Don’t listen to me

There is no way a Cop Shop beat reporter from Greenville, South Carolina can memorialize Wall Street Journal Asian Bureau reporter Daniel Pearl. “Harm’s Way” is a phrase I use to describe the local cops’ workplace. It is not a place I’ve been. My worst experience overseas was a French hostel bathroom. I’ve only been held at gunpoint by a postman who was angry at my tresspassing. My opinion doesn’t and shouldn’t count.

So, don’t listen to me.

To even compare my job with his is silly. It’s like comparing a high school waterboy to an NFL quarterback. I report on arguing state senators. He reports the stories people don’t hear. And he dies on the job. Not because he stepped out in front of a car during an ice storm live shot. Not because he wrecked on the interstate on the way to a car vs. train wreck.

So, don’t listen to me.

But, listen to this: There is nothing wrong with turning up your nose at stories about P. Diddy and O.J. Simpson. There are parts of this business that are embarassing. There are times I am ashamed to be associated with people who wear the badge of journalism. There are times I am ashamed to be doing what I do on a daily basis.

And there are times I am ashamed that I sometimes think that this entire business is full of glory-hungry cowards.

Because it is not.

I cannot memorialize Daniel Pearl. I didn’t know him or even know OF him until he wound up in handcuffs with a cheap gun to his head. Memorializing him is not my place.

But don’t let this story be background noise while you cook dinner tonight.