If only elected officials were beholden to citizen safety and common-sense laws instead of the gun lobbyists.
Chris Jansing reports national and international news with intelligence, depth and poise. Melissa Hale-Spencer keeps you abreast of the news and issues in your town, if you’re lucky enough to live in her coverage area. Both are stars of journalism, providing indispensable information to citizens who wish to be informed and engaged.
At a time when journalists are disparaged for doing their job by the president of this country, and journalists risk their lives doing their job in other countries, it is a pleasure to join in honoring Jansing and Hale-Spencer for their commitment to reporting the news – reporting the truth – that is so essential to our democracy.
The two were among six honorees at The Women’s Press Club of New York State’s Annual Awards and Scholarship Dinner Sept. 28. Hale-Spencer was the press club’s 2017 Media Person of the Year and Jansing was named to its 2017 Hall of Honor.
The other honorees were also impressive for their promise and their media-related accomplishments: student Heather Knott, recipient of the Betty Flood Morrow Scholarship; Tracy Ormsbee, a former Albany Times Union editor now publisher of the Adirondack Explorer, honored for career achievement; and U.S. Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand and longtime League of Women Voters volunteer Barbara Bartoletti, for being women in public life who have presented a positive image in the media.
Hale-Spencer and Jansing struck me for the combined scope and importance of their reporting, locally and globally.
Hale-Spencer and I chatted from time to time over the 30-plus years of our overlapping newspaper careers while I was managing editor of The Saratogian. Weeklies like her Altamont Enterprise and small dailies like The Saratogian offer similar experiences to journalists: long hours, low pay, and a chance to practice their craft and make a difference.
She has won international and national recognition for her editorials and news coverage, but I suspect that prestigious peer accolades pale in comparison to how her efforts are appreciated by readers, in print and online. She continues to lead (both staff and the community), teach and do hands-on work as editor of The Altamont Enterprise, which she and her husband now co-own. Now that’s commitment.
Jansing, meanwhile, is a senior national correspondent and news anchor for MSNBC, and fondly remembered locally for her years as a news anchor under her maiden name, Kapotasy. In accepting her press club award, she lauded Hale-Spencer for her grassroots journalism, told of attempts by Trump staff to intimidate her, and urged press club members to check out the Committee to Protect Journalists which, among many things, keeps track of the number of journalists (25 so far this year) killed while doing their job – or as she put it, while reporting the truth.
One afternoon last month, my next-door neighbor saw me buckling my helmet and waved me over to see if I was playing Bike Bingo Saratoga. She and her daughter, a second-grader, combined bike riding with discovering places that they, as fairly new residents, hadn’t been to before. For instance, she said they stopped in Roma Foods (wishing she’d known about it sooner) and Humpty Dumpty (before it closed for the season). I was on my way to the Saratoga Farmers’ Market on High Rock Avenue and found Ian Klepetar staffing a table with Bike Bingo cards. You bike to supporting businesses and get your card stamped, then collect gifts when you complete a regular bingo or fill the full card, now through Oct. 22. Nice to see businesses participating to encourage casual bicycle riding. Learn more at www.bicyclebenefits.org.
Stewart, our 16-year-old tabby, died in my arms Friday morning.
It took a few seconds for the overdose administered by the veterinarian to do its job as she and my son David sat patiently with us in a cozy hospice-style room at the animal hospital.
About a year ago, he stopped eating more calories than he burned. Neither blood tests, an ultrasound, medicines nor a veritable buffet of canned food and home-cooked salmon identified the problem or reversed the loss of fat, then muscle. But for months his decline slowed, making his wasting away more deniable.
Then, about five weeks ago, Stewart quit meeting us at the door. Four weeks ago, he no longer loped up the stairs and onto our bed. Three weeks ago, no more jumping on the table to tear at the newspapers. Two weeks ago, he took to spending day and night sphynx-like under an end table except to lap at his water dish, sniff at his food and use the litter box (fairly accurately). One week ago, he didn’t want to sit in my lap, not even on the floor next to his end table.
He was bone and fur, but still I couldn’t put down this living thing I loved. Until Friday.
I broke down throughout my phone call the day before with the sweet young lady at the animal hospital, who explained the options, since I didn’t pay attention when the vet explained them on my last visit with Stewart a couple of weeks earlier. Thursday was another day without Stewart eating a thing. He was weak. His spot under the table wasn’t private enough; he curled up in the back of the closet.
I resolved that, if he made it through the night, I would put his pain ahead of mine.
Wow, I just devoted about 300 words to Stewart’s sad last days. I should tell you instead how my sister remembers coming to my house one New Year’s Eve when he was a kitten and he was “on the dining room table, enjoying the dip (straight from the bowl, no chips).” Our now-grown kids remember how Stewart would leap at them from the back stairs, eager to play – or attack, tiger-like. And for years he forced me to forego many a chore by refusing to leave my lap.
