The stories you beg for: Covering Holocaust speakers

When my editor sent me an email about a Holocaust survivor coming to Oakland Middle School (only a few short miles from me), I actually gasped — out loud, at work and very suddenly.

These are the kinds of stories you beg for.

And beg I did. But I was too late to get the chance to write a more traditional story. That opportunity went to fellow Missourian staffer and reporter Kylee Gregg (she was the smart early bird). Instead, I decided to try to brainstorm how I might contribute in other ways, namely through community engagement. At this point, I was willing to offer to sweep the floors to find an excuse to attend.

Fun fact about me, I practically inhale books and information about the Holocaust. Ever since I read the Diary of Anne Frank in second grade, I wanted to learn everything about that time in history. My good friend Alicia has posited that perhaps we do that (she shares my fascination) so that we can begin to try to understand it. But of course, we always fail — it’s not truly possible to understand the magnitude of that kind of horror and injustice. But still, I read. And read. And read.

Anyway. In brainstorming, I first thought about the purpose of events such as these. Why do people go? What do they hope to get out of it, to learn? What makes this event special? Very simply, I realized, the point of going is to hear someone tell their own story in their own words. Try as we might, text reporters can’t always do that. I believe in the power of text, but for this, I felt there could be more. We can draw you into a narrative, and we can give you tons of information, but we’ll never be able to have to feel like you were there, where you can hear someone’s voice hitch or how their accent colors their words.

But audio can.

So I figured I’d go to the presentation and record the speakers, to be excerpted from later on. That’s where the power of this event lies, and I wanted to capture that for people who might not be able to go. Another interesting aspect of this event was that it correlated with a social studies teacher’s lesson on the Holocaust with her eighth grade class. All Oakland eighth graders would be attending the presentation. It’s not often that children come into contact with living players in history, so my editor and I had the idea to tackle it from that angle, too. We presented a few students with this question: If you could meet anyone from history, living or dead, who would it be?

I was excited to flex my multimedia and engagement reporting skills, so armed with a Zoom audio recorder, modest black wedge pumps and a few butterflies in my stomach, I drove to the middle school. The presentation was fantastic, if I may make an understatement. Ben Fainer, a survivor who was sent to six different camps from ages 9 to 15 and was liberated after a Death March from Dachau in 1945, was vibrant and kind. He thanked every student who asked him a question, and refused no one an autograph or a photo or a hug. It was all I could do to shake his hand and tell him I was honored to meet him.

This was my favorite quote from his stories, and when he first said it, I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry: 

Vera and Sonia Emmons, the daughter and granddaughter of survivor Gerta Luner, told the compelling story of Gerta’s six-camp rotation, remembering her strength and fearlessness in recounting her history and compiling her memoirs. She died in 1999, but her family still tells her story and lauds her spirit.

This was my favorite quote from their stories, and to me it showed just how nuanced and complex sharing can be for survivors: 

I got back to the newsroom excited but fairly disoriented, in a sense — it’s surreal to know about the filth and evil and hate that permeated a place like Auschwitz and face someone who survived it in the yellow light of a middle school gym. It’s hard to combine what I know about death camps and virulent anti-semitism with a person standing before me making jokes.

I began sorting through audio clips and transcribing quotes from students. After an afternoon’s worth of work, here’s what we came up with:

  • The story (PDF), in which you can see where we put related audio clips to enhance the narrative.
  • The SoundCloud page, where you can hear the whole playlist of clips from the event.
  • The Facebook album created with quotes from eighth grade students on who they wish they could meet in history.

I’m really happy with the combination of text, multimedia and social. This, to me, is the point of all the community engagement work we do at the Missourian — to seamlessly weave it into our “regular” news coverage. As I continue to report, I’m making this kind of thinking second nature. It’s sort of like that feeling when you learn a new word or work through a new math concept. I can almost feel the neurons trying to make connections to each other in my brain, and the more I do it, the easier it becomes.

It’s especially rewarding when all those things come together in a piece about something I think is so incredibly important. So, Thursday was kind of a big day for me. I got to listen to the story of a man who exhibited the qualities of a hero, but would never consider himself one. And I heard another story about how passing along experiences, even ones of great tragedy, can help shape a family dynamic and legacy. Then, I exercised my multimedia and engagement skills to share them with Missourian readers. Now, I get to pass on parts of these stories to you.

That’s the joy and the responsibility of bearing witness, and I’m incredibly honored to have played some small role in making sure these people and their experiences aren’t forgotten.


Revisiting my radio speaking days with audio reporting

I’ve read over and over and over again about how smell is the sense with the strongest tie to memory. I don’t think the scientists who tout that fact are wrong, not by any means, but I’m curious what their findings would be about sound.

Sound, like smell, has the ability to snap you back to a moment in time. One Beatles song and I’m in the car on the way back from my junior prom. The opening notes of Bohemian Rhapsody send me flying back to sixth grade, shouting the crazy lyrics with my five best friends. The first strains of the camp-like intro to the Tefilah bring tears to my eyes during services, reminding me just how homesick I’ve been for the synagogue I grew up in.

Sound is powerful. In it we can lose ourselves for minutes or for hours. And it has the unique ability, like visuals, to show rather than tell. These are things I’ve always intellectually known. But because sound is not my primary medium for reporting, it’s easy to forget.

This week, I’ve been working on an audio slideshow and NPR-style radio story. Both projects require me to step into the complicated world of sound editing, and after hours of work, I’m amazed that I only produce a minute or so of product. But boy, is it fun. Maybe I’m just taken with my new skills, but it just sounds so polished! I can imagine hearing it on the radio, and while I’ve been publishing text stories for years now, I’m surprised by this.

I love how the sound is able to add context and background to a piece just by virtue of what it is. You don’t need anyone to explain why a story about instruments needs music, or why a story about cooking is made richer by hearing pans clanking or food sizzling in a pan. In a way, the sound paints a picture, a concept we explored in Thursday’s class on writing for the ear.

In addition to a whole host of writing strategies, A reporter working with audio has to be aware of what kinds of images that sound brings to mind. Does it illustrate the right image, or take the reader in the wrong direction? It’s similar with voice; is your narration adding to the story, or are you being lackluster without realizing it? The pitch and speed of your voice make a difference because those aspects can communicate different things to your reader. Ending every sentence in upstyle makes you sound inquisitive or unsure. Talking quickly can add a sense of urgency or be just plain confusing. And all the sound, voice and natural, has to flow together in a logical way to tell a story that is engaging and accurate.

The voice coaching and writing techniques take me back to my high school speech team days as a radio speaker, only now I have to create the content, not just voice it. I’m finding that although I’m slowly embracing the individual aspects of audio reporting — recording good quality clips, sorting through the sound files, building the tracks — putting it all together into something resembling journalism is a new challenge. Before, it was about demonstrating whether I could do this task or that task, but now, I have to do those things (and do them well) and turn it into a cohesive story, much like I would with text.

I’m looking forward to the day when it doesn’t feel like as much of an undertaking, but something tells me it’ll be a while before I get to any level of autopilot.