeah, I took it personally. That’s how it is when a relationship is on the rocks and you want to know they care. It wasn't even so much the negative portrayal -- it was the obviousness of it all, the fact they didn't even try to be fresh.

Not Dennis. In Moonlight Mile he had a character, a newspaper reporter, who was funny, smart and did his job. The protagonist, Patrick, even liked the guy. Sure, it was only a tiny part of the book – one page I think -- but I knew Dennis was thinking of me.

Later in the book, someone asked Patrick where he got his news. “I read it,” he said. Oh my love.

That would have been enough, but he didn't stop there. During a crucial scene, Patrick gets annoyed that he can’t find a newspaper at a small town diner. Why did he want a newspaper? It's the best way to get the local layout. 

Oh my love, my love. To those of us in newspaper journalism -- pulling the gravel out of our torn knees as we stumble down the road away from the smoldering wreck that’s been our business the past few years -- that was a love letter.

Dennis gets me. He really gets me.

This year, Dennis and I celebrate our 10th anniversary – I picked up Mystic River in 2002 and it was love at first page. I know the traditional gift is tin or aluminum, but Dennis and I, we don’t bow to tradition.

He’s given me a paper gift every year – usually around 300 pieces. And I can’t wait to get it.

We were told the world was now ours. Little did we know.

This originally appeared in the Kennebec Journal as a column on June 22, 2012. That's me in the picture, at 16, second from the left in the top row.

The front page of Sunday's Kennebec Journal had a sweet coincidence: Right above a story about the 40th anniversary of Title IX was a photo of the Cony High School softball team celebrating its state championship.

Sweet, indeed.
(The story, without a photo, was on page C1 of Sunday's Morning Sentinel.)
I played softball for Cony, too, on the junior varsity team my sophomore year. But the gap between me and those girls is way more than the 34 years between us.
A picture in the 1977 Cony yearbook says it all: We're not in uniform -- not because we didn't know it was picture day, but because we didn't have uniforms. The ill-fitting polyester blouses and trousers we're wearing are what we played in, topped by ancient knit field hockey vests too rank for even the field hockey team to use and too ugly for us to model for the photo.
Our names aren't listed; instead there's a caption: "It was a year of experience for the JV softball team being its first year in existence. This team, coached by Miss Choate, was young and all are looking forward to a rewarding season next year."
I don't remember our record, but I know it was short on wins. We rarely had even one spectator. We played on rocky, unkempt fields that often didn't have baselines, or sometimes even bases. I played second base and remember charging a grounder, a sure out -- until the ball got stuck in a patch of muddy snow. An easy single.
That 1977 yearbook describes many of the girls' teams as "young." I'm guessing the sudden bloom of girls' teams was a result of Title IX, but I don't know if I even knew it existed. I was just happy to be there. Most of the other girls in the picture look like they are, too. Why not? We finally had a team to play on and the future could only get better -- looking forward to decades of rewarding seasons to come.
Title IX came crashing into my consciousness the fall of 1978, when I was visiting my sister, a freshman at Holy Cross, and tagged along as she did interviews for a school magazine on the state of Crusader sports.
The one clear memory I have of that weekend is the captain of the volleyball team crouched against the wall in the hallway of her dormitory, talking with an intensity I can still feel across the decades. She was passionate, angry and proud, and I realized that the unfairness I'd felt for years had a voice much stronger than my own.
That voice came to mind frequently when I was sports editor of the New Hampshire Union Leader from the mid-1990s and on and off until 2011. The conversation about Title IX had stalled and every time a woman filed a lawsuit or a college dropped its baseball team, wrestling team, or -- God forbid -- football team, someone would say, "blame Title IX."
I can't count the times I defended it over the decades. Don't blame Title IX, I'd tell the guys, blame the school's priorities. But that's a tough leap of logic, even in 2012, for people to make.
When I was a kid and wanted to do something "girls didn't do," I was sometimes asked, "Why do you want to be a boy?"
I hope that question isn't asked much anymore, but the argument whenever there's a Title IX complaint is philosophically the same:
Women's sports don't make as much money for the schools. Scholarships going to girls who aren't that good mean there are fewer for boys who are. Men's sports are harder and take more effort, so deserve more compensation. When a men's team is cut, talented men can't play sports they've been playing all their lives.
I wish every 17-year-old girl in 2012 could have a moment like I did in that beer-soaked, noisy Holy Cross hallway and hear that volleyball captain pour out her frustration, but with a determination and passion that still makes it a vivid memory 34 years later. It makes a lie out of all those arguments for rolling back women's opportunities.
It's a far different world for today's young women, but many of the challenges of getting fair treatment, or even the basics, still exist.
My generation is luckier in some ways. We got to be part of the fight, and we have the strength that comes from having to struggle for something and defend it. There's a special knowledge that comes with that.
Let's hope the girls celebrating on the front page of last Sunday's KJ, with a lifetime of rewarding seasons unfolding ahead of them, can hear what those ragtag girls in the polyester shirts have spent decades getting the world to know.

Maureen Milliken of Belgrade Lakes is news editor of the Kennebec Journal and Morning Sentinel.

To the class of 2012 -- Be yourself. Or not.

Hi graduates. Exciting day, huh? Thanks for asking me to be your speaker. As Principal Skinner said, "You've covered so many graduations as a journalist, we thought you'd be perfect."

Oh yeah. Yes I am. So much good advice here today. I know even though I had my ears buds in. After all, this isn’t an end, but a beginning, right? You'll miss each other, but make new friends. You’re going to look back with affection and nostalgia and go out into that brave new world. Oh, the places you'll go!

