Nobody Smiles in Robeson County

*Meloncholy-Edvard Munch
I never imagined that I would ever be a crime reporter. It wasn't my goal at all, but in this economy, in this business, you take what you can get.

Its a mixture of excitement and misery. I honestly am in love with my job, but I still have have a lot of growing to do. If anything, this place is going to do it, it may even jade me a little.

I currently live in a county with over 19% of the population unemployed. The drugs are ridiculous, the murder rate is high, and violence is nothing new to the citizens of Robeson County.

I've only been here for a little over seven weeks. So far I have covered around three murders, four murder trials (one gavel to gavel), and two escaped inmates along with a flurry of other crimes and happenings.

This county has a sickening amount of crime. After talking to the District Attorney of Robeson County, I found out that an alarming rate of 300-800 hearings happen daily at the Lumberton Courthouse alone, between district and superior court cases.

I sit back, everyday, after going through stacks of police reports and doing my usual rounds, and wonder why people do what they do.

Its desperation. Complete and utter desperation.

People steal and kill to live. They do it to get money to either feed their stomachs or feed their addictions.

And some of it is pure hate.

My first gavel to gavel murder trial was actually a retrial after the Superior Court found the last trial to be insufficiant when the transcript was filled with blank spaces. Thanks to some previously sloppy work, the family and friends of Betty Oxendine had to relive her death. From the testimonies, the girl was killed in 1998 while working the nightshift at Hardees when Travis Walters walked in, demanded money, then shot her and fled. He was upset with an ex-girlfriend and was "going to take it out on someone."

I suppose the worst part of the whole trial was watching the mother and father see the photograph of their dead daughter in a crumpled heap on a tile floor, with blood surrounding her head. Her mother buried her head in the father's shoulder. The father gripped a necklace that held a picture of his slained child.

I was nervous to even talk to them, but they were very nice and warm. They offered me their feelings of the retrial with ease and composure, even with a lot of strength.

I tried speaking to Walters' mother. Her family had been through just as much. She turned her own son in to the police because she had to do the right thing. His sister testified against him. They were suffering just as much. In essence, they too have lost a child. She didn't want to comment. I wish she did, she deserved to be heard, too.

The trial ended the way it should have, with Walters going to prison for life without parole for 1st-degree murder.

Two escapes connected to Sheriff's Office have also occurred in the last three weeks. An escape from the actual jail hasn't happened since it opened in the early 90's. One was a man charged with attempted murder and rape, another was accused of 2nd degree burglary.

One escaped after assaulting a jailer and running out of a randomly unlocked fire escape door. I'm still waiting for the investigation to be concluded. I'm wanting answers, not as much as my readers, but I'm curious of what happened.

Another, whom I call the Houdini of Inmates, was able to remove his feet shackles while being transported to a court facility for a hearing. He disappeared in the woods, hopping five-feet fences, and surviving by the very skill he was charged with, burglarizing the area to survive while on the run.

I feel like I'm in a movie. I know this isn't the worst place in the world, not even close. There are a lot of decent people here, but for a civilized society in the United States, it seems a little barbaric.

And I went from reporting on candlemakers, ambitious Americans, and man caves to the larceny of property, comfort, and life.

A man, who has lived in this county his entire life, once told me while sitting in the Sheriff's Office that this used to be God's country.

He looked at me and asked, "What happened to my home?"

A Strong Heart Will Prevail

Life is funny. It hands you moments of complete ecstasy, those times where you feel so euphoric and happy, anything is possible.

But life usually hands us challenges. Everyone has them, but everyone handles them differently.

I'm a pessimist by nature, blame genetics. I call it realism. I do have my optimistic moments, but an individual with an anxiety disorder always looks at the situation in the worst possible light to avoid disappointment.

I'm trying my best to change this.

You know how you always hear when life hands you lemons, make lemonade? Its cliche...but if you word it differently, its more sound in reason.

Military way of saying it: Don't hand me problems, hand me solutions.

I almost gave up last week. I broke down and cried my eyes out on my one year anniversary of graduating. Why? Because I'm still at level one, as a production assistant at WSET. I go to work everyday, watching people do what I want to do: being out there, getting stories, informing the public. The only thing I'm doing that is in anyway fulfilling to me is writing for Lynchburg Living. I had had it with applying to so many jobs, practically begging for an interview, and nobody contacting me back. My worse fear is just waking up one morning, in my late 30's early 40's, realizing that everything I did was a waste.