Stewart was a rescue cat who, despite being on house arrest his entire life, had a good run. He was a pet, not a person, but he was a part of the family. And, more than I realized, I loved him.
I’m excited about tomorrow. Since kindergarten I’ve felt a combination of cheerful optimism and slightly nervous anticipation for the first day of school, which for me is tomorrow — as the teacher.
I’ve been teaching one version or another of Reporting and News Writing at the University at Albany since 2008, and while I revise the syllabus before and during each semester, after eight years of teaching and 38 as a working journalist I’ve got the core messages down pat. I enjoy preparing for class, working with students, marking up copy (by which I mean grading their writing, even while I’m moaning about it) and (I hope) inspiring promising journalists to stick with it.
And you never stop learning, right? Last week, I became a student for the day, to pick up ideas about teaching.
I participated with SUNY teachers from a variety of disciplines in workshops about How to Improve Student Learning with Teaching Strategies that Promote Effective Active Learning. The real, easier-to-digest title was “Fall Faculty Retreat,” presented by UAlbany’s Institute for Teaching, Learning and Academic Leadership, which offers group and individual training and other resources for teachers seeking to improve their craft.
The biggest takeaway: Research confirms that students learn more by doing stuff than by sitting in a chair while the teacher drones on – and that, if teachers tried, they could do a lot more teaching through active learning than traditional lectures. Makes sense. I can’t pay attention when I’m being lectured, so why should I expect my students to?
Another takeaway: You never know who’ll you run into. During the lunch break a woman and I kept looking at each other. “I feel like I know you,” she said. “Did you ever work at The Saratogian,” I asked. Who hasn’t? Christina Nash, an accomplished teacher with a son almost as old as she was during her stink as a sports clerk, recalled how then Sports Editor Will Springstead brazenly deleted the first three beloved paragraphs of her first story, indelibly impressing on her that whatever you write is no longer yours after it’s turned in. We also caught up on the irrepressible Julie Joly (mother of an aspiring sports writer) and irreverent Michael Korb (for whom everything is sport), among other former Saratogians.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Active learning comes naturally in a reporting and news writing class. From Day One, students get off their butt to interview, report, synthesize information and write. Mine is a skill-building class for 24 journalism majors and minors who’ve passed the prerequisite Introduction to Journalism and are ready to learn by doing.
Reporting and news writing goes well beyond sentence structure. Students must discern whether information is credible – not always easy — to produce work that is reliable. So I’m not really going off on a tangent when I tell you that I’m pained by the president’s persistent degradation of the media, but also frustrated when mainstream media harps on minor stuff, misses meaningful reporting and crosses the line from reporting to editorializing. No shortage of material for interactive learning, that’s for sure.
It felt good to join with hundreds of people who converged at Congress Park’s Spirit of Life tonight to peacefully show support and appreciation for members of our immigrant community. “All Are Welcome Here,” say the signs, one of which I’m happy to see every day at the church on the corner.
We are a nation of immigrants. We are a city whose financial backbone – at the racetrack, restaurants and farms – is strong because of immigrants, including those hard workers who may be here illegally. And we who are pained by national policies need to take these opportunities to stand up and be counted among those who care.
I’ll admit from the outset that I thought it would get at least a little dark here Monday as the moon obscured about a third of the sun here during the much-hyped solar eclipse. But I hasten to add: I loved seeing even this partial eclipse through my super-duper NASA-approved glasses, was thrilled to watch the total eclipse over and over across the country on TV, and thoroughly enjoyed sharing the excitement with hundreds (thousands, it seemed) at the wonderful Museum of Innovation and Science and Dudley Observatory in Schenectady, where I got to peek through a solar telescope.
We take for granted glorious sunrises (not that I’m up then) and sunsets and amazing views of our skies all day, every day. The wonder and beauty of nature is ours to appreciate if we just point our noses away from our phones and look up (with appropriate eye protection, of course). The eclipse reminds us that every so often nature puts on an extra special show.
My son Joe traveled with three friends from his home in Chicago six-plus hours to a gorgeous spot outside Carbondale, Ill., where the total eclipse lingered longest as it moved across the country. “It was an awesome, overwhelming, indescribable experience,” he messaged from the car during the 13-hour ride home (it was bumper-to-bumper even at midnight), which he told me this morning was totally worth it.
I’m looking forward to the week before my 70th birthday, when the next total solar eclipse visible in the U.S. will be crossing New York state. And I won’t wait, like this time, till the last minute to buy eclipse glasses.
I like the new signs and maps on Broadway.
How about you?
The directional signs are simple, handsome and legible. The encased maps give you the basic picture of downtown Saratoga Springs’ main drag and its side streets. The flip side tells you interesting things about the city (courtesy of local history devotees Mary Ann Fitzgerald, Jamie Parillo, Dave Patterson and Charles Kuenzel).