Did I leave anything out? Oh, right.

How about that advice to be yourself? Has anyone told you that yet? Don’t care what other people say, just be yourself!
Oh – heh heh – whoa, okay, calm down. Woooo! Biggest ovation of the day. Yeah. I get it. To your own self be true. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and you’re taking the one lest traveled by. Letting your true colors come shining through.

But it’s that one piece of advice about all others that are being thrown at you today that should make you sad. Because everyone says it -- over and over. They even believe it. But few live it. 

Sorry to say for many of you, it’s too late.

Wait, Principal Skinner, don’t pull the plug on the microphone! Hear me out. I promise I’ll say something uplifting by the end.

Where was I? Right. For many of you, it’s too late. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. It started before you were born when your nursery was painted in gender-specific colors. There was a lot I was going to say about how important it is for girls to be pretty, boys to be strong and sporting. But you've heard that all before, too. You know it, because you've lived it.

Whatever the categories, labels, stereotypes, you all learned pretty early on how important it is to fit the expectations and try not to stand out, except in the ways that are socially accepted. Most of you even convinced yourselves a long time ago, without even knowing it, that that's normal. That's what people do.

So, face it, graduates, you're only 18, but as far as being yourself, for a lot of you, the ship has sailed.

And how about you kids who truly were yourselves? Rough ride, huh? Bet you’re glad to be done with high school. Bet maybe when you heard that advice from the valedictorian to be yourself you sneered a little bit, maybe even gave the old finger under your robe.

They didn't like yourself much for the past twelve years, right weirdo? Dork? Freak? So now they’re telling you to be yourself. With feeling.

For the sake of argument, let's say everyone who says it means it.

The problem is, though, no one tells you how to do it. Easy to say, not easy to be.

For a lot of you, it'll be easier just to stuff down whatever it is that makes you “different” enough to fit in, something you've probably been doing most of your life. 

Others of you maybe were stuffing it down, but now think it’s going to be safe, in the world of grownups, to let your freak flag fly.

Then there are those of you who have been yourselves all along -- you are probably giddy with relief.

I’ve got bad news for those of you who think the time to be yourself has come, because it’s not going to get any better. The adult world doesn't want you to truly be yourself any more than many of your classmates, teachers and parents did.

Being yourself is going to be a lot of hard work.

As the poster boy for being yourself, Bob Dylan, put it, “I try my best to be just like I am, but everybody wants you to be just like them.”

The really lucky ones, like Bob, are talented enough, driven enough and work hard enough to make it big –  Stephen King, Lady Gaga, Ellen DeGeneres. All the things that would make them weirdos if they were working in the cubicle next to you are brilliant because they managed to get to a place where they can be themselves.

There are also the lucky ones who are so confident being themselves that they don’t care what everyone else thinks. Because, truly, that’s the biggest impediment to being yourself, isn’t it? What keeps you from doing it? Most people care what other people think, even if they say they don’t. That’s why we look, speak and behave the way we do. Those who don't care are rare cats.

Then there are the stubborn ones or the ones who just can’t help it -- they are who they are. Most of those who are themselves fit into this category. It's the toughest way to be, because you have to learn not to care, or at least learn to fake it.

Here’s what the speaker who told you to be yourself also didn't say: A lot of people aren’t going to like it if you're yourself. 

People frequently will comment on how you’re different or helpfully point it out to you – as if you didn’t know. Sometimes it will anger people or annoy them for no good reason. They’ll think you being yourself is about them even though it has no effect on their life and that will make them mad. Your personality may become an issue at work, in a relationship, with your friends. This isn't about the Golden Rule stuff either, the stuff that makes you a good or bad person, but the "different" stuff. 

Sooner or later you will overhear someone who’s a good friend talking about how weird you are behind your back. Or the love interest who loves you just the way you are makes it clear he or she would love you better if you just stopped being yourself quite so much and started being more like he or she wanted you to be. You know, more normal.

This might make you bitter or resentful. It might make you do the crazy Twister game of trying to please a partner instead of just getting the hell out of the relationship. You may keep trying to fit into that job or career that makes you miserable instead of figuring out what you really want to do. It may even make you a little paranoid or wary of others.

So, graduates, do you still want to be yourself?

Good for you. Because here’s the other thing they don’t tell you. If you’re yourself, truly yourself, it will pay off. First of all, the mental exhaustion of trying to pound the square peg that is you into the round hole of what people want you to be will be gone. Particularly if you’re one of those people who have a hell of a time trying to figure it out. But the best thing is, you will be you. It will feel good. You’ll find it easier to figure out what you want and who you want to be with and how you want to make a living and how you want to spend your time. You’ll even start to feel sorry for the rest of them.

And your friends will really be true friends who do, indeed, love you just the way you are. And if you get one note like this in your life, it will make it all worth it:  “I have learned so much from you about living life honestly and forthrightly, and damn the rest. These are lessons I have needed and benefited from so much.” (Real note from real friend. Thanks, friend.)

Yes! Be yourself! When you leave here today, vow to.

How to do it? It’s hard and simple at the same time. All it takes are two words: “Yeah? So?”

Try it. Whenever you think that if you follow your heart it won't be what everyone else will do, say "Yeah? So?" Whenever someone points out in a bemused – or hostile – way how you are different, say, “Yeah? So?” Two roads? Scared of taking the one less traveled by? Yeah? So?

It may be hard at first not to argue, or feel guilty or feel diminished or embarrassed. Or feel you have to change. But after a while it will be empowering. And there’s nothing more empowering than knowing who you are and being that person and damn the rest.

So, graduates, when someone tells you to be yourself, and they will, keep in mind what it really means.

