Old vs. New "New Journalism"

In my salad days--we're talkin' 1960's--"new journalism" referred to works of writers like Tom Wolfe, Norman Mailer, Hunter Thompson, i.e., those who saw the world with x-ray eyes, described it with acid tongues, and moved readers to act in ways aimed at changing society. For such writing and talent, these "new journalists"got paid handsomely.

Today, I use the phrase "new journalism" in the same context we're living the rest of our lives: raw, harsh, economic realities worldwide.

That is, in the early 21st century, "new journalism" is made by those whose careers and reputations--and increasingly their incomes--are created and hustled quite cheaply online. I may be wrong, but a few sample readings in that genre tell me X-ray vision, incisive comments and handsome salaries are neither likely nor required.

Take, for example, the "spotus.org" U.K. outfit whose journalistic enterprise consists of asking readers which story they'd like to see written about. For a small donation, combined with other small donations on the topic, the blogging outfit assigns a writer to cover the requested subject. The assigned reporter looks into the matter, gathers whichever facts or quotes s/he can, and puts the story online.

According to "Day to Day" on National Public Radio, a recent "big story" for spotus.org was about the Oakland, CA police department and why there's so much police absenteeism in a city noted for having the fifth highest crime rate in the USA. Check http://www.spotus.org/ to see if you can find the story and discern its chances at effecting change in Oakland police or other citizens' lives.

Meanwhile, I'm content to rely on "the old journalism" as performed by well trained journalists--those who grasp the role of reporting in a free society and know why readers are better served when important topics are not bought in a financial vote but are produced by public-spirited editors and reporters who live in and know their communities and have a stake not only in whether their communities survive, but also in whether they thrive for everybody--not just for sellers and buyers.

In short, I like the old New Journalism a lot better than the new New Journalism. In this case, back to the future sounds about right.

January

At last, here's January. It's my favorite month. Why?

January is talented; it looks forward while also looking backward. In the cold light of First Month, we can see things better: what's past is over, what's ahead is blank. In January, we get to feel more confident of that.

Other months have a way of muddling things and missing the point. Which point? "Choice." In January, we're more likely to choose what we'll start now for accomplishment in the coming year. Here are some fresh examples:

Today is the first full day of my friend's return home after her latest bout with alcohol and depression. As she made her way to her car, the sun shone brighter, her step was livelier and her smile was wider. It was easy to think things will be better for her in the coming months.

In another January success, the dead, brown stalks of November chrysanthemums are giving way to green leaves and tiny shoots that want to be full grown someday. I shall try to help them stick to their plan.

Even the two tall hibiscus trees that are wintering in the garage are on their way to showing off again. One of them has a topknot blossom that bloomed in the dead of dark; I spotted it today while putting away strings of multi-colored lights and other reminders of Christmas past. Another January satisfaction.

Finally (even if we admit to no "finally's"), there's this: January 20, 2009 presents the start of Something Big we Americans have been building toward since January 1960, when JFK was inaugurated: a clear break with the past and a chance, albeit challenging, of a better future with a smarter, more youthful president. It means the pain of birth and hope of rebirth simultaneously.

Okay, January, 2009. Let's get at it!

The Days of Christmas

There's a partridge in my pear tree.

Well, not exactly. It's more like 10 mourning doves--or similar breed--who've been gathering lately to eat the scattered birdseed over by the apple tree. But wait....

I can't be sure the markings on these large, dark gray, pigeon-like creatures qualify them as mourning doves. Doves, yes. Mourning? Not sure.

My brother says there's a newer breed of dove that matches the descriptions I give. He often sees them on the golf course at Raymond. The giveaway markings are a pair of black or dark brown bars on either side near the bird's legs. I haven't noted configuration of the tails or else I'd have a better clue with which to seek the answer: DO I HAVE A PARTRIDGE IN MY PEAR TREE--or what??

To all you Leaping Lords and Dancing Ladies out there, I need your hints, please. In the meantime, know you're all wished a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year by your Turtle Dove in Mississippi.

Birthday Bounce

Even at 68, birthdays are fun. Mine yesterday was. Gal Pals treated and joined me for lunch and the movie "Australia." More on "Down Under" shortly. First, though, a word about living to a fine young age and feeling grateful.

Growing old is fascinating. The thing I notice most--even before physiological complaints--is the distance between how others view my age and how I view it myself.

As a person pushing 70, I am seen by the world as a "senior citizen," yet I see myself as a person who is the same age I've been since voting in the Nixon vs. JFK election! That is, I'm the same liberal Democrat, the same interested person in friends and family, the same talker/writer/jokester/philosopher, and the same traveler with the same ends and destinations I've had in mind and on my calendar forever. I even like the same kinds of men I've always liked--smart, funny, physical, literate, self-aware.

Yet for all of it, "senior citizen" is the view that prevails. I even get caught in it myself . But I usually recover in time to laugh and remember my dear, departed mother who--well into her 80's--developed a crush on a much younger man: one who, thank goodness, never knew he was the apple of her dimming eyes and active imagination. I hope to remain the acorn that so far has stuck pretty close to that colorful redhead's sturdy green tree. Meanwhile...

