We Are.

First, a flashback.

As a graduate student at Syracuse, our finale before the capstone internship was fully simulating the newsroom environment—everyone had a specific role, rotating such that all of us experienced each role. A professor of mine, of whom I am still fond, watched a feature story I produced for one of these broadcasts and, following our class debriefing, said to me alone:

"It's amazing what you can do when you get your s--- together, isn't it?"

I like this man a lot—crass, a strong command of language, and occasionally had a colorful vocabulary (in fairness... many journalism professors are just like this because, and this should be no secret, nearly all journalism professionals are like this). I enjoyed (and still enjoy) our talks.

His comment was not meant as an indictment of laziness—rather, through our frequent conversations, it was another point of emphasis. Having likened my base-level effort to that of Wilt Chamberlain (it's the player I've first thought of today, since I cannot recall the one he named); where it appears to be no effort at all while still producing above-average results, the perception is enough to give the impression of underperformance.

When he made the comment to me in the summer, this is what I heard:

"When you properly motivate yourself, you have no limits," which, honestly, isn't far off from another comment he made during another conversation.


November 14, 2017.

I'm awake at 8:30am, having only returned home the night before at 12:30am from work. It's a caffeine day. I only do caffeine when absolutely necessary because, last year at this time, I was dependent. Spent my Christmas vacation detoxing (not fun going cold turkey).

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"It's indescribable."

"You just have to be there."

I'm in the car, bound for Marshall University. This will be the first time I have witnessed the fountain ceremony. I've only heard of it from football players. The atmosphere is "humbling, chilling." Today, I am to be producing a feature on the football team's perspective, deployed alongside two other reporters and a videographer. The best way to understand something like this is to experience it firsthand.

Of all the traditions I have experienced at a university, this is by far the most impactful. Syracuse's  remembrance of Pan Am Flight 103 (the Lockerbie bombing) is a close second. Here, in Huntington, WV, while you can be told how much this community still reels, being in the presence of so much loss makes it intimately apparent that Southern Airways Flight 932 devastated those touched by the 75 lives lost.


I noticed for the first time that the memorial fountain has 75 spires. I was given a button to wear, with the number 75 in green. Which each mention of "the 75," the point is driven home that this community refuses to forget the loss it has endured—nor should it. By keeping these memories alive in their hearts, on the football field, on the specialized uniforms for the Thundering Herd, a sense of unity is invoked and, if you're there, you feel it.

This is what I take back with me to the studio, and generate to air. While I like to bill myself as the fastest editor in the office (I don't even know if it's true—don't tell me), this story demanded real care, reverence, and absolute attention. News theory dictates stories should typically not exceed 1'30" in length—I knew this would take no less than 1'40" (runtime: 1'44").

I cannot begin to think I've done this ceremony justice but, by God, I was motivated to give it my all.

No words. What a powerful ceremony.

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#WeAre

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Norman SeawrightComment