Listen to this article's Podcast

or MP3

Journalists were in the hot seat about two months ago, when national headlines made a coal mining tragedy here in West Virginia much worse. Everyone knows that. But what many people may not know is that some of those journalists came to Morgantown six weeks after the Sago Mine disaster, on February 13, to discuss what went wrong. You can hear the entire two-hour panel discussion at the Podcast on this site. It’s well worth listening to, and you may even learn some things you didn’t know.

Like I did, when one panel member spoke about how he was deeply affected by the media mess, as he told the audience how relatives and friends of the Sago miners covered their heads with clothing, to keep from being photographed; kicked over news cameras; and even made obscene gestures to the media.

I think I can understand their reaction. I was swimming the night of January 3, when someone told me the miners were alive. My initial response was disbelief. But, eager and hopeful, I went home and turned on the tube. The reports were everywhere, and they all sounded the same: 12 miners had been found alive.

Three hours later, what had begun as a coal mining disaster had changed into something else: a media fiasco of the worst possible kind, the kind that no editor wants to have happen on his or her watch. Some questions, such as how the wrong information got out to begin with, will never be answered. The fact that such a tragedy could be compounded by erroneous news reports that then spread like wildfire, shows what a delicate balancing act is performed by today’s media. And we don’t always get it right. Unfortunately.

The panel discussion, hosted by West Virginia University’s Perley Isaac Reed School of Journalism, and part of this year's Festival of Ideas, looked at the media’s role at Sago and what went wrong. It featured six people who worked on stories that came out of Sago. This includes Mike Solmsen, a producer, and Sharyn Alfonsi, a correspondent, with CBS News; Derek Rose, a general assignment reporter for New York Daily News; Randi Kaye, an anchor and correspondent for CNN; Scott Finn, the statehouse reporter for The Charleston Gazette and; Mark Memmott, who covers media issues at USAToday.

While the entire evening was captivating, for me, reporter Scott Finn’s comments stood out at night’s end. Because January 2 was a holiday, he was the only person in the newsroom when word of the explosion was received. As he drove from Charleston to Buckhannon, Scott said his thoughts went to what he would find when he arrived, and how he could do justice to a story of this kind:

“I was really concerned about getting it right because I know – and I’ve learned in the last month – just how much West Virginians know about coal mining. How many people have coal mining in their history, in their families. And if people have been around for three or four decades, they’ve been through mine disasters before. And so my main concern was trying to get the story right. To understand enough about what was going on to convey it to an audience that knows about coal mining and also, conceivably knows the miners involved.”

Much as we may try, we don’t always get it right. The Sago story has been a huge lesson learned for all of us. It has taught us that a hallmark of good journalism is, and has to be, accuracy. When the Challenger disaster occurred, an investigation into NASA's space program later found that groupthink was a contributing cause. Groupthink occurs when several people don't think independently, but instead allow themselves to be carried along on a wave, with the majority. All too often, that majority turns out to be wrong - leaving the people riding the wave with nothing to do but crash.

I still can’t help but believe – even after listening to the panel members who spoke here – that in the end, groupthink is what caused the wrong headlines, as many journalists lost their ability to be objective.

Maybe the media, along with everyone else, just wanted a miracle a little too much.

Posted by Daleen at 01:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Listen to this article's Podcast

or MP3

When doctors released Sago miner Randal McCloy on March 30, a news conference was held at the Waterfront Radisson, here in Morgantown. Satellite trucks lined up next to the Monongahela River behind the hotel, and media came from near and far to cover the story. I wanted to be there, so I went and taped the conference using my iPod.

Other than seeing the McCloys, and hear what they personally had to say, I’m not sure what I expected to get from the experience. Perhaps it was just the culmination of more than three months’ efforts, in following what has become one of the biggest news stories of 2006. Perhaps it was because of my own coal mining connection, or because I know close friends of the McCloys, and have kept in contact with them, so as to learn how McCloy was doing, after he was rescued.

It could be because from the time he entered Ruby Memorial Hospital on January 4, I had to walk through the hospital every day for a month and deliberately not search out Anny McCloy – and as a journalist, that’s pretty hard to do, when you know there’s a potential news story waiting, right there, behind the next door. But I didn’t, out of respect for their privacy, and because they surely had been inundated by the press, and other people who came to visit.

So attending this press conference was a way for me to hear the final outcome of the story – though in many ways, for McCloy and his family at least, it’s just the beginning. And the room was packed. I overheard hotel staff saying they hadn’t expected so many media folks to come out for it. I managed to wedge myself into what seemed like the last remaining spot there, just under the WVU news camera located behind me, where, if I wasn’t careful, I could move my head just a few inches to either side and block other cameras.

For the next several minutes, I listened along with the rest of the room, as McCloy’s doctors and Governor Joe Manchin discussed his care and prognosis. The “Miracle Team,” who treated McCloy is composed of Drs. Julian Bailes, Russell Biundo and Larry Roberts and their collective staff. The doctors spoke about McCloy’s condition at great length, and what they all said can be heard at the Podcast which is found on this web site. What was interesting to me was that, in spite of their combined medical knowledge and skills, they don’t know how it was that, first of all, McCloy even survived, and second, how his condition after such an injury could have improved so much in such a relatively short time. They admitted this, and speculated on the possible reasons behind it, but in the end, they said they don’t really know.

McCloy’s own comments were very brief – just a quick but sincere thank you, and his wife Anna elaborated on that word of thanks with expressions of appreciation to everyone who offered support to their families. Ever the gracious and compassionate woman she has proven herself to be since the world first learned about her, Anna McCloy then caused the room to take a collective pause with her next words.

“However, there are 12 families who are in our thoughts and prayers today and every day. They families of Randy’s coworkers and friends are celebrating with us today just as we continue to mourn with them. Please keep all of us in your thoughts and prayers.”