"Australia" is not a great movie, but it IS a great movie to see and get swept up in. Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman are good as the English noblewoman and hard-driving "drover" who move a huge herd of cattle to safety from predatory neighbors and poisoned drink. There's a significant strain of aboriginal magic and magical Aborigines mixed in. Definitely worth seeing and having it remind you of "Gone with the Wind" in its sweep and grandeur, if not in its broad history. The two films even share the year 1939: the tales in "Australia" start there, and the film "Gone with the Wind" was released in and won the Oscar that year.

But for an overly fussy interpretation in the first half, Nicole Kidman takes charge of the role and fills out her character wisely by the end of the film. Likewise, Hugh Jackman is commendable as the drover and the lover of Nicole Kidman. His white dinner jacket sexily slung over the shoulder in a party scene excepted, Jackman is believable as a man of the wilderness who falls in love with a woman of nobility. I fell for him myself!

So there's my REAL gift: Hugh Jackman's ability to bestir a 68-year-young "senior citizen." Happy Birthday, indeed!

Fire the Coach!

Whose fault is it when a sports team fails?

Most men I know--regardless of whether they're game fans--would have an easy time with the answer: "It's the coach's fault." Most women I know would have a more nuanced view of the matter.

Either way, the reality in high school, college and professional sports today is this: the male view predominates, i.e., the coach's head gets chopped when a team turns in poor to mediocre player stats and amasses a poor win/loss record over a season or two.

Thus, I feel for Mississippi State head football coach Sylvester Croom, who's in his fifth year at Starkville. His Bulldogs have been lackluster this year; last year they were pretty impressive. During today's 45-0 rout of his team by the Rebels of arch rival Ole Miss, Coach Croom may have seen signs popping up among State fans calling for his head. "FIRE CROOM NOW!" one of the signs read to TV audiences in the South.

Ironically, a similar hue and cry went up after the Ole Miss vs. State game in 2007. Only then, it was the Ole Miss coach who was on his way out. Never that popular with fans or players, Coach Ed Orgeron sealed his fate the moment he called for a play that lost the annual Egg Bowl game for Ole Miss and won it for State--a play many fans and analysts have said was either the coach's anger at players and fans (implication: he threw the game) or an evidenced lack of coaching skills and strategies.

In any case, Orgeron was out almost the next day, thus paving the way for Ole Miss to bring in Coach Houston Nutt, then of Arkansas and now a Mississippi Rebel extraordinaire. He and his fired-up team and fans are light years removed from the firing mode these days.

Sylvester Croom should be so lucky at State!

The Money Mantra

"Throwing money at the problem isn't the answer."

How often have those of us in education and other tax-supported public services in America heard that stingy, rotting proposition over the past 40 years. It has become a mantra, in fact: a self-fulfilling prophecy of tight-fisted, mean-spirited money men and women for whom building fast profit and hoarding gigantic wealth are far smarter and more glamorous than spending their fair share to help meet needs of ordinary men, women and children who form the fabric of society.

For the better part of my 45-year career as an educator and teacher advocate, the "can't throw money at it" mantra was what peers and I heard anytime we campaigned for modest tax increases to meet crisis situations, e.g., ordering new textbooks, lowering class sizes, repairing leaky ceilings, improving salaries, buying computers, upgrading practice equipment, or seeking more academic freedom in which to engage our students. Nope. Can't do it. Wouldn't be prudent. On and on to the point of gagging fatigue every time we heard the "money isn't the answer" reply (and not incidentally, it seems, almost invariably accompanied by "teachers are the problem" attitude).

Serves 'em right, this "can't throw money at it" crowd. Now they're blowing their brains out, falling on their golden swords and eating greed for breakfast. Unfortunately, in so doing, they're also soaking us modest taxpayers for gazillions, once the dollars, francs, marks, rhiyals, rubles, yen, and (especially) the yuans are counted. Which counting continues worldwide as we write.

So is throwing money at it the answer? With apologies to Bill Clinton, I guess it depends on what the meaning of "it" is. For me, "it" in this case is Greed personified and--sadly--magnified and dignified by an undereducated, barely insightful American press and daily broadcast corps.

Proof, perhaps, that we teachers needed better textbooks, computers and academic freedom in which to teach that generation of students after all!

Regaining Stride

To faithful readers, thanks for checking in and reminding me I haven't posted entries on NN&V's recently. I fancy the following as reasonable excuses:

Traveling to and from Maryland to be with friends, returning to Mississippi to campaign and vote in an historic presidential election with its surrounding local politics, adopting prayer as a "best practice" during a scary, working period of personal financial decisions, rehearsing with the Mississippi Chorus for holiday musicals and taking time with a Baltimore friend who came here for a five-day visit have kept me unusually busy during the last four weeks.

Look for posts to begin anew soon. Please stick with us as we try to find our stride again.

Thanks for reading!