So, I gathered myself and started to research going back to school. Not for journalism, but go back to my first gameplan in getting my Veternarian Technician Certification. I felt like maybe I wasn't cut out for this career and I need to be more reasonable.

Luckily, something happened that put me back on my more desired path, the one that I've worked so hard towards.

Last month, I was told that I would not have an article in Lynchburg Living. I'm not sure if it was due to space or money. I was bothered by this and wondered if maybe I was done (anxiety=thinking the worst.) In the world of journalism, if you don't have fresh clips, you are not going to get a job at a newspaper or magazine. Editors look for people who have current experience. Its an everchanging career, you have to keep up or it leaves you in the dust.

My editor calls me a week before publishing day. She asks if I had anything ready for print because a story fell through. Well, I did. I always do. I do stories on the side to keep my skills in check and just to see if I could get them published. I gave her my profile piece on Luis Gonzales, written almost two years ago. I wanted this piece published so badly, it was one that meant a lot to me.

So, it was done. And Johanna and her husband, whom is a photographer, presented it in a beautiful way, one that I could have asked for from anyone else. They really did an amazing job and it accentuated the power of Luis's story.

I didn't know the impact this story had on the community until yesterday. I walked in to give Luis a copy, but he already had many. He had been shipping them off to Chile, his home country, to share with friends and family. He had customers coming into his store in tears and new ones pop up after reading my article. I was having trouble digesting all of this. I didn't know my article would have been this well noticed.

One story that Luis shared with me really gave me chills. A man that has been coming to his store for years was very particular, one who didn't have much money. He always came in and bought a few incenses for 30 cents a piece. That was a lot of money to that man. Well, apparently, he came in a few days ago and handed Luis $2. This is more like $25 to this man. He handed it to him and said "Nice article" and walked out. Luis just stood their flabbergasted.

When I left the store, Luis gave me a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. He thanked me and his co-workers told me that I truly captured his essence.

I could say this gave me a huge sense of pride and relief. Relief because Luis is a hero to me and I have known him since I was a tiny little thing. Writing such an intimate piece is like taking someone's heart and soul and throwing it out into the world to see. And I'm happy that he is content with my article.

That experience, his excitement, my impact is the reason I'm going to keep trying.

I'm starting to realize that most people who fail do because they took life's lemons and let them sour their lives. But if one keeps trying, those lemons can turn into something quite refreshing.

I guess what I'm trying to say is if you have something you want, keep going for it. You can't give up, you can't let the roadblocks stop you.

I'm not even close to where I want to be yet and I don't know how long my path is going to be to the dream job I did want, but I'm going to keep pushing through.

A Bittersweet Day

April 7th, 2008. We got our affairs straight, saw a movie, and laid on the couch, talking and soaking up as much of each other as we could. 5 am on April 8th I dropped him off at the airport. I didn't want to let him go. This was the most painful thing I have ever done. Walking away was like ripping my heart out. I couldn't stop crying. It felt like the world was crumbling. I was wondering if I would ever see him again. If this was it. I said my goodbyes, I got in my car, and we both started this 18 month monster.

Today, one year later, we are both still alive, both getting by, and more importantly still together. I'm quite shocked that it has been a year. I am quite exhausted from it all, but not as exhausted as he is.

I do feel stronger because of it. I think our relationship has actually strengthened too. We are beating the odds.

I luckily was able to see him during the summer during a short leave. By the time this thing is over with, it will be a little over a year that I haven't seen my boyfriend. The guy I have been with for almost 5 years has been out of my reach for that long. How do you survive something like that?

Faith. Faith in him, faith in myself, faith in each other, faith that everything will be okay.

Trust. Courage. Grace.

A few things I've gained over the year. The first two are quite obvious, but when I say grace, I mean remaining level-headed. Staying calm when I don't hear from him for days on end or staying focused on my life while part of it is in a war zone.

I'm not perfect. I've had my moments. I've cried, I've secluded myself at times, I vented, I even drank a little more than usual. But I always picked myself back up and though I slipped into some lows, I never stayed down there for too long.

I've grown up a little. I've taken this time to work on myself. I've grown a backbone. I leaned on Chris for so long to help me fight battles, it was time that I learned to do this myself. With that backbone, I've gained confidence, the ability to not sweat the small things, and I'm realizing my own strength. All clouds have a silver lining, and this self realization and improvement has been this deployment's shining opportunity.

