No rest for the weary
Since Jan. 6, 2007, I have followed this story.
I remember getting ready to eat breakfast on Sunday, Jan. 7. Hearing that a trooper had been killed as my dad put his coffee into the microwave to warm. He had been killed not too far from my home, and that fact devastated me.
Rumors ran rampant around town that morning. Were they drug dealers with a random target?
The suspects were apprehended that morning, in Nashville. They were brought back to Tipton County and have remained in custody since.
Though I never met Calvin Jenks, so much of my career to date has been dedicated to this trial. At first I followed the story as a resident of the community near where he breathed his last breaths. Where two teenagers from Austin, Texas, decided to end his life and leave him on a dark, lonely street in the middle of winter. Where a hunter found him and the rest of the nightmare began to unfold.
Last August I covered my first hearing for this case, nervously sitting next to my editor as we both scrawled notes and quotes on our legal pads. He taught me the ropes; this case taught me to cover a trial in a way that was deeply personal.
By November, my editor was leaving and I was left with two young men set to stand trial for first-degree murder. Cop-killers. Forget O.J. Simpson, these were the trials of the century for Tipton County.
In Dec. 2007, Orlando Garcia faced a jury and was convicted of the lesser charge of facilitation of first-degree murder, meaning that he provided a means in which Alejandro Gauna, then 17, could shoot Jenks twice in the head.
It was during that trial that I first heard the dashcam video, Jenks' southern drawl and the two pops from the handgun that signified the end of Jenks' short life. Garcia pulled Jenks out of the passenger window, got in their rental car and sped off toward Brownsville. At Wal-Mart they changed shirts, threw Jenks' flashlight in a trash can and ditched their rental car. They called drug buyers from Millington to drive them back to Nashville.
On the way to Nashville, the buyers notice an abundance of law enforcement vehicles traveling west on I-40. The trip to Nashville was silent. Gauna pays the buyers with marijuana and they leave, headed home to Shelby County. In a twist of fate, they are pulled over and eventually questioned about the murder. It was statements from these two men that led law enforcement to Tennessee's capitol city. To a Best Western. Where Garcia is waiting to be caught and Gauna lies sleeping on a bed.
I cannot successfully put into words the emotions brought about by listening to the video. During the second trial I was sitting next to two law enforcement officers, friends of the late trooper, while the jury watched the video. Thinking it could be any one of them, or any of the other troopers, deputies and police officers in the court room. And they, with tear-stained cheeks, were thinking the same thing and at the same time grieving the tragic loss of a comrade.
It was also during this video that I first heard Norm Jenks sob, distraught over the abrupt and unjust ending to his son's life.
As a journalist, these trials are where I failed to maintain my integrity. I spilled tears sitting in the courtroom, watching these grown men cry. I fought back tears as I listened to the video and to the testimony. I cried on my way home, visiting the spot where Jenks' body was found. I cried during closing arguments and victim impact statements and even during Gauna's testimony.
I know that it is my job to remain human and unbiased. My competitor sat through the court proceedings and I never saw her shed a tear. I felt weak, but I also felt human. I want to believe it's okay to cry during a sad story, laugh during a funny story and rejoice during a happy story. That, to me, sets me aside. Whether it's unprofessional or not, it's how I work. If I cannot pull emotions out of someone when reporting on an emotional murder case, I am not doing a satisfactory job.
In May, Gauna was tried and convicted of first-degree murder. It was another stressful, emotional case that wore me out. Because of the nature of his conviction, he was sentenced the following day. Life in prison with the possibility of parole after 51 years. Gauna will remain imprisoned until at least 2059. He will be 69 years old.
Following that trial, I was relieved. Relieved that the family had justice, relieved that the exhausting trial was over. I realized that after Garcia's sentencing, I would never again cover the Trooper Jenks trials. It was done. It was over. It was bittersweet, almost.
And today was that sentencing. The court heard from Jenks' mother and father, then from Garcia. "Not a day goes by that I don't hurt for every one of you," said Garcia, choked up and emotional. "Not a day goes by that I don't cry, I cry for you ... This is hard for me. I have to live with myself. One day I hope you can forgive me."
Garcia was sentenced to 19 years for the facilitation charge and 1.5 years for a drug charge. The sentences will be served concurrently and he will first be eligible for parole after 5.7 years.
Perhaps today was my last day to cover this case. Perhaps it will not be. Gauna is seeking an appeal. But I will likely be an old woman before he is eligible for release.
It's the end of a chapter - and that is ... indescribable.
________________
These last two weeks have also been indescribably busy.
It all started last Monday, with a horrific accident that left an 8-year-old dead. I made the scene that morning and got some breaking news photos. On Monday afternoon, my co-worker and I stumbled upon a meth lab being busted. I shot 104 photos for our front page and for the police.
Tuesday brought the death of the 8-year-old, a protest and a public forum on education. The protesters claim the police department wrongly pepper-sprayed about 14 people.