Then go ahead and do it anyway.

And for those of you who think this is just a pile of hooey?

Yeah? So?

So sad when sports bloggers go bad

Oh, the damage that sports fans do to each other.
Boston fans are in a lather after Philly.com writer John Mitchell wrote a blog that said, basically, "Philly fans are fair weather? Well, you guys are racists. Even Bill Russell said so. Nah nah nah."
Now it's a pointless exercise to compare Boston's shameful racial history to Philadelphia's equally shameful racial history. And I don't know about Philly, but Boston in it's adorable Puritan-Irish Catholic hybrid self-punishing martyred way has been bending over backwards trying to make it up to Russell (who last played in Boston in 1969, John), as well as all those guys the all-white Red Sox didn't sign, for decades.
Mitchell brings up some "fans'" reactions when Joel Ward, who is black, scored the series-winning goal in the NHL playoffs earlier this spring. A reaction that was roundly decried, and also, it was pointed out, did not come solely from Boston, but from those cockroaches with keyboards and Internet accounts who come crawling out whenever there's some hating to get in on.

So, for argument's sake, let's concede that there's racism everywhere and we can all do a lot better.
That said, not only was Mitchell's blog a cheap shot, it didn't make one useful point or have one useful insight.
Any time of the day or night a person, not just a sports fan, can turn on the TV or keyboard and find men sitting around tables or standing on fields talking reverentially and with great gravity about, let's face it, some pretty silly stuff. I know now I'm the one being trite, but professional sports are grownups dressed in silly clothes getting paid obscene amounts of money to play games most people wish they had the time or money to do for free.
And that's fine. Let the guys play. And let the sportswriters talk, blog, cover it. We love it. We watch it. We pay for it. We keep it going.
But keep in mind what it is.
When your fans are accused of being fair-weather, come up with a better argument. Maybe one having to do with sports. Give us a little insight into the mind of the Philly fan. Or tell us why Garnett is wrong.
Because when all those guys sitting around the tables and standing on the fields start talking about things better left to those who know how to talk about it with some knowledge and insight, it just gets stupid.

Wake Bids Hub Adieu

Red Sox fans of a certain age have a habit – painfully earned – of remembering the bad times with as much clarity as the good times. Or maybe even more.

Even the salve of World Series victories in 2004 and 2007 hasn't changed that. Or at least not as much as it should have.

Red Sox fans just love to poke the bruise. Dent. Schiraldi. McNamara. Little. Boone.

And depending on the age of the fan, it can go back 60 or 70 years.

Denny Galehouse, anyone?

And that's what makes Tim Wakefield so remarkable.

Wakefield is associated with some of the worst moments in Red Sox history.

He voluntarily took the ball and marched out to become the New York Yankees' pinata in the horrific 19-8 Game 3 loss in the 2004 ALCS. You remember -- the last game before everything changed forever.

And about a year before, he gave up the home run to Aaron Boone in Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS. That came after Grady Little had already made the worst managerial decision of his career, sending the game into a tailspin. Boone's home run was possibly the worst moment in their fandom for many Sox fans. (Yes, worse than 1986).

And yet, Wakefield never became part of that litany of pain. He was willing to take the hit after the damage was already done – either on the scoreboard or on the team's psyche and we loved him for it.

As he announces his retirement at age 45, the high points of his 19-year career with Boston will be endlessly repeated in print and on screen.

But it's the low points that Sox fans will remember the most. And with the most gratitude.

Red Sox Nation will likely never see another like him.

Thanks for the memories, Wake. All of them.

Tim Thomas gives back

By now the entire world -- OK, that corner of the world that follows New England sports, which in New England we assume is the entire world -- knows that Boston Bruins goalie Tim Thomas blew off the Stanley Cup winners' White House visit, including a meeting with President Barack Obama.
Thomas said snubbing the ceremony wasn't political.
Rather:

"I believe the Federal government has grown out of control, threatening the Rights, Liberties, and Property of the People.

This is being done at the Executive, Legislative, and Judicial level. This is in direct opposition to the Constitution and the Founding Fathers vision for the Federal government.

Because I believe this, today I exercised my right as a Free Citizen, and did not visit the White House. This was not about politics or party, as in my opinion both parties are responsible for the situation we are in as a country. This was about a choice I had to make as an INDIVIDUAL."

Gee, sure sounds like politics. But I digress.
A lot was made on Boston-area TV today of his right to exercise free speech, free will and all that other good stuff that our constitution allows by not attending. Yeah, I get it, we're not North Korea. As if that were the issue.
It would have been nice if Thomas had elaborated a little on his complaints. I read a lot of newspapers and watch a lot of news shows, but I haven't heard any details about this attack on citizens he's talking about. I want to know now, before they come to take my house away.

