Call it What You Want; I’ll Say it’s a Tragedy

I was sitting in a news reporting class on January 28, 1986. 

We each had a terminal on our desk that carried the Associated Press wire. Our professor was a gruff old newspaper guy.

Ironically, he was talking to us about handling deadlines when a story came across the wire that was categorized as “flash,” which is the AP’s most serious story classification. The title referred to the space shuttle Challenger.

I’ll never forget what the professor said. 

“See that?” he said. “You’ve got to read it before you put the paper to bed to make sure the dang (my word not his) thing didn’t blow up.”

You can imagine the collective gasp when we read the shuttle had blown apart 73 seconds after liftoff, killing all seven crew members on board.

Immediately after that class every day that quarter, I did an on-air newscast at the university radio station.

Since there was no internet, so I knew I would be breaking this news to everyone who was listening.

I had about 15 minutes to get to the studio and write my script before my noon time slot. I was a little freaked out. I started trying to compose the story in my head before class ended.

I asked the professor if I could call the explosion a tragedy.

“What are you going to call it when 20 people die?” he deadpanned back.

So I didn’t call it a tragedy. And I’ve regretted that ever since. 

In last week’s column, I bid a not-so-fond farewell to 2022, pointing out some of the lowlights that happened both here and abroad during the past 12 months.

Originally, the column was going to be a pity party for me, but I scrapped that idea because I didn’t think you deserved to hear about some of the hurdles I had to jump over in 2022.

And I’m sure glad I scrapped it, because in light of some recent events close to home, I would’ve felt foolish, selfish and probably another couple of “ishes”  had I gone through with it.

Regardless of what paper you’re reading right now, you likely heard of the Christmas Day head-on car crash in Cleveland, Tenn., that killed a 33-year-old couple and severely injured their three children who were in the back seat.

I cannot even begin to imagine the heartbreak of the families of these people.

And beyond that, I cannot even try to begin to imagine how these children will respond in the wake of this.

Kim quoted the Don Henley song, “In a New York minute, everything can change.”

No truer words have ever been spoken.

The crash was a tragedy, because it shattered a family and affected the entire community.

 The next day in Crossville, Tenn., six people in one family, representing three generations, died in a house fire.

Two of the victims were 4- and 3-year-old girls.

Don’t try to tell me that’s not tragic. It’s more than tragic, it’s unfathomable.