The rest of the week was also busy, as usual. Friday I was out of town, attending the TPA awards.
Monday of this week I didn't think I'd have much in the way of stories. However, I was busy most of Monday tracking down a breaking news story regarding the suspicious death of a 4-year-old. I was in the office for an hour before I left to make another scene; a 50-year-old diabetic amputee was missing and Tipton County had pulled out all the stops (and found him alive). I also reported on a home invasion.
On Tuesday, Justin and I went to speak to the elderly couple (wife is 94, husband is 87) whose home was invaded and I worked on other stories as well for our Progress special section. That evening, Justin and I tried to sit down with the family of the man being held for abusing the 3-year-old sister of the 4-year-old who'd passed, but they declined.
Wednesday brought about more stories for Progress, a trip to a cattle farm (in which my co-worker and I left with a lot of Angus beef - and it is damn good, too!), a meeting with local community leaders for National Night Out (which I am helping to coordinate) and what was supposed to be a night of writing (didn't happen). On the scanner I heard a shooting and a stabbing and a tractor falling on a toddler - all at the same time in three different cities.
Yesterday was paper day. I reported on the elderly couple's response to the home invasion, the shooting (a well-respected teacher was grazed) and the stabbing (girlfriend stabbed boyfriend; got into a fight because he wouldn't get butter from the store, apparently), as well as a boating accident that left a 24-year-old an amputee. The family of the incarcerated man agreed to speak to Justin and I, so we worked late and got that story too.
Today? Court for Garcia. I wrote up that story and posted it online. At least I have something done for Monday. I plan on writing up everything else I have by Monday morning. Inevitably, something will happen over the weekend because there was already another incident at the location downtown in which the teacher was shot.
Tomorrow I have a story at 8 a.m. And it's going to be a very, very hot day out - supposedly near 100°F. OY.
Also this week, my publisher announced that our largest special publication of the year would be moved up two months. Last year we worked 60-70 hours for three weeks straight to get it out. This year? Oh my hell. Between the deadline being moved up by two months, five other special publications that need to be put out before then (Halloween) and the person who does almost everything in our department being on maternity leave until early October, we are going to really be overwhelmed! We already are as it is. We would already be at the breaking point with her gone. And now? I don't know whether I want to curl up in a ball and die or start writing right this minute.
It's been a stressful two weeks with work and then with raising three kids and being in a relationship and being poor ... I'm at my breaking point. I've had to stop and take deep breaths several times today. Kids cost money that journalists don't have.
Hopefully things calm down a little bit for awhile. I believe my sanity and my blood pressure are begging.
I remember getting ready to eat breakfast on Sunday, Jan. 7. Hearing that a trooper had been killed as my dad put his coffee into the microwave to warm. He had been killed not too far from my home, and that fact devastated me.
Rumors ran rampant around town that morning. Were they drug dealers with a random target?
The suspects were apprehended that morning, in Nashville. They were brought back to Tipton County and have remained in custody since.
Though I never met Calvin Jenks, so much of my career to date has been dedicated to this trial. At first I followed the story as a resident of the community near where he breathed his last breaths. Where two teenagers from Austin, Texas, decided to end his life and leave him on a dark, lonely street in the middle of winter. Where a hunter found him and the rest of the nightmare began to unfold.
Last August I covered my first hearing for this case, nervously sitting next to my editor as we both scrawled notes and quotes on our legal pads. He taught me the ropes; this case taught me to cover a trial in a way that was deeply personal.
By November, my editor was leaving and I was left with two young men set to stand trial for first-degree murder. Cop-killers. Forget O.J. Simpson, these were the trials of the century for Tipton County.
In Dec. 2007, Orlando Garcia faced a jury and was convicted of the lesser charge of facilitation of first-degree murder, meaning that he provided a means in which Alejandro Gauna, then 17, could shoot Jenks twice in the head.
It was during that trial that I first heard the dashcam video, Jenks' southern drawl and the two pops from the handgun that signified the end of Jenks' short life. Garcia pulled Jenks out of the passenger window, got in their rental car and sped off toward Brownsville. At Wal-Mart they changed shirts, threw Jenks' flashlight in a trash can and ditched their rental car. They called drug buyers from Millington to drive them back to Nashville.
On the way to Nashville, the buyers notice an abundance of law enforcement vehicles traveling west on I-40. The trip to Nashville was silent. Gauna pays the buyers with marijuana and they leave, headed home to Shelby County. In a twist of fate, they are pulled over and eventually questioned about the murder. It was statements from these two men that led law enforcement to Tennessee's capitol city. To a Best Western. Where Garcia is waiting to be caught and Gauna lies sleeping on a bed.
I cannot successfully put into words the emotions brought about by listening to the video. During the second trial I was sitting next to two law enforcement officers, friends of the late trooper, while the jury watched the video. Thinking it could be any one of them, or any of the other troopers, deputies and police officers in the court room. And they, with tear-stained cheeks, were thinking the same thing and at the same time grieving the tragic loss of a comrade.