Here's what I do know:
He's right. The founding fathers didn't envision the federal government as it is today. Because the America they lived in was nothing like the America of today. Unless you are a very rich white gentleman farmer with no health complaints, I think you would agree in a lot of ways it's better than it was back in 1776.
One thing the founding fathers DID envision, I'm pretty sure, is a government that would try to take care of its people as best it could, and fairly. Their view back then of who "its people" was may have been different, but the overall point was by the people and for the the people.
I'm sure they never pictured that someone who looked a lot like the guys picking their cotton for free would be running the country -- but the plan they put in motion, with a lot of tweaks, eventually allowed that to happen.
I bet a lot of the people in Thomas' hometown, Flint, Mich., are thanking their lucky stars we live in a country where the government attempts to take care of its people. It's got one of the hardest-hit economies in the country. But some good news there -- the unemployment rate in Flint dropped from 12.4 in July to 8.7 by the end of 2011.
But Thomas may not know this. Or care.
Because here's another thing I bet the founding fathers never envisioned:
A boy from Flint, Mich., getting one of the finest four-year educations in the country because he could stop a little black hard piece of rubber from going into a net.
And that same boy, 15 years later, making $5 million a year for doing the same thing.
Is this a great country or what?
Yeah, it is. So great that you can't get paid that kind of money for playing hockey in any other country in the world. Which is one of the reasons Thomas was only one of the two Americans on that Stanley Cup winning Bruins team. Kids in Canada, the Finland and the Czech Republic can now also live the American Dream.
All those non-Americans showed up to meet Obama by the way.
And I bet the founding fathers didn't picture an America where a boy from Flint, Mich., who played a game for a living got a chance to go to Washington on someone else's dime and shake the hand of the guy running the country.
And that is pretty cool.
So, someone needs to remind me, what's Thomas' gripe again?

No apologies from journalists. This is what we do.

Here in central Maine a 20-month-old girl is missing. Her dad put her to bed on a Friday night and she was gone when he went to check on her the next morning, he told police.
That was two weeks ago.
Several days ago, I was discussing the story with a non-journalist acquaintance and she remarked -- with disapproval -- that I didn't seem too feel very bad about it.
I gave some quick and generic answer.
But I've been thinking about it, and I'm going to try again here.
There are thousands of people out there daily saying how bad they feel about Ayla Reynolds' disappearance. You can see them in the grocery store and at vigils and on national TV.
I don't need to add my voice to that chorus.
But I can say, as a journalist, there aren't nearly as many people who can do what we do. Very few, as a matter of fact. And that's tell the story with accuracy, professionalism and credibility.
It's something that's gotten lost in the past decade with all the noise out there coming from the Internet and cable TV and the gotta-keep-talking 24-hour news cycle. A lot of noise going on, but not necessarily a lot of telling the story the way it ought to be told.
Good journalists are keenly aware of their commitment to their audience. Our job is to tell you what's going on. If knowledge is power, it's our job to bring the best knowledge to the people -- whether it's stories about what your government is doing, what's going on in the streets of your town, the halls of your school or the aisles of your grocery store.
It doesn't have so much to do with "selling papers" -- that old accusation we hear any time we jump on a big story. Of course we want to sell papers. It's a business. But few reporters or editors are thinking about that when they're working on telling the story.

And when an important story has to be told, every journalist worth his or her salt wants to be the one to tell it.
It's like playing for the Red Sox and wanting to have the bat in your hand when Game 7 is on the line.
And when that story is happening in your town, you HAVE to be the one to tell it. No one is going to tell it better. And nothing compares to the excitement of being part of a team of talented professional journalists who can't wait to get out there and tell it the best way they can.
We know a lot of people don't understand it. You don't have to understand it. Just be glad we do.
Two weeks ago today, a 20-month-old child vanished from her bed.
How do I feel about it?
It goes without saying.
Two weeks ago today, a child vanished from her bed. In my town. And I'm a journalist.
How do I feel about it?
Put me in, coach.

Journalism: A Day in the LIfe

This is a true story. Every quote is accurate. It carries no moral, no conclusion. Enjoy.
Scene: Augusta, Maine, supermarket. The newspaper editor (me) puts several newspapers on conveyor belt, along with various groceries. Cashier and bagger both in their 20s or 30s.
Cashier to bagger (looking at newspaper headline World Looks Warily at North Korea): "Oh, that's right. Kim Lee Duck or whatever died."
Bagger shakes her head and shrugs.
Cashier (trying again): "Dong Duck Lee? Whatever?"
Bagger (putting one pound can of peeled tomotoes on top of loaf of bread) shrugs again.
Me: "Kim Jong Il."
Cashiner: "Right!"
Bagger: "I don't know who that is."
Me: "The leader of North Korea."
Bagger: "Oh." (pause) "That's sad."
Me: "Not really. He didn't like us. Dangerous guy. Maybe could have blown us up."
Bagger (brightening): "Then that's good!"
Me: "Not really. No one knows what's going to happen next."
Bagger: "I'm confused."
Cashier: "It's confusing."
Me: "You can read all about it in the newspaper."
Cashier laughs, like I made a joke: "Whatever!"
Bagger wrinkles her nose in disgust (yes she did!): "I don't think so."
Cashier: "Whatever. Have a nice day!"
I take my groceries and leave.

In America, all religions are equal. Some are just more equal than others.

