Journalism Scholarship Convention in Washington DC

Arriving
I was sure the plane to Washington DC would lead me to my doom.

My heart was beating quickly as I stepped off the plane, wondering how many news-hungry, voracious journalists would be at the hotel to meet me. I was feeling very un-free spirit-like: self-conscious and timid.

Thump, thump, thump.

Little did I know that those frightening young journalists (often with big scary teeth, in my imagination) would be some of the greatest people I’d ever meet. We would laugh, cry, and share glory stories and horror stories and all kinds of stories, as if we’d known each other for years. So goes the situation when 102 aspiring young journalists commune for 6 days to experience the wonders of the nation’s capital. 

Thump, thump, thump.

As soon as I reached baggage claim, a group of smiling journalists was there to meet me, piles of their school newspapers surrounding them on the floor of the Dulles airport. We exchanged names and states, which would become a regular custom, along with questions like, “So what do you even DO in (insert state name here.)”

Soon we were whisked away, on a bus across the highways of Washington DC, towards a week that would alter our lives more or less for good.

The Beginning

The Free Spirit Scholarship program was founded by Al Neuharth, well-loved S.O.B. and founder of one of the nation’s most popular newspapers, “USA TODAY.” In a time where people are shuddering in fear at the prospect of newspapers dying, this conference was a breath of fresh air for young journalists who needed a little encouragement to persevere into an unknown future of journalism. Each student receives $1,000 to a college of their choice, and the two main winners receive $10,000.

When I received the e-mail notifying me that I was the female winner from Washington state, I had two reactions. First, I squealed. And I don’t ever squeal. Then, I immediately blanched at the prospect of traveling with 101 other people I didn’t know whatsoever. However, on that first day in the Marriott Hotel talking with the other scholars, I realized I’d finally found 101 other people who understood how I spent my life, what consumed my thoughts, and where I wanted to be in five or ten years - all these kids eat and breathe journalism in their daily lives as well. Our thoughts bounced and ricocheted across the table, all our sentences overlapped as we compared staff stories, article stories, design stories, deadline stories. After all, that’s what we were made of: rich, detailed stories.

On the second day, we were given the unique opportunity to visit NBC studios and view a live taping of David Gregory on “Meet the Press.” We all shuffled in quietly and watched in amazement - many of us could not believe we’d gotten this opportunity in the first place.

The day went quickly - we visited the enormous and amazing Newseum, also founded by Al Neuharth, and then met the man himself - decked out in a red suit and looking dashing at a ripe age of 85. He and other members of the Freedom Forum gave speeches and answered questions of the Free Spirits. A common question asked was “Are newspapers REALLY dying?” 
And the answered was a firm: No. Though the public outcry is ubiquitous, most of the speakers at the conference insisted that this temporary rift in the newspaper continuum will be remedied - whether it be through paying for internet articles or any other genius plan concocted by the titans of the newspaper industry.

Al Neuharth’s stories about his successes and failures encouraged each and every one of us to approach life with an unmatched vigor. As a young boy in South Dakota, he started a newspaper called “SoDak Sports,” which failed quickly due to budgetary issues. To know that a millionaire, who now owns a multitude of papers across the country, had once failed taught us that taking failure with a grain of salt was always the best choice if we ever wanted to make it.

“Learn from failures, then go on and succeed,” he said.

Behind the Scenes

Though the organized speeches and activities were a great opportunity, I found that most of the most interesting experiences came unexpectedly.

During the nighttime monument tours, Matt from Virginia and I were walking along the path of the Vietnam Memorial, tracing names with our fingers and staring, amazed, at the magnitude of names on the wall. As we were nearing the end, we noticed a man telling passerby that he was a Vietnam veteran and could give anyone information on the names on the wall. We walked on, but Matt had the sudden urge to turn around and talk to the man. I followed.

The man launched quickly into a list of many names, several with rich explanations. He led us to the names and their exact location on the wall, without searching for more than a second. His voice held a monotony that did not seem bored, but life-worn and weary. His eyes looked out in the distance and drool slowly dripped from the lazy corner of his mouth. We were morbidly enthralled in his stories of all the people who’d given their lives. 

Then he told his own story.

After two combat tours in Vietnam, he returned back to America after his finger was cut off and his stomach was shot four times. Though he received a number of awards in the army, including two Purple Hearts, he still is having trouble with government funding. He continues with his monotonous recitation.

“I have prostrate cancer, liver cancer, type 2 diabetes, I’ve been fighting the VA now for over two years for benefits, and for the past year and 110 days today, I’ve been doing that homeless,” he said, staring just past our faces. “The VA has denied my claim for benefits twice. That appeal has been sitting on someone’s desk waiting for a signature since June of last year. In the mean time, I stay in a homeless shelter only two blocks away from our nation’s capital. I can’t go in until after 11 o’ clock each night and they kick me out at six each morning, and i have to beg for money to eat every day. There is maybe $750 billion to bail out Wall Street, but on the streets of every major American city there are homeless veterans. Something’s wrong with that picture. Someone needs to do something right.”

After this story, we stood in shock. Whether all of his story was complete truth, we still saw parts of the truth as we shook hands with his hand missing a finger, and as we looked up to see his weather-worn face, a hat with army pins perched on his head.

This was not just an arbitrary story. This was journalism in action. This was finding real problems in the real world and using our pens and recorders to fix them. This trip had opened up all of our eyes to a bigger world.

Not only did events like this give the trip character, but the people I was surrounded by did as well. We all had lively discussions about journalism, our newspapers, and life in general. The nature of the conference operated so that we all became inevitably close by the end of the six-day whirlwind.

These instances, along with a multitude of amazing speakers, inspired me to go beyond the world of high school journalism and launch into the future of journalism, without the fear of newspapers dying. 

I realized that there will always be stories; there will always be pictures; there will always be something to print in the morning. 

And there will always be free spirits there to make it happen.