I've developed and rekindled some relationships. Some people have really stepped up and helped me through this. It's cliche, you hear it from me all the time, but I really have been blessed with a good group of friends and of course family. I don't care how cliche it sounds, these people deserve credit for taking time from their lives to help me through a tough time. To listen to me when I was falling apart and to still love me after seeing darker sides of myself.

Today is a very important day to me. It's the day I can say this thing is almost over. Fall is coming soon and the day that I can see him again is going to be heaven practically. I get one of my best friends, my future husband, my hero back.

I focus on how hard this has been on me, but he is the one over there. He may say he is used to it, but you can never be used to being ripped from your home for 18 months to go to a place of heat and chaos. If anyone deserves credit, he does. Chris not only has been working hard in Iraq, he has been working hard to make sure I'm okay. He has comforted me from 6,000 miles away. He kept working on our relationship, not putting it on hold due to separation. He's a strong man. And I'm feeding off of that. There are two halves. He's the half who was sent over there. If he can do this, I can too. I am the half who at least has the comforts of home.

We still have a few months left in this. I do have to go another summer without him. But when this is all over, everything that has happened and everything we have went through will be well worth it.

I do think we will have a long road ahead of us when he does return. Readjusting to time zones, sleep itself, life as a civilian. I don't think we will have a hard time readjusting to each other. I think we will pick up where we left off with no problem.

If there was any advice to offer to someone who is or will be going through any kind of separation from a loved one, I would give you this: It's all in how you look at it. You need to have understanding for each other, patience, and independence.

You can't stand together if you can't stand on your own.

My Dying Art, My Search for Meaning...

Its been a while. A long while. Apologies to anyone who reads this blather.

It's 2009. Our economy is still in shambles and newspapers are closing left and right.

My sophomore year in high school was when it clicked. I wanted to be a journalist. I had read the musings of Daniel Pearl and was in love with Peter Jennings, two very different mediums, but two very amazing people. Both whom have died in recent years along with tangibility and time.

I chose the print side. I wanted to write. Something about the ability to hold the news in my hands was intriguing and there were stories needed to be told.

My desire to talk to people and my curiosity of the world around me pushed me further and by the time I was in college, I was writing for a weekly paper and local magazine. I had two amazing teachers, both who had Pulitzer Prizes under their belts tell me that I was improving each day and I was going to be something great one day. I was starry eyed and excited, ready to take on the world.

Then, I graduated. Nothing happened.

I applied and applied and applied. Nobody gave me a chance. I had one interview out of the many I scrambled to grasp onto and they gave the job to someone who had worked there before.

So now, I am back where I started. A local news station as a Production Assistant. I don't dislike my job, I do enjoy it, but its not where I wanted to be.

I at least had my freelancing gig with that local magazine. Now I sit here in uncertainty as for the first time in a year, I was not given a piece to work on. She had no money to give me and will not let me work for free.

I've shed tears over this. I have moments where I find myself seeing the future, I'm in my late 40's, with some desk job, and I never did what I wanted to do.

I only get one chance to make something of myself. What do I do now?

I've started utilizing my eye and camera, as I've gotten back into photography. If I can't write a story, I will capture it with images. I have had a few people placing trust in me to capture some of the most important days in their lives and I'm honored.

But I still feel empty.

I am going to have to branch out. The internet may be my source of conquering my dreams as most papers are going digital.

It doesn't feel the same though. Its not the days of the Washington Post and Watergate, when real journalism happened, digging and thumbing through books, papers, and having to talk to people, not a disembodied face on a white screen.

I'm also considering a book or feature piece as a side project. One that focuses on people with anxiety and their experiences. I do want to bring awareness to this debilitating disorder.

My editor of Lynchburg Living and career mentor, Johanna Calfree, told me this. She said that things are tough, things are changing, and I must revamp the way I think of a journalist.

As I said earlier, tangibility and time are being lost, through the internet. People want fast results, they want them now. They want updates and swift responses. They don't want to wait for the morning paper to land on their front step to know what happened the day before. People call it convenience, I call it laziness.

Everyone has a story. I want to tell some of them, but will they be seen? From being placed in a paper to being posted on the internet, the competition for attention has tripled. And that is intimidating.

I want to end with this. In 2006, Jim Sheeler won the Pulitzer Prize for one of the most heart-wrenching and well-depicted stories I've read about the military. He wrote for the Rocky Mountain News in Colorado. That paper has closed down.

This is what I'm afraid of losing: http://www.pulitzer.org/works/2006,Feature+Writing