We in the media are media are sometimes accused of focusing only on bad news, and while I wouldn't agree entirely, it's true that bad news is generally big news: natural disasters, economic meltdowns, killings, tragedy ... you get the picture.

Good news can be big news, but the little pieces of good news often slip through the cracks, unnoticed.

Several conversations I had yesterday gave me a chance to articulate why that is, and I wanted to share them with you.

While I was interviewing Battalion Chief Don McPherson about the April 11 fire in the 200 block of Drexel Avenue in Ventura that seriously burned one man and destroyed a home, he told me a detail that surprised me: A fire captain who was fighting the fire fell through the roof of the home while it was burning (and while authorities were searching the home for people they believed might be trapped). The captain got stuck on a rafter, and another firefighter pulled him out just seconds before flames burst through the hole in the roof. It also turned out that no one was still in the house at the time.

If a firefighter had been seriously injured or killed in the blaze, that would have been huge news because of the human tragedy, the rarity and the heroic context of the incident.

The fact that that didn't happen is great news, but we never heard about it.

That's one of the cruxes of this conundrum: when bad stuff happens, we usually hear about it and it's big news, and when bad stuff is narrowly avoided, we often don't hear about it, so it goes generally unnoticed.

Even if we do hear about potential bad things that don't happen, they would be smaller news than if something tragic did happen. Take the firefighter example: If someone had told me when I wrote the original story about the house fire that a firefighter narrowly escaped injury, that might have been one dramatic angle in the story but it would probably be little more, because it's a story about something bad that could have happened but didn't. Maybe such a story would lead to another story about firefighter safety, but it wouldn't be the huge story it would be if the firefighter was actually hurt.

Interestingly enough, I heard two other good news stories yesterday about potential bad things that didn't materialize.

When I was talking to Chief McPherson, he brought up a school bus crash that happened the previous day. The California Highway Patrol reported that the bus overturned when the driver swerved to avoid a collision and hit an embankment, but the driver was not injured and no one else was on board.

Since no one was hurt, I wrote a brief. McPherson told me he responded to that crash and learned that a large number of students had gotten off the bus minutes before the crash. He was thinking about how bad the crash could have been if kids were still on board.

Again, that incident could have been disastrous but wasn't,  so it was small news. It would be hard to report on things that didn't happen, and even if we decided it would be appropriate to do so, it would be nearly impossible because of the time involved.

Think about this: My beat, which I cover mostly with one colleague with occasional help from others, includes much of the crime, weather, natural disasters, law enforcement, public safety and accident news in the county. To find out about all the potentially bad things that didn't happen, I would have to spend lots of time thoroughly reporting small incidents that don't turn out to be big issues, which would be basically impossible.

But situations where bad news is avoided are interesting, and potentially important.

Take another example: I wrote another brief yesterday about a truck crash that blocked traffic on Highway 126. Only minor injuries were reported, but as I talked to a CHP sergeant who was on scene, I learned that the accident bore a frightening resemblance to a tragic crash that happened several months ago.

This was the situation: Several trucks and trailers with oil field equipment were parked on the side of Highway 126 in Ventura for repairs. They had safety warning devices out, said Sgt. Joseph Davy of the CHP.

Then a truck carrying U.S. mail drifted onto the shoulder and struck one of the trailers, setting off a chain-reaction. Luckily, no one was seriously hurt.

Hearing about the crash reminded me of a similar accident on Highway 126 that was tragic. On Sept. 4, a truck drifted onto the shoulder of Highway 126 between Santa Paula and Ventura then careened into a group of men doing court ordered community service, killing one and critically injuring another. In that case, a truck was parked behind the crew to protect it, but the truck missed it, hitting the crew instead.

So now that you know a little more about why bad news is usually big news and good news often isn't, I have a suggestion for you: We always appreciate calls about news, be it good or bad. If there's a piece of good news that didn't get reported, it's likely that we never heard about it, so if you want to read more good news, please tell us if you hear about any.

Here are links to the stories I mentioned:

http://www.venturacountystar.com/news/2008/sep/04/nnxxfccrash05/

http://www.venturacountystar.com/news/2008/nov/19/truck-carrying-mail-crashes-trailer/

http://www.venturacountystar.com/news/2008/nov/18/no-one-injured-when-school-bus-overturns/


Take care out there,

Adam

Much of what I report on as a breaking news and cops reporter involves tragedy, and often that includes trying to contact families who have lost loved ones to violence or horrible accidents.

When we are able to contact families, their reactions vary widely: Some are happy for a chance to talk about their loved ones, some don't want to be bothered, some are understandably wary of some reporter they don't know asking them intimate questions at the worst possible time, and the list goes on.

As much as possible, my colleagues and I do our best to be sensitive to grieving families while also doing our jobs and putting together the most complete, objective, accurate stories we can.

Sometimes after we've built a repport with families, communication continues after the main story has published.

This was the case with the family of Katya Teresa Todesco, 5, who tragically died following an attack by a pit bull mix a family friend was caring for.

After I spoke to Katya's mother and father for our first story about the incident, we exchanged e-mails on several occasions.

After the first story published, for example, we received several calls from television stations asking if we could use the pictures the Todesco family had provided us. We don't give those out without permission, so I contacted the family and they gave their consent to share the photos.

