Arriving in this sleepy college town last Saturday, still reeling from the school year, I couldn’t help but feel I had just accomplished something of a prison break. The only thing missing was Morgan Freeman’s omnipresent narration.
In all seriousness, I had nothing planned this summer. And my prison? Boredom.
While my peers are off backpacking across Europe or some other far-flung place many only get to hear about, I instead opted for a week at the Oregon High School Journalism Institute (Try fitting all of that on a T-shirt! They did and now I want one).
With my cocktail of seasonal allergy medications on-hand and my sun bleached, orange Oregon State Beavers cap that I nicked from my alumnus dad to blend in with the locals, my fellow aspiring journalists and I — along with a newsroom of seasoned veterans — fell headlong into our shared craft. Our first task: profiling our reporting partner.
What better way to earn the trust of another person than to interrogate their most key human elements.
This was an opportunity to get a glimpse at life in professional newsrooms and I was surprised to learn that I was not required to address my editor by their prefix, which had become a near reflex when talking to someone of clearly higher rank and expertise.
The week’s long days have blurred and I am now beholden to the deadline, keeping a vigilant eye on the oversized digital clock that hangs over the Orange Media Network’s newsroom. Being in the newsroom is intoxicating.
The day is an ebbing cycle of hushed typing and socializing, mind abuzz with quotes, and anecdotes exchanged among the mentors, and finally time to go back to the dorms
With after-hour gatherings running late into the night, invoking a noise complaint on one occasion, students rest and recuperate with the same mindset they write: you’ll feel better tomorrow.
