THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, December 10, 1995 TAG: 9512100047
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
SOURCE: PAUL SOUTH
LENGTH: Medium: 63 lines
Reporters are getting a bum rap.
It seems that everybody, from Pennsylvania Avenue to Main Street is mad at the media. Some say we're all a bunch of hard-bitten cynical types, with a heart the size of the Grinch.
Others say we all have a liberal agenda, and are bent toward turning this country into Six Flags Over Peking.
And some folks even say we don't like baseball, hot dogs, apple pie or Martha Stewart. (Well, maybe they're right about Martha. I mean, this woman makes June Cleaver look like Roseanne.)
In the words of an old high school friend, we're just plain ``trash.''
But as a member of this rag-tag band of rabble-rousers, I beg to differ.
And for our defense, I need offer only one word:
Christmas.
That's right, the time of jingle bells and children's choirs, and stockings hung by the chimney with care.
Like virtually everyone else, even the toughest newspaper person turns Teddy Bear during the holidays.
Don't forget, it was a newspaper editor who told Virginia that yes, there is a Santa Claus.
But for those needing more proof, let me take you back 12 months. A couple of colleagues and I gathered at my house to eat pizza and watch ``It's a Wonderful Life.'' Not the cheesy colorized version, but the genuine article, black and white film in all its glory.
It was one of those great nights. The pizza was steaming, the drinks icy, and the conversation cheerful. Outside, the crisp, cold air embraced the frosted window panes.
Now, the three of us had seen the trials and tribulations of George Bailey of Bedford Falls at least 100 times. And in fact, one of my friends dozed off about the time George and the Angel Clarence got bounced out of the bar for trying to help the down-and-out pharmacist, Mr. Gower.
She woke up just as George Bailey found Zuzu's petals. And within minutes, as we watched the people of Bedford Falls turn out to help their friend, and heard the bell signifying an angel receiving wings, there was nary a dry eye in the house.
Had the stock exchange been open, Kleenex stock would have gone through the roof. We had all checked in at the Teardrop Hotel.
It's not just Jimmy Stewart that gets us. Shoot, I even tear up over ``A Charlie Brown Christmas.'' I mean, if you can't get a twinge when Linus reads the Christmas story, and then they jazz up Charlie Brown's pitiful little tree, you may as well pack it in.
And when Nat King Cole sings The Christmas Song . . . forget it. I'm on the bus to Sob City.
But what really makes reporters sad this time of year are stories about foster homes and food pantries. Children who go hungry and children who can't read. And sometimes, we wonder if all the stories in the world make poverty and hunger and crime go away. Those are the real Grinches that steal Christmas.
And believe it or not, when things seem really futile, we cry.
Reporters heartless?
Bah. Humbug! by CNB