This mention – one of many throughout the news conference – of faith, made me go up to Gov. Manchin after the event and tell him what I have been thinking for the last three months: I am happy to know that West Virginia has as its governor someone who not only realizes the importance of faith, but isn’t afraid to say so, out loud, to the world. He said he really believes McCloy’s survival is a miracle, and that we as West Virginians aren’t afraid to stand up for our deep faith.

“That might sound corny in other states, but not in West Virginia,” Gov. Manchin added.

Posted by Daleen at 08:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

NOTE: A portion of this was broadcast on WVPB on January 10, the day family and friends buried Sago miner and Newburg resident Terry Helms.

When I went to bed just before 2 a.m. on January 4, I thought that 12 coal miners trapped beneath the earth in a town where I once worked as newspaper editor were alive. I did so with mixed emotions, for we knew one of the miners.

I had been on the phone with Courtney, my 22-year-old daughter, discussing the mining disaster and the rescue of 12 miners who were then said to be alive. I had called her just after midnight, elated by what I heard on a TV channel coming out of Pittsburgh.

"Did you hear the news?" I asked her.

She had heard, but I was surprised at the lack of emotion in her voice.

"Mom, did you hear that the one miner who died was Terry?"

I hadn't.

She said Fox News carried an interview with a family member, who confirmed Terry Helms was the first miner they found earlier Tuesday night.

A lump stuck in my throat, as I thought about Terry's daughter, Amber, who had competed on the Preston High track team with Courtney, both of them wearing braids in their hair and matching grins on their faces. I thought about his son, Nick, and how Courtney had once told me that all the girls would go gaga whenever he showed up at one of their track meets.

"He was Amber's cool, big brother, and he was so cute!" She told me.

I also recalled the hundreds of times we drove past their house on Martin Hill, about five miles from our own.

Still connected to my daughter by phone, Courtney began talking about the man who never missed a track meet, who would tell her older sister, Cassandra, that "Courtney has so much talent." Terry would then tell Cassandra, during time spent talking on the bleachers, that "We're going to take her under our wing." And that's just what he did.

In spite of working long hours in the coal mines, and tending to other responsibilities, Terry's children were so important, he made sure he was there for them. He was also there for other people's children. "That's the kind of person Terry was," Courtney told me.

"Terry was the ultimate track dad," she said. "If one of us girls needed something - like we forgot to take out an earring before our event began - Terry would keep it for us, and hold onto it until we were done."

And now, Terry was dead. Gone. His poor family, I thought. What will they do? How will they cope, knowing that their loved one was the only one to die in that disaster?

When I woke up to a ringing phone a few hours later, it took a minute to get my bearings. The clock said it was 5 a.m. I heard Courtney's voice on the line. "Mom, it was wrong. They got it wrong. They're all dead. Only one miner survived." For someone so young, she sounded so old. And tired. And sad.

I came awake immediately, understanding why the reporter's blood that runs through my veins had given me reason to pause, when I first heard that 12 miners had been rescued. Watching the television, I wondered why a coal company official hadn't released the news. I kept waiting for an official to step forward, to confirm it.

That's what happens in big stories like these; there is an official release of information. At least, that's what's supposed to happen. But I, too, among the thousands of West Virginians who had waited with bated breath, for a miracle, turned off the television believing that Terry had been the only miner to die in the explosion. Thinking that, even in spite of losing Terry, we had gotten our miracle.

Discussing the whole affair with Cassandra afterward, we were both angered by what had happened. How terrible, we said, for families to be told their loved ones were alive only to later learn a terrible trick has been played on you.

Growing up in West Virginia, where coal has reigned as king for most of the state's history, you learn at an early age that when it comes to coal mining, all is not always well. I learned that lesson while married to my childrens father, who would come home many nights, with yet another story about a roof fall, or a runaway piece of equipment, or a fellow miner being injured.

One of the most serious injuries I recall was the night he told me his coworker and driving buddy, J.R., had been crushed in a mining accident. After that, J.R. never worked in the mines again; his back and legs had received permanent damage from the injury.

My coal miner husband went from one mine to the next, in search of that elusive thing a miner will never find - a safe coal mine. There is no such thing. The very nature of the work is inherently dangerous. Going down below the ground, working in pitch black and wet conditions, while electrical wires are scattered about, and with long, iron rods known as roof bolts, used to hold up the mine ceiling, as well as the potential for methane gas, is anything but safe. In the 10 years we were married, if I didn't learn anything else about coal mining, I learned that.

I can't even count the times he came home after another 12-hour shift, cold to the bone and exhausted, telling me about the safety violations that were evident, but which were often hidden from the mine inspectors.

My concern was that my children's father wouldn't survive to see them grow up; his was just to get through another day alive.

I often wonder how much impact this fear had on our daughters, and what role it played in their decision to volunteer with the local emergency rescue crews.

"The last thing we wanted to hear was a dispatch to a coal mine, because it was always a rock fall, or someone was run over by a piece of equipment. If you got that call, you knew it was never going to be good," Cassandra said.

Growing up in West Virginia, our Appalachian heritage teaches us the importance of living life on its own merit. You take what you are given, and you roll with it. If life delivers you a punch in the gut, then you make the most of it.

That's what we've done since January 2, when we first learned of the 13 miners who were trapped in a Tallmansville coal mine. When we first realized they might never make it out alive. When we learned, sometime two days later, that one actually did.

Just before we hung up the phone, Courtney asked me a question. "Mom, will you call me when you get up, and make sure I'm awake?"

I didn't even feel the urge I usually have when she asks this of me, when I gently chide her about buying an alarm clock. "Sure thing. I love you," I said instead.

Posted by Daleen at 10:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)