The religious fervor of constantly genuflecting Denver Broncos quarterback Tim Tebow is getting a lot of press and airtime these days.
The devoutly evangelical Christian explains his on-field praying, "If you believe, unbelievable things can happen," with an aw shucks this ain't about me humility.
What's not to love? The media has certainly eaten it up with coverage in the mainstream press, web and television almost universally laudatory aside from the ineffective nod to balanced coverage. Even the Boston Globe, in a story that aimed to be neutral, but didn't hit the mark, can't help but beam at the all-American boy.
In the article Tuesday headlined "Hail Mary passer: Broncos' Tebow is all the rage, whether it's his playing style or spiritual belief," the newspaper gives lip service to opposing views, while most of the lengthy feature is given over to a variety of people explaining why Tebow does what he does and why it's ok.
And New England Cable News led into its glowing piece this morning with the intro that Tebow is "winning hearts and minds" with his behavior.
Both reports had the obligatory religion professor asking "what if he were a Muslim?"
But the coverage from both reports, like most others, then slid fully into pure Tebow love. NECN spent the last minutes of the report having a young female Tebow-obsessed fan showing the reporter how to genuflect Tebow-style.
Sure the Muslim question gets asked. But the issue with it is that in every single media report it's rhetorical.
It's asked, then the story moves on.
No one asks that question of all the people who righteously, defiantly -- and correctly -- point out that Tebow has the right to practice his Christianity on the field. No one says to them, "OK, he as a Christian has the right, but how would YOU FEEL ABOUT IT if he were Muslim?"
And so the moment passes.
But what if he were?
Farther back in the newspapers -- for instance, on the business page of that day's Globe -- buried on the websites and not evident almost anywhere on television, is the increasingly succesful effort of a group called the Florida Family Association to get sponsors to pull out of the TLC reality show "All-American Muslim."
The most notable sponsors to leave the show are Lowe's, whose reason is that the show is a "lightning rod" for controversy. Kayak.com, a travel website, also pulled out, explaining this week that it's not because the show's about Muslims, but it's because it "sucks."
As far as reality shows go, "All American Muslim" IS a little bland. No sex, no bling. Just regular Americans getting through the day and life in Dearborn, Mich. Recent episodes dealt with the high school football team's big loss to Central Catholic in the season-opening game, hampered by the fact many of the players were fasting because of Ramadan; a character's post-partum depression; another's desire to open a nightclub despite the disapproval of her conservative mother; and a soon-to-be married couple's conflict over whether the man's aging dog can live with them in their new house.
The show also includes the characters sitting in a group, discussing their beliefs and explaining why, for instance, women live at home until they're married or why Muslims generally don't like having a dog in the house.
In other words, it's a show about regular people who are anywhere from devoutly religious to not very religious at all living their lives.
One thing that's ironic, given that the Florida Family Association is fighting to get the show off the air, is that the obvious theme running through every episode is family love and devotion.
Kayak sponsors a lot of shows. Some are much better than "All American Muslim" and some certainly are worse. Is whether a show "sucks" really that company's standard for sponsorship?
The show that features the football game against Central Catholic has a Central Catholic player saying after the game that his team respects the team they just beat and religious beliefs have nothing to do with the game or how his team feels. "Everyone's a football player on this field."
Lightning rod, indeed.

Lowes and Kayak are businesses. They exist to make money. And they've determined that in America, more customers will be behind religious intolerance than equality and religious enlightenment.
So, what if Tim Tebow were a Muslim?

Getting it would be a good start

A story in the Boston Globe's sports section Monday on the continuing saga of the Jerry Sandusky child sex abuse allegations was particularly disturbing.
The story talked to men who played for or coached with Sandusky during his one year at Boston University in 1968. No, it didn't bring forward any new charges or graphically describe the old ones.
No, the disturbing part was quotes like these:
"The Jerry Sandusky we knew was an outstanding human being and coach," John Williams, a defensive lineman in 1968, told the Globe.
"It blew my mind when this stuff came out because it was so uncharacteristic of the Jerry Sandusky I knew," said Bob Peck, BU's athletic director at the time.
"If the allegations are true, then this is a classic case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I didn't know him as Mr. Hyde, but when he was Dr. Jekyll, he was the greatest guy in the world." That from Jim Norris, who coached with Sandusky.
Why disturbing?
Because here we are in 2011, after all the publicity, particularly in Boston, of the church sex abuse crisis, and the abuse of Sen. Scott Brown at the children's camp he attended as a child, the ongoing news of abuse of other children at the camp, and all the information available on child sex abuse that we have available now and these guys haven't gotten past the number one myth of child sex abuse. The myth that the guy doing it isn't a "nice guy," isn't a normal person, isn't someone, well, like they are.
According to the Leadership Council, the number one myth about child sex abuse is that normal-appearing, well-educated, middle class people don't abuse children.
The council says: "One of the public's most dangerous assumptions is the belief that a person who both appears and acts normal could not be a child molester. Sex offenders are well aware of our propensity for making assumptions about private behavior from one's public presentation. In fact, as recent reports of abuse by priests have shown, child molesters rely on our misassumptions to deliberately and carefully set and gain access to child victims."
The council quotes Dr. Anna Salter, an expert on sex offenders, who says, "A double life is prevalent among all types of sex offenders . . . . The front that offenders typically offer to the outside world is usually a 'good person,' someone who the community believes has a good character and would never do such a thing." 
This doesn't mean that the guys at BU back in 1968, when child sex abuse was pretty much ignored, should have seen what Sandusky was like, known anything about his alleged proclivities or been able to change the future.
But it also shows that you don't have to see a guy raping a child in a shower to know he's not the guy you thought he was. Hell, look at Penn State. In 2002, after SEEING the guy raping the kid in the shower, he was still given a pass.
There's probably no way Peck, Norris, Williams, and all the other guys on the Terriers football squad could have known a child sex abuser may be in their midst. But in the light of what we know 43 years later, they should be aware that any normal-seeming guy could be that guy, and that the guy you knew could easily be the sex offender you don't know.
And many child sex offenders never show the evil, monster-like Mr. Hyde face. They are kindly Dr. Jekyll all the time, even when they're abusing the kids.
Because the "greatest guy in the world" can also be abusing children.
In other words, it's not a double life. It's his life and being that "great guy" is all part of it.
 The men in the article also had some very manly reactions to the Sandusky accusations.
"If the allegations are true, then I'll bet 80 percent of my teammates would support a public execution," Williams told the Globe.
"I would have dropped him on the spot," said Pete Dexter, who played on the team.
Manly indeed. But how about we put down the keg of testosterone and find a way to stop this stuff from happening in the first place?
A good start would be for everyone to educate themselves about the signs of child sex abuse and know that even a stand-up guy like Jerry could be a sex abuser. That would be a much more effective response to the problem than popping the guy in the nose.
The Boston Globe would have been well served to add the voice of a child sex abuse expert to its story, but even a lot of the media hasn't grasped what the story is really about.
Because we need to get past our shock that the greatest guy in the world can do this and realize he can. Because then people would be a lot less hesitant to go right to the cops with what they saw the greatest guy in the world doing, or even the more subtle signs, like "horsing around" too much with kids, putting themselves in a position to be around young kids all the time, and all the other signs that have been well-publicized, but seem to be ignored when the guy is the greatest guy in the world.
Let's hear some more from the fellas.
"It's hard to believe someone could lead a second life like that. If Jerry did this, he deceived a lot of people, including me," said Darryl Hill, an offensive lineman on the team, who, according to the Globe, "best remembers Sandusky's kindness."
And one final, jarring quote:
"He was the kind of guy you liked being around, which is probably why those Penn State guys didn't do enough to report him," said Barry Pryor, who played for the Terriers and later for the Dolphins.
"They probably loved him."