Thanks to the Saratoga Springs Special Assessment District, comprising downtown property owners, for spearheading this project, which has been in the works for seven (!) years and is not quite done (more signage is planned for closer to the City Center and the Beekman Street Arts Distrist). Paul Post reported in The Saratogian that money to make it all happen came from the city ($200,000), the assessment district ($75,000), Saratoga Hospital and Skidmore College ($10,000 each), downtown merchants ($6,000) and a grant from the Alfred Z. Solomon Charitable Trust.
I think it’s worth the investment for this classy and useful addition to downtown. What do you think?
Consider the alternative. Once upon a time the chamber of commerce handed out green and white “Ask Me, I’m A Local” pins (probably inspired by a “Kiss me, I’m Irish” pin unearthed in a junk drawer) to encourage a be-kind-to-tourists mentality. It was a cute idea, but truth be told, you can live 40 years in a town and still not know the name of nearby cross streets or how many lights you go through before making a turn to the track.
Now I need merely to smile, step toward a map, and point.
I fell in love with The Saratogian 40 years ago, when I began my newspaper career. It was my privilege to run the newsroom for many years. The little brick building a block from Broadway and kitty-corner from City Hall represented to me the epitome of essential small-town journalism.
My first beat was city reporter. I’d run back and forth from the police station or mayor’s office to file stories and consult with editors. I’d walk downtown for comments, story ideas, and a hot dog.
Over the years, I mourned when the press was sold in favor of remote printing, but I welcomed the internet and its ability to report, share, save and update news.
When The Saratogian’s owners, Digital First Media, sold the entire block, including the building, in 2012, the newspaper became tenants. Well before I left the newspaper two years ago, it was apparent that the ability to work from anywhere, coupled with the shrinking number of employees, made the beloved old building like an old pair of Jennifer Hudson’s pants: way too big.
So, today’s the day: The Saratogian is moving from 20 Lake Ave. to 7 Wells St., a little over half a mile away. Out of downtown’s line of sight, but not far. And, I’ll bet, in the new offices staffers won’t have to wear gloves in the winter and sweaters in summer.
I’ll admit I’m a little sad to see the end of an era, to acknowledge that the staff is too small for the building, and to lose my longtime perk of a downtown parking space.
Shake it off, Barbara.
I’ve said for decades that a city the size of Saratoga Springs is fortunate to have a daily newspaper. The current cadre of employees work hard to bring us the local news. It’s the building that’s closing, not the newspaper. Lucky for all of us.
Watching well-regarded TV journalists this morning hand Kellyanne Conway multiple opportunities to skirt a basic question — as if she will ever admit an administration wrongdoing — was painful. It takes me back to my days as a rookie reporter at a small-town newspaper, when I learned that you can’t make someone tell the truth.
Based on a City Hall record keeper’s tip, I obtained invoices showing the law requiring bids for construction work was dodged by having the contractor submit piecemeal invoices all just below the competitive bidding threshold. I arranged to meet with the contractor to hear firsthand his essential side to the story.
Hours later, I was back in the newsroom, in tears. The contractor would not admit the obvious. He would not tell the truth. He Kellyanne Conwayed me, back when the President’s Spinner in Chief was in grade school.
My editor straightened me out: The contractor’s answer is his answer. Report the comments and contrast them with what the documents show. That’s how you tell the truth.
I learned that lesson 40 years ago as a Jimmy Olsen at The Saratogian. But the same type of truth evasion still happens, to experienced reporters at the nation’s largest news organizations.
This weekend the New York Times reported – and Donald Trump Jr. himself tweeted — that two weeks after his father clinched the GOP nomination, Trump Jr. met with a Russian national, bringing along brother-in-law and presidential adviser Jared Kushner and then campaign chairman Paul Manafort, based on a promise of compromising information about Hillary Clinton. These conflict with Trump Jr.’s own earlier statements flat out denying any such campaign-related meeting.
Watch video of ABC News Chief Anchor George Stephanopoulos and CNN anchor and reporter Christopher Cuomo this morning trying to get Trump counselor Conway to address this news.
Stephanopoulos and Cuomo repeatedly told viewers and Conway, to no avail, the issues are that the meeting occurred and was not disclosed, both actions possibly at odds with federal laws. Conway ignored their questions with non-stop irrelevant responses, pooh-poohing the meeting because, according to Trump Jr., the promised campaign dirt didn’t materialize.
Maybe I should be on the verge of tears again, given the flat-out refusal of the media-bashing administration to tell the truth. I am frustrated, angry and, to take a word from President Trump, sad.
Please, 24-hour TV news: Report what happened. Report the (albeit inane official) response. Report why it matters. Repeat as needed, putting it in context. But stop asking the same questions over and over hoping for a different outcome. That’s a definition of insanity, and it’s driving me crazy.