When I started at the Daily Kent Stater, it clicked that people would talk to me. When you’re a freshman from a small town at this giant university and editors are saying, “How did you get him to stay that to you?” it dawns on you that people trust you. I looked harmless. I’m a round-faced Irish girl. You look at pictures of me as a child and I look like I’m in shock because my eyes are so big. I was never a threatening presence. What didn’t particularly work well with men, perhaps, was really working well as a journalist.
When you’re 22 and you get that knock-’em-dead, blow-out quote, you tend to run with it, no matter what. But as you get older you start to realize that context really matters. And some quotes, just because you got them doesn’t mean you should run them. I don’t mean politicians—I never protect politicians. But some people say things that are just going to sound really awful. Sometimes they really do mean it and it’s what you’ve got to go with, but sometimes you’ve got to keep asking them. I’ll say, “Here’s what you said, is that what you meant?” and they’ll say “No!” It’s a lack of savvy. They’re working really hard. Whatever’s going in their lives, that’s struggle enough, and they don’t have any representatives or spokespeople or PR training. You’ve got to respect that.
Through Kent State, I did an internship on Capitol Hill with Mo Udall [the liberal congressman from Arizona]. Going to Washington changed me on a cellular level, because from then on I believed the world was conquerable. I felt entitled to have a place in the world. That never left me, for all the trials I had after that and all the insecurities. And look what happened: I got to do this for a living, where I focus a lot of my career on trying—I hate the term ‘giving voice,’ but I don’t know how else to say it—to working-class people, to people living in poverty, to people who may be on the margins, because those are the people I come from.
I really was so lucky—I did an internship at The Plain Dealer in ’79. It was a Guild shop, so I made entry-level Guild wages. And that makes a huge difference. In journalism, it’s become increasingly about where you went to school. At the bigger papers, it’s become more and more the privileged covering the privileged. You have to do an internship to get hired, so you have to be able to afford to work for free for a summer, which eliminates a lot of kids right there. And you have to have your own car. I didn’t, so I got a copy-editing internship, and I lived a few blocks away. Today, you’re hard-pressed to meet a young reporter who comes from the working class, or who’s a first-generation college kid.
When I went back to The Plain Dealer in 1993, they sent me out to a predominantly rural county. I wasn’t even there two weeks when a Rottweiler attacked a boy, dragged him I forget how many yards, and injured him severely. It was my reporting roots: Go to the story that everyone thinks is just another kid in trouble and tell the story of the kid. The boy was intervening to rescue a friend, and the dog went after him. Kids can be heroic—even kids who live out in Geauga County. When I turned it in, I remember an editor saying, “How did she know what his stuffed animal’s name was?” I thought, “Sweet Jesus, how did I know? I asked!” Of course the stuffed animal had a name. I realized in that moment that you can stop being defensive about the fact that you’re a single mom entering your first reporting job at age 36, and take everything you’ve learned until that minute and bring it into the job and quit apologizing for yourself, even in your own head.