Another Day in the Country
Trying to tell the truth
© Another Day in the Country
Quite a while back, I told you about a man I know who has spent most of his life in prison in California.
For 40 years, we have exchanged letters, and he has become a friend.
To make a long story shorter, we began corresponding because of a request through a prison ministries program years ago.
Since then, a lot has transpired in my life. My children are grown up and launched. I moved to Kansas more than 20 years ago. Those are the two biggest events I think of immediately.
I’ve visited Jimmy at San Quentin a handful of times through the years. More important, I’ve written him lots of letters. I try to write once a month or so.
He always writes back. Never are his letters as long and as wordy as mine. Then again, I think, what does he have to write about?
His days, through all these years, are pretty much the same. I’m the one who’s been living my life around all these different people, with all kinds of exciting things going on — change constantly in the wind.
I have a lot more things to talk about and a lot nicer things to describe than everyday life in a prison.
In the past 20 years, since moving back to Ramona, I’ve seen Jimmy only once, but we keep writing.
Then, about a year ago, he wrote to me with great news. One of many, many appeals his lawyers made on his behalf through the years had been accepted, and he had a chance to personally present his case again before the State of California.
As I understand the outcome, the state agreed his case was valid. Now, we are waiting, waiting, waiting for a release date.
In anticipation of this, he’s been moved to a different facility, less populated, where he has a window in his cell. This is a big deal.
In his last letter, he wrote with concern about a news article he’d read about a raid in Marion, Kansas.
“Is this true?” he wanted to know.
When I came to my computer this morning to write my column, my letter answering Jimmy was still open, and I had to chuckle at what I’d written:
“About the news article: Yes, it’s true. The facts, as far as I can tell, are that Marion hired a new police chief and didn’t vet him very well. He’d previously worked in Kansas City. I think they thought they were getting an experienced guy.”
I’m sure that some of you have found yourself in the same boat, trying to explain quickly how something happens.
It’s a big story, and by now, many of us have heard portions of it lots of times and are getting rather weary of the subject.
We are chagrined, a little embarrassed, wondering at all the fallout. And now, I’m really trying hard to explain the facts and get them right.
“So, a business owner in town applies for a liquor license, and someone spills the beans about her drunk driving conviction to someone else. Then, the newspaper inquired and discovered police knew it and looked the other way for some reason. When the paper tries to investigate, it raises a ruckus. They’ve heard some troubling info about the new police chief.”
I did take a journalism class back in the day when I was in college, and I do remember the ethics that a news writer must keep remembering.
You have to check your sources, attempt to leave your own bias behind, state the facts as clearly as you can.
News articles aren’t opinion pieces. Those are saved for one page and one page only.
I’m still trying to compose this short explanation of what went on to my friend, who is still in prison after 40 years, with a life sentence for a crime he has solidly maintained all these years that he did not do.
He knows how powerful words can be, how insidiously prejudice works with a group of your peers.
And I’m using words like, “I think,” “it sounds to me like,” “the new police chief thought,” and “under suspect circumstances,” “thought the paper had incriminating evidence,” “they charge into,” and “the next thing you know, this incident in a tiny town in Kansas is on CNN and in The Week, and the story keeps growing.”
I was still writing.
“Yes, Jimmy, all this happening to the little paper where I write a column every week. When something happens in a small town, everyone is touched by a story like this. We know these people. Some of them are distant relatives. We’re all affected.”
When I got through writing the letter, I grabbed my latest copy of the Marion County Record and sent it to Jimmy.
He could read about it for himself — if they let the paper through all the security checks. I am thankful we have this newspaper.
News travels fast in the country, and I assure you that when we write something and put it in print, we do try to get the facts right.
I’m wondering right now if I told you this story correctly. Funny thing is, this wasn’t what I planned to write today. It just hit me. So I’ll reread what I’ve written again and again before I pass it on.
It isn’t just the newspaper that has the responsibility of telling stories correctly. We all have that same duty as human beings when we’re just shootin’ the breeze—to try to get the story straight, repeat the facts as best we can because every single one of us is constantly broadcasting stories on another day in the country.