 

The Sad Tale of Not-So-Happy Valley

The irony, I'm sure, was lost on the out-of-breath sportscaster who during the close-to-hysteria coverage of Joe Paterno's ouster by Penn State explained -- or maybe even excused -- the reaction of the close-to-rioting student body by saying that at the school, football is a religion.
I guess that makes JoePa Cardinal Law.
Because take away the locker room, the helmets, and the TV contracts and you have an eerily similar story. A brotherhood of grown boys protecting their billion-dollar industry once again at the expense of raped children.
The story is this: a young football assistant said he walked into the Penn State locker room late one night in 2002 to find Jerry Sandusky, a Penn State legend both on the field and on the sidelines and now director of a program for disadvantaged boys, raping a 10 year old boy against the shower wall. Sorry for the graphic description. Most of the news stories say he said he found him "with" the boy in the shower. Which kind of conjures pictures of them both lathering up and playing with rubber duckies. But a few accounts have told it like it is, and there's no mistaking what was going on.
The young assistant, after mulling it over for a night, told his boss, legendary football coach Joe Paterno. Who told his boss, the school's athletic director. Then apparently washed his hands of the whole thing.
I wonder how many people anywhere else in the world would walk in on a scene like that and not take some kind of immediate action?
And I wonder how many people in Paterno's position -- who by the way has said he believed the young assistant's account -- would consider the matter closed after telling his boss?
But in the glorified billion-dollar industry that is college football, the rules are different. Kind of like they were (and still are in many ways) in that other rich boys' club.
Jerry Sandusky may not have done it. And the other eight charges against him over the past 15 years that the grand jury came back with recently may not hold up. (Although having served on a grand jury, I can testify that with pedophiles, the cases that are absolutely solid are the ones you indict on and the other dozens where the witness is shakey, the dates confused, etc., get tossed aside). And all those kids and moms are just making things up. Because...not sure why.
But the bottom line is that a fella told Joe what he saw. And Joe believed him. Then did next to nothing.
And the big story, if the coverage over the past several days and tonight as Joe gets canned, is not that a powerful football man (Sandusky) can once again show that the most disgusting of crimes can be ignored if you have the right friends and wear the right uniform.
 No, the BIG story if my TV and the wire services are to be believed is that a college football coach has lost his job.
And the bizarre thing is, people are pissed off about it. The guy losing his job, not the choice of story lead.
I know people who went to Penn State. They're not stupid people, for the most part. But there is definitely some kind of disconnect between reality and the glorified fake world of college football.
Because as legendary as Paterno is and as Greek tragic as it is that he is going out in such an unhappy way, football is a money-making industry designed to line the pockets of the few while entertaining the many. Even college football. And that's all it is.
And yet somehow, while most people would express horror at the rape of children, they don't seem to understand what it has to do with this football coach. And now the damn kids and their moms are wrecking the legend of Happy Valley.
Sure, it's a story that Paterno is losing his job. The great thing about a Greek tragedy is that somehow karma will bite the "hero" on butt and that always makes for a good read.
But the bigger story is that where money, glory, fame and power are concerned, abused children are shuffled aside as an inconvenience and abusers are protected as they abuse again and again.
And maybe those Penn State students should have been rioting about that.

I hate to say I told you so...no wait, I don't.

Wow. Reality TV "star" Kim Kardashian and NBA player Kris Humphries are calling it quits after their 72-day marriage. After their more-money-than-you-or-I-will-see-in-a-lifetime wedding. Color me stunned.
Oh wait, don't.
Here's what I wrote in May after reading a story about their six-figure engagement party:

I was thumbing through People magazine and came across the incredibly substance-less, trite and downright bizarre when you think about it story of the "fairytale" engagement of Kim Kardashian, famous for simply being famous, and NBA star Kris Humphries.
The whole thing was "a dream come true"!
The 20-plus-carat ring brings this line from People: Kardashian had "long dreamed of the perfect man -- and the perfect ring"!
They had an engagement party that rivaled a state dinner to celebrate Kim's "Cinderella moment" (People's words, not mine). This was chronicled over several pages in the magazine, complete with photos of the proposal being spelled out in rose petals on the living room rug and the "princess themed" cake that cost thousands of dollars.
Now, I know it's People magazine and not The New Yorker. But I'd say People mirrors our attitudes as a society a whole lot more than probably any other popular publication.
And so, there we have it: a very rich young lady who is a "reality show" star with a B-list famous late dad (OJ Simpson lawyer Robert Kardashian) and B-list famous stepdad (Olympian Bruce Jenner) and an NBA star.
They've known each other since November so they "took the right amount of time and made sure it was right," according to Kardashian.
He asked her step-father's permission to marry her.
She has "always dreamed of a big wedding" so will "do something really over-the-top."
Now a lot of people may be saying, "Yeah, so? Sounds really romantic to me."
And that's the issue -- we are programmed to think all this is just great. Particularly women.
"Every little girl dreams of being a princess and marrying a handsome prince."...
And Kardashian. Cinderella? Guess again. More like one of the stepsisters -- rich, privileged, and entitled.
He asks her dad for her hand. Why? She's a grown woman.
Oh, but it's so romantic.
And she's dreamed of such a perfect engagement.
How about teaching little girls, and bigger ones for that matter, and maybe even the fellas, that instead of dreaming of weddings, spelling out proposals in rose petals, pretending to be princesses, we dream of a perfect marriage with equal partners who discuss their values, expectations and yes, dreams, before taking the plunge. 
The guy asks the dad for her hand instead of the two adults sitting down and discussing -- seriously -- what kind of life they expect to have with each other.
Every girl dreams of being a princess.
And that's the problem. No one dreams of a perfect marriage. Just the engagement. Just the wedding.
So the Kardashian story is another example of  the fluff and superficiality that we like to base our beliefs on.
Cliches carry so much more weight than looking at something realistically, logically, and pragmatically.
...
Here's what we accept as true, good and romantic: A little girl dreams of the perfect wedding ring. The bigger the better.
What does that say about what we expect as a society, both of little girls and of ourselves? 

That was back in May. The two got married in August. And divorced in November. People magazine had a big story -- did Kim get married just to further her reality show? As easy as that would be to believe, it gets a big NO from me. Reference the above May passage.

Kim wanted the "fairy tale." Hell, it's right there in People. It was there in the May issue and again in the August issue that gave equal coverage to her over-the-top wedding.

And here it is in the Nov. 14 issue. Several people commenting sadly that she wanted the fairy tale. Yes, they actually say fairy tale. The F word appears dozens of times spread across the three stories -- as an adjective. As a noun. Hell, I bet they would have made it a verb if they could have figured out how to.

"She wanted the fairy tale."

So sad, like somehow the fairy tale let her down.

Kim Kardashian isn't really that different from a lot of American women -- just richer and with more access to pop media.

Girls are taught almost from birth to value things that are pretty and sparkly. And men are taught no woman has more value than the one who is pretty and sparkly.

Getting flowers -- preferably sent to work so all the coworkers can see what a great partner and loving relationship we have (put those in air quotes) -- is more highly valued that turning off the TV, sitting down at the kitchen table for dinner and having a grown-up conversation about our day.

A proposal -- extra points if it's a surprise! -- is somehow considered preferable to two adults discussing their lives together, their values and mutually agreeing that it's something they can take on.

Women all over the country wake up from the "dream" a day, a week, a month, whatever, after the wedding and realize after their big princess-for-a-day moment, now they have to figure out how to live with the guy for the next 50 or so years.

And nobody ever told them about THAT.

The ultimate obituary

Young reporters and editors don't work for a newspaper very long before they learn the importance of obituaries. Nothing in the newspaper connects so closely with readers. Many old-timers who were in the business before email and fax machines can recall having to interrupt work on all their oh-so-important front page story to take dictation from a funeral director calling in an obit.
And while some obituary editors deal with as many as dozens of obits a newspaper edition, the good ones keep in mind that it may be the only obituary the family of the person in that obituary ever deals with, so they're handled with care.
And there's a beauty to every obituary -- every person's life is truly a story, even if it's laid out in a seven-inch newspaper column or life facts. It's easy to see the life behind those facts. Some newspapers go the extra mile -- the Boston Globe is really good at this -- and take an obituary of a "regular person" and interview loved ones and make a story out of it.
But despite all this, most obituaries follow a familiar trajectory using familiar language and phrases. Born, schooling, jobs, organizations, avid bingo player, hunter or Red Sox fan. Family members. Funeral information.
Some newspapers, now that it's the norm to charge for obituaries, give the families more leeway in how it's worded or what's said.
Occasionally one will make the reader smile. For instance, Marianne Perry's obituary in a recent issue of the Morning Sentinel, Waterville, Maine's newspaper, said she passed away surrounded by her loving family "and her devoted cat, Wiggles." Readers later learned she liked to rescue stray cats, including the devoted Wiggles.
But even with more flexible standards, rarely does an obituary stay with someone who didn't know the person.
Recently, however, one appeared in the Morning Sentinel that was stunning in its simplicity. While it had few of the elements that a standard obituary has, it told its story so well it bears repeating here:

Stephen Carl Coleman, 59, loving husband of Sarah, and very proud father of Thomas, Tennie and Rachel, passed away Sept. 20, 2011, on Wood Pond in Attean Township. Steve was nearly in sight of his float plane, Coleman's Knoll and the hill he made his home, enjoying a calm day. He left home early in the morning, got some work done, saw some friends, purchased a coffee and then passed quickly. Steve accomplished more than most in his life, but most importantly he loved his wife, children, family and friends and did it well. In return he was loved and deeply respected by all, even when they didn't agree. Those who knew him will never forget him, and many will aspire to match him in many, many fields of endeavor.

A casual memorial service will be held at 11 a.m. on Tuesday, Sept. 27, in his hangar, at his home, 859 Main St. in Dennistown. All are welcome to attend to reminisce and celebrate Steve's life.

In lieu of flowers, donations will be accepted towards a scholarship to benefit local students, aspiring pilots and the Jackman region in general. Please send donations to: Steve Coleman Memorial Scholarship Fund, c/o SAD 12/RSU 82, 606 Main St., Jackman, ME 04945.