Most recently, I received a note from a family friend who had made a memorial slideshow about Katya's life, and who wanted to know if we would put it on our article. I contacted the family to confirm that the video was what it purported to be and ask if they would like it on the web site, if that would be possible. They said it was and they would.

The article is no longer prominent on our web site, so we decided to include the slideshow in this blog.

Here it is:



For context, here are the two stories we published about Katya's tragic death:

Criminal probe opened in fatal dog attack

Simi Valley girl, 5, dies after backyard dog attack

This Saturday morning, I was rock climbing with a small group of friends in Malibu Creek State Park when we heard sirens.

They were close, and we immediately wondered if someone was hurt in the park, located in Los Angeles County not far from the Ventura County line. Maybe it was someone on the road nearby? No, the sirens kept coming.

Then helicopters circled low overhead. It didn't sound good.  I knew no one was hurt in our immediate vicinity (the rock wall is somewhat isolated), but nothing more.

Anxious curiosity burrowed into me. Was it a climber? One of those kids who jumps off rocks into the murky water of the swimming hole? Maybe someone just sprained an ankle really badly, I said. Unfortunately, that was wishful thinking.

As we walked out, we saw kids and families playing in the watering hole near the climbing spot. No signs of tragedy or investigation. But on the trail out there were Los Angeles County Sheriff's cars and fire department vehicles.  

I was off duty, out of our coverage area, and I didn't interview anyone. But that primal urge to know what had happened was still there. I asked a woman who was walking out past the cars. She said she was nearby when a man drowned.  
 
On the way out, a ranger confirmed a man died.

Afterwards, it took me several hours to shake off thoughts about the tragedy.

Authorities later said Ulices Israel Valladares, 20, plunged into the water below a rope swing, surfaced then went under again.

http://www.venturacountystar.com/news/2008/jul/20/man-apparently-drowns-malibu-creek-park/

I decided to write about this because it brings up some issues I think about frequently as a crime and breaking news reporter.

Tragedies happen every day, all over the world, and deciding how to process them is a delicate question.

I hope that telling tragic tales will start discussions on how similar incidents can be prevented. Or maybe someone will read a sad story and learn something from it. If one person decides not to drink those beers before driving, to not get into a fight with someone who might have a weapon or whatever, maybe we will be hearing one less sad story.

But our desire to know is more fundamental than that. I write a lot of stories about death and those are frequently among the most e-mailed, even if there isn't much information to give.

And how should we respond to those stories? We read them, ponder, maybe feel some brief sympathetic grief, occasionally do something to help the family then, often, push them from our thoughts. Not necessarily in a callous way. It's a self defense mechanism.

I think about these things a lot because I deal with many wonderful people who have lost a loved one, through malice, an accident, and just bad luck. I frequently speak to them for a story one day, but their grief may last a lifetime. It may totally reshape their life.

So this is the challenge: How do we give tragic stories the proper space in our brains, try to learn from them to keep ourselves and our loved ones safer without becoming overwhelmed by things that don't directly involve us?

I don't have an answer, but I think it's a worthwhile question.

I'd be interested in your thoughts.
 

Before I was hired by The Star, I never thought I wanted to do cops reporting. The cops beat is frequently the tragedy beat, and I didn't know how I would deal with the deep grief that surrounds many of the stories I would have to cover.

Often, I find myself building personal firewalls to keep stories in the work part of my brain. But at the same time, I think it's important to remember that tragedies have long tentacles and indelible dye.

As I was preparing today to cover a memorial walk for Jack Mabee, a young man who was killed when a car he was riding in was hit by a train last week, I thought of one such tentacle that touched me.

I thought of Ramsey Ellis.

I didn't know Ramsey that well, but his untimely death in a car crash left me with a feeling I've never forgotten.

I was a freshman at El Camino Real High School in Woodland Hills when I met Ramsey. He was a junior and close with a group of my older friends.

I remember him as a brilliant kid with wild curly hair.

When he was young he did some acting - he had a role in Batman Forever, if I'm checking correctly - and in high school, he was active in debate.

He was a fan of Friedrich Nietzsche and he sat on top of a cabinet in the corner of my history class. I think that was because there weren't enough chairs on the first day of class, but it quickly became the post from which he observed we merely mortal students and joked with our teacher, who was everybody's favorite.

I don't remember how many times I actually talked to Ramsey. It wasn't many.

That year he was involved in a car crash. I never learned the details. Frankly, I didn't read the newspapers much at that stage of my life.

I just remember being shocked when another student told me he had been declared brain dead. I remember our teacher crying, wondering if there was anything he could have done that would have put Ramsey at a different place at the all-important moment.

I remember skipping class to sit with grieving friends and finishing track practice early to go to a memorial.

I remember two of my older friends played guitar and sang at a little memorial on the quad, and that a tree was planted there with a plaque. We sat by it for years.

In addition to the grief that comes with knowing, even slightly, someone who dies tragically, Ramsey's death taught me that I, too, could know good, young people who could be snatched from this life by stupid accidents.

That terrified me, but it also taught me to value all those people around me persistently.
 
Maybe this is one of the reasons I think talking about the human side of tragedies is such an important part of my job.

It's important to remember.