Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, December 13, 1994 TAG: 9412130044
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV2 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: RICK LINDQUIST
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
I learned about the Rev. George Ducker's death through a detached, objective telephone call from someone in our Roanoke newsroom who wanted to check on how long Ducker had served on the Radford School Board. Because I cover the board's activities, that was standard procedure.
What the unfortunate caller did not realize was that Ducker also was my family's pastor at the Presbyterian Church of Radford. I'm afraid I got emotional on her before regaining composure long enough to tell her what she needed for the next day's paper.
Perhaps because we in the media try so hard to maintain our aloofness from the stories we cover, it never occurred to her that the news would - or could -affect me personally.
Because I was "close to the story," Beth Obenshain, the New River Valley bureau's editor, left it to me to decide if I wanted to write about the community's reaction for the New River Current. At least in my mind, there was never any question that I could maintain the requisite balance, despite my proximity to the story. In a way, I believed myself to be the only person in the newsroom who could imbue the story with the proper tone.
The process turned out to be more gut-wrenching than I had ever imagined, but it also gave me an insight that we in the media often overlook: "News" (as I'd like to think our readers define it) does not occur in a vacuum or on some far-off planet and involve people we do not know. It is first and foremost about people we live among, the stories of their triumphs and tragedies, their laudable, laughable and law-breaking deeds, their imprint on the community.
Whatever my personal point of view or involvement, George Ducker's imprint was substantial on the community he served in twin roles that often were difficult to distinguish from each other. His name turned up in dozens of stories, from church, wedding and funeral announcements to School Board meeting accounts. School Board members told me how they valued Ducker's perspective when grappling with the issues that came before the panel over the years. In particular, they mentioned the heated debate over school-sponsored prayer before athletic events. Ducker was opposed to the prayer, and the board ultimately banned it.
For all our professed newswriting objectivity, we media folks form definite opinions about the people we report on. (At times, it's a tightrope walk, and we count on our editors to help us ask the hard questions and keep our reporting fair.) As a School Board member and as a person, Ducker was easy to like. A story I wrote about him in 1991 might explain why. At one School Board meeting, Ducker - a music lover - told Band Director Rick Elliott how he had reluctantly attended a Belle Heth Elementary School sixth-grade band concert expecting "a lot of squeaking" but came away a solid band booster.
"I didn't want to go to that, to be honest with you, but I had to because I was a father," he said. "That whole concert went off without a single squeak. There was no squeaking. And I thought that was amazing."
More compelling "official" business at that particular meeting might have denied readers a chance to see an "aloof" school official recast in his role as a father while doing the public's business. It's important for people to recognize that their officials are people and parents just like them.
When my wife and I heard him preach a baccalaureate service at Radford High School, we began attending his church and saw more closely how his spiritual, official and personal worlds cojoined seamlessly.
As we reporters do, Ducker lived and served in the same community. But he navigated through and sometimes resolved potential conflicts, and the various hemispheres of his world enhanced one another. Perhaps we at this community newspaper need to rethink our own often-rigid, self-imposed concept of dual citizenship. Perhaps we could be a bit more like George Ducker.
Rick Lindquist is a New River Valley bureau editorial assistant.
by CNB