(Morning Sentinel, Waterville, Maine, Sept. 24)

Steve Coleman had died in a drowning accident. He was running for county commission and was well-known in the area. A news story when he died left no doubt he was an accomplished person who had done much for his community, had been involved in many organizations.

There were few details about his life -- those pedigree details by which we often define ourselves -- instead simply a remarkably dignified and beautiful message about who this man was. 
And what better purpose for an obituary?

This is NOT ABOUT Casey Anthony...

In eight horrific days in our remote section of the world, six people died as the result of domestic violence.

On June 6, in Winslow, Maine, Nathaniel Gordon chased his wife, Sarah, down the street before shooting her in front of the neighbors and the couple’s two kids, aged eight and nine.

On June 14, in Dexter, Maine, Steven Lake killed his wife, Amy, and their two kids, Coty, 13, and Monica, 12.

Both men shot themselves when confronted by police.

Meanwhile, America was obsessed coast to coast with the circus that was the media “coverage” of the Casey Anthony trial.

I don’t have to tell you who Casey Anthony is — you know. She’s the young woman from Florida with the less-than-charming personality and a penchant for lying, who may or may not have killed her child.

I bet, though, you didn’t know who Nathaniel Gordon and Steven Lake were.

In 2008, the last year that statistics are available from the U.S. Census bureau, 1,502 children under the age of 18 were killed in America. That’s four or more a day.

In 2007, some 530,564 women were the victim of a violent crime by their partner. In that year 1,185 women were murdered by their partners in the U.S. (For those of you who believe the finger of shame is too often pointed at men in domestic violence, the same document shows about 82,000 men were the victim of violent acts by their partners and 382 men victims of homicide.)

Shortly after the crimes in Winslow and Dexter took place some stand-up men in Waterville, Maine, held a rally and press conference begging men to be involved in the solution to domestic violence, which is too often – in fact, almost always – considered a “women’s issue.”

Waterville Police Chief Joseph Massey said stopping domestic violence is everyone’s problem and men have to get involved in solving it.

“I call on the men individually, collectively. You need to step up to the plate,” he said.

But the best quotes from the rally came from a woman, Karen Heck, a co-creator of the group Hardy Girls, Healthy Women.

Forget best quote of the rally. She had one of the best quotes of the year. Maybe the decade.

“I'm sick and tired of waking up in the morning to news that more women and children have been killed by men who were supposed to have loved them.”

She added that “we must commit to changing the discussion from ‘why doesn't she leave?’ to ‘why does he abuse?’”

And finished with, “Let me be clear: men who love the members of their families do not kill them. No matter how clearly I say that though, our culture chooses not to listen to the voices of women.”

It was powerful stuff, covered heavily in the two newspapers, the Morning Sentinel of Waterville and the Kennebec Journal of Augusta. (Full disclosure: I work for both).

About 75 people attended, which most agreed was a good number.

The next morning, there was a memorial service for the three victims of Steven Lake.

About 1,000 people attended. It was covered on statewide TV, and several other out-of-state TV stations.

Lots of tears, lots of outrage.

Who knew Amy, Coty and Monica had so many friends?

And meanwhile, millions of Americans across the country were glued to their TVs, railing against Casey Anthony.

I don’t have to remind you who she is — the annoying young lady from Florida who lies, likes to party and may or may not have killed her young daughter.

Casey Anthony was found not guilty of killing her child July 5.

Last week, nearly a month after the verdict, news made national headlines that Casey Anthony, according to a poll, is the most hated woman in America.

The Lake and Gordon cases faded away pretty quickly, even here in Central Maine.

Two men who gunned down the mothers of their children in cold blood, and in one case, the children themselves, will not go down in history, even in our little corner of the world, as “most hated.”

Sure, people who knew and loved their victims will be scarred for life by it. And no one will blame them if they carry that burden of hate.

But for everyone else, It’s pretty much too bad, so sad.

It was a lot of fun going to the memorial service. Vigils are great. We can all cry and talk about the children and feel that self-righteous indignation. So next time something like this happens, and there will be a next time, we’ll get out the vigil candles and the sad faces and look for the TV cameras.

Rallies about the problems that lead to these happening? Not so much fun. Borrrrring. A bunch of stiff people spouting statistics. Yawn.

Karen Heck’s quotes, which were more insightful, to the point and powerful that probably 99 percent of the idiotic verbiage that clogged up the airwaves and Internet before, during and after the Casey Anthony trial, made the front pages of a few tiny newspapers and then were done.

It’s just not that interesting, right?

I know, I know. The last thing people want is one of those pompous “care about this, not that” screeds. Don’t read People, read The New Yorker. Don’t buy a Snickers bar when children are starving. Blah blah blah.

We’ll feel strongly about what we want to. The fun things.

We’ll reserve our strongest emotions for the next time Nancy Grace or some other TV talking head that’s part of the huge multi-billion dollar entertainment conglomerate designed to keep Americans from thinking for themselves tells us it’s time to hate someone again.

But just take the time for a minute to consider this:

Hate for another human being is never a very useful emotion. It saps a person’s energy without ever making a situation better.

When it’s for a human being you don’t even know, who has nothing to do with your life — for instance, Casey Anthony — it’s not only useless, it’s ridiculous and self-indulgent.

Imagine what could happen if all that energy that this country spent hating Casey Anthony — in fact, is still spending despite the fact that there was no evidence against her and the prosecution couldn’t prove its case and she was found not guilty — could be channeled into actually addressing the issues that lead people to kill their children.

And the mothers of their children.