It was also during this video that I first heard Norm Jenks sob, distraught over the abrupt and unjust ending to his son's life.
As a journalist, these trials are where I failed to maintain my integrity. I spilled tears sitting in the courtroom, watching these grown men cry. I fought back tears as I listened to the video and to the testimony. I cried on my way home, visiting the spot where Jenks' body was found. I cried during closing arguments and victim impact statements and even during Gauna's testimony.
I know that it is my job to remain human and unbiased. My competitor sat through the court proceedings and I never saw her shed a tear. I felt weak, but I also felt human. I want to believe it's okay to cry during a sad story, laugh during a funny story and rejoice during a happy story. That, to me, sets me aside. Whether it's unprofessional or not, it's how I work. If I cannot pull emotions out of someone when reporting on an emotional murder case, I am not doing a satisfactory job.
In May, Gauna was tried and convicted of first-degree murder. It was another stressful, emotional case that wore me out. Because of the nature of his conviction, he was sentenced the following day. Life in prison with the possibility of parole after 51 years. Gauna will remain imprisoned until at least 2059. He will be 69 years old.
Following that trial, I was relieved. Relieved that the family had justice, relieved that the exhausting trial was over. I realized that after Garcia's sentencing, I would never again cover the Trooper Jenks trials. It was done. It was over. It was bittersweet, almost.
And today was that sentencing. The court heard from Jenks' mother and father, then from Garcia. "Not a day goes by that I don't hurt for every one of you," said Garcia, choked up and emotional. "Not a day goes by that I don't cry, I cry for you ... This is hard for me. I have to live with myself. One day I hope you can forgive me."
Garcia was sentenced to 19 years for the facilitation charge and 1.5 years for a drug charge. The sentences will be served concurrently and he will first be eligible for parole after 5.7 years.
Perhaps today was my last day to cover this case. Perhaps it will not be. Gauna is seeking an appeal. But I will likely be an old woman before he is eligible for release.
It's the end of a chapter - and that is ... indescribable.
________________
These last two weeks have also been indescribably busy.
It all started last Monday, with a horrific accident that left an 8-year-old dead. I made the scene that morning and got some breaking news photos. On Monday afternoon, my co-worker and I stumbled upon a meth lab being busted. I shot 104 photos for our front page and for the police.
Tuesday brought the death of the 8-year-old, a protest and a public forum on education. The protesters claim the police department wrongly pepper-sprayed about 14 people.
The rest of the week was also busy, as usual. Friday I was out of town, attending the TPA awards.
Monday of this week I didn't think I'd have much in the way of stories. However, I was busy most of Monday tracking down a breaking news story regarding the suspicious death of a 4-year-old. I was in the office for an hour before I left to make another scene; a 50-year-old diabetic amputee was missing and Tipton County had pulled out all the stops (and found him alive). I also reported on a home invasion.
On Tuesday, Justin and I went to speak to the elderly couple (wife is 94, husband is 87) whose home was invaded and I worked on other stories as well for our Progress special section. That evening, Justin and I tried to sit down with the family of the man being held for abusing the 3-year-old sister of the 4-year-old who'd passed, but they declined.
Wednesday brought about more stories for Progress, a trip to a cattle farm (in which my co-worker and I left with a lot of Angus beef - and it is damn good, too!), a meeting with local community leaders for National Night Out (which I am helping to coordinate) and what was supposed to be a night of writing (didn't happen). On the scanner I heard a shooting and a stabbing and a tractor falling on a toddler - all at the same time in three different cities.
Yesterday was paper day. I reported on the elderly couple's response to the home invasion, the shooting (a well-respected teacher was grazed) and the stabbing (girlfriend stabbed boyfriend; got into a fight because he wouldn't get butter from the store, apparently), as well as a boating accident that left a 24-year-old an amputee. The family of the incarcerated man agreed to speak to Justin and I, so we worked late and got that story too.
Today? Court for Garcia. I wrote up that story and posted it online. At least I have something done for Monday. I plan on writing up everything else I have by Monday morning. Inevitably, something will happen over the weekend because there was already another incident at the location downtown in which the teacher was shot.
Tomorrow I have a story at 8 a.m. And it's going to be a very, very hot day out - supposedly near 100°F. OY.
Also this week, my publisher announced that our largest special publication of the year would be moved up two months. Last year we worked 60-70 hours for three weeks straight to get it out. This year? Oh my hell. Between the deadline being moved up by two months, five other special publications that need to be put out before then (Halloween) and the person who does almost everything in our department being on maternity leave until early October, we are going to really be overwhelmed! We already are as it is. We would already be at the breaking point with her gone. And now? I don't know whether I want to curl up in a ball and die or start writing right this minute.
It's been a stressful two weeks with work and then with raising three kids and being in a relationship and being poor ... I'm at my breaking point. I've had to stop and take deep breaths several times today. Kids cost money that journalists don't have.
Hopefully things calm down a little bit for awhile. I believe my sanity and my blood pressure are begging.
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