The good, the bad and the ugly
Today was such a conflicting day. It was bad but also good.
The good is almost inconsequential. I say 'almost' because the bad is really, really bad, but the good is oh-so-good.
At noon, one of my co-workers picked me up after I dropped my car off to be serviced. We headed north of town for lunch and met with another co-worker to eat. I was in desperate need of a feature photo for the front page, so once we'd finished lunch we left the fast food restaurant in search of something, anything, I could photograph. We passed a local motel known for drugs and domestics and noticed a brush truck, fire chief and police officer. Interesting. We turned around and passed a Haz-Mat truck en route to the motel. When we arrived, I knew we'd hit pay dirt. An active meth lab had just been discovered and drug task force agents, along with firefighters, were getting ready to suit up and head inside to bring the paraphernalia out. I snapped 104 photos.
It was awesome, just happening upon a meth lab bust. Very exciting.
The uncooperative boyfriend was arrested and is probably still in custody. The girlfriend, with her hair colored an unnatural maroon, sat on a stack of pallets wearing a scrub top, shorts and flip-flops. She was smoking a cigarette, sipping a Coke and spilling her guts to two detectives and a reporter. He whips her with a belt. He treats her like a child. She's not allowed to do anything, not even set her drugs up before she uses. She was clean before they got together, now she can't get as great a high as she used to. She didn't know until recently that he was using again. She says didn't know about the meth lab. She didn't know what all of the Gatorade bottles were doing in their motel room. He has a double life, she says, another woman in Alabama. She tells us anything we want to know.
Agents make a sizable bust, they say. One more meth lab is out of business, thanks to the hard work of the task force, police officers and firefighters. And I was there to document it. It's an amazing feeling, being there when the news is actually happening. Instead of just receiving the press release and photos from the DA, I was there taking photos and trying not to inhale fumes.
After we left the scene, I called Justin and had to brag. (Justin, who lives here in Covington, is a reporter with Action News 5, our partners. We work together nearly every day.) Pay dirt, baby. I sent him photos and what information I had and they were considering it for the 6 p.m. show. Also lovely! (It's on tomorrow's front page, centered in a cyan-screened box. My head was "If you cook it, they will come.")
But midday was the only happy part of the day at work.
Our paper was really tight and so it seemed that I would not need to write a story. Our other reporter had more than enough to fill what little space I had to work with when paginating the front section. And so this morning, when a call came over the scanner that the wing was coming for a child and that the child had severe head, neck and back injuries, as well as internal injuries, Justin and I left immediately. It was a 20-minute drive and we arrived as the wing was leaving.
A tractor was in the middle of the road. Eyewitnesses said the boy was sitting on the fender and fell off, the tractor running over him. A crowd was surrounding the scene of the accident. The child's great uncle was there, and visibly shaken. Paramedics helped the white-haired man into a white Lincoln and assured him that his nephew would be okay.
"He's breathing on his own. He has a pulse. He's going to make it, he's strong."
Minutes later, a man was washing the boy's guts off of the roadway with a jug of water. Another man drove the tractor from the center of the road down towards Drummonds. And we all went on with our lives, assuming the broken boy would make it. Deputies left the scene and went on to domestics in progress and issuing citations to speeding motorists. Residents went on their way, back to their daily lives, but still thinking of the little boy. Reporters went on to do their stories, wondering through the day how the boy's mother was doing and if he was really going to be okay, remembering the 14-year-old who died a mile east of this intersection after a hit-and-run last November ... wondering if this time things would be different, if he would really make it.
But he didn't make it.
The little boy died this afternoon. Deputies reported that the Great Uncle said he and the boy often traveled that way, the pair of them riding the tractor. This morning, he said, the boy was up at 5 a.m. to ride. And they did. Until just after 9 a.m. when the boy, who apparently lost his hat, reached for it and slipped.
Tonight orange spray paint marking the tractor's tires are all that remains of the accident scene. Tomorrow I expect a cross and flowers in addition to rivers of tears.
These are the stories we have to tell even though our hearts are breaking. Tomorrow I have to be the bad guy and contact the family. If they are willing, I will do my best to tell their story. That is my job, and situations like these are never easy.
The good is almost inconsequential. I say 'almost' because the bad is really, really bad, but the good is oh-so-good.
At noon, one of my co-workers picked me up after I dropped my car off to be serviced. We headed north of town for lunch and met with another co-worker to eat. I was in desperate need of a feature photo for the front page, so once we'd finished lunch we left the fast food restaurant in search of something, anything, I could photograph. We passed a local motel known for drugs and domestics and noticed a brush truck, fire chief and police officer. Interesting. We turned around and passed a Haz-Mat truck en route to the motel. When we arrived, I knew we'd hit pay dirt. An active meth lab had just been discovered and drug task force agents, along with firefighters, were getting ready to suit up and head inside to bring the paraphernalia out. I snapped 104 photos.
It was awesome, just happening upon a meth lab bust. Very exciting.
The uncooperative boyfriend was arrested and is probably still in custody. The girlfriend, with her hair colored an unnatural maroon, sat on a stack of pallets wearing a scrub top, shorts and flip-flops. She was smoking a cigarette, sipping a Coke and spilling her guts to two detectives and a reporter. He whips her with a belt. He treats her like a child. She's not allowed to do anything, not even set her drugs up before she uses. She was clean before they got together, now she can't get as great a high as she used to. She didn't know until recently that he was using again. She says didn't know about the meth lab. She didn't know what all of the Gatorade bottles were doing in their motel room. He has a double life, she says, another woman in Alabama. She tells us anything we want to know.
Agents make a sizable bust, they say. One more meth lab is out of business, thanks to the hard work of the task force, police officers and firefighters. And I was there to document it. It's an amazing feeling, being there when the news is actually happening. Instead of just receiving the press release and photos from the DA, I was there taking photos and trying not to inhale fumes.
After we left the scene, I called Justin and had to brag. (Justin, who lives here in Covington, is a reporter with Action News 5, our partners. We work together nearly every day.) Pay dirt, baby. I sent him photos and what information I had and they were considering it for the 6 p.m. show. Also lovely! (It's on tomorrow's front page, centered in a cyan-screened box. My head was "If you cook it, they will come.")
But midday was the only happy part of the day at work.
Our paper was really tight and so it seemed that I would not need to write a story. Our other reporter had more than enough to fill what little space I had to work with when paginating the front section. And so this morning, when a call came over the scanner that the wing was coming for a child and that the child had severe head, neck and back injuries, as well as internal injuries, Justin and I left immediately. It was a 20-minute drive and we arrived as the wing was leaving.
A tractor was in the middle of the road. Eyewitnesses said the boy was sitting on the fender and fell off, the tractor running over him. A crowd was surrounding the scene of the accident. The child's great uncle was there, and visibly shaken. Paramedics helped the white-haired man into a white Lincoln and assured him that his nephew would be okay.
"He's breathing on his own. He has a pulse. He's going to make it, he's strong."
Minutes later, a man was washing the boy's guts off of the roadway with a jug of water. Another man drove the tractor from the center of the road down towards Drummonds. And we all went on with our lives, assuming the broken boy would make it. Deputies left the scene and went on to domestics in progress and issuing citations to speeding motorists. Residents went on their way, back to their daily lives, but still thinking of the little boy. Reporters went on to do their stories, wondering through the day how the boy's mother was doing and if he was really going to be okay, remembering the 14-year-old who died a mile east of this intersection after a hit-and-run last November ... wondering if this time things would be different, if he would really make it.
But he didn't make it.
The little boy died this afternoon. Deputies reported that the Great Uncle said he and the boy often traveled that way, the pair of them riding the tractor. This morning, he said, the boy was up at 5 a.m. to ride. And they did. Until just after 9 a.m. when the boy, who apparently lost his hat, reached for it and slipped.
Tonight orange spray paint marking the tractor's tires are all that remains of the accident scene. Tomorrow I expect a cross and flowers in addition to rivers of tears.
These are the stories we have to tell even though our hearts are breaking. Tomorrow I have to be the bad guy and contact the family. If they are willing, I will do my best to tell their story. That is my job, and situations like these are never easy.
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