Journalism, at its core, is the search for and dispersal of the truth. That’s why I admire it so much, despite all the press’s recent “bad press.” Its mission is to expose the ugly, celebrate the beautiful, and question what doesn’t seem right. Although the title of “journalist” is certainly a buzzword, for good or for bad, I always remember that it is the investigative spirit of the journalist that keeps us responsible for one another.
I joined my high school newspaper staff to be a part of this “noble cause,” if you will, and I adore it! I love researching, interviewing, and digging to find the perfect story that can shed some light on the culture at Harpeth Hall in Nashville. However, there’s one catch— Harpeth Hall is too good. There is hardly anything to investigate, hardly any opportune time to channel my best Edward R. Murrow or Ida B. Wells-fervor. Our biggest “scandal” of the year might be a new dress-code policy. As a student, that’s great; as a journalist, that’s no fun.
This week at Double R, I was finally able to satiate my closet-desire of being a ruthless investigative journalist. Rosemary was planning a Media Training event for the American Trucking Association. Eleven up-and-coming leaders in the trucking industry were invited to practice delivering their company’s message and handling the press.
As the intern, I began as Rosemary’s “Vanna White”— I wrote the group’s goals on the board, drew (terrible) pictures for a story-telling exercise, and demonstrated the importance of men wearing makeup for TV. I was the innocent intern who smiled on the sidelines and posed no threat to the attendees’ nerves.
Little did they know, I had spent a large part of my first week stalking their companies, social medias, and state records. Research is a more appropriate term, but I felt like a stalker once I recognized each of the industry workers the moment they entered the room (“Hey, I loved your costume for Oktoberfest this year!”—my thoughts upon seeing one woman). I had found dozens of articles about employee complaints, legal suits, trucking accidents, controversial legislature, and reckless driver behavior. I had nothing against these people personally, but I take my homework assignments very seriously. As a result, I had plenty of fodder for Rosemary’s mock press conference, or, more appropriately, her “murder board.”
Rosemary let me join her in the back for the press conference. Holding the stacks of articles, we took turns slaying the board members with brutal questions: “Doesn’t this tracking device mandate remind you of ‘Big Brother is Watching’?” “How are you planning to defend yourselves against this 3.8 million dollar lawsuit?” “How will FedEx respond to a driver’s recent Hit-and-Run in Memphis?”
The participants handled themselves pretty well, but their discomfort was palpable. “Blame the intern!” Rosemary said when we had finished. Reverting to my smiling-intern status, I passed out their packets, and every person’s stiff smile seemed to be asking, “Et tu, Brute?”
It felt good to be the bad cop for once. Hopefully FedEx won’t hate Rosemary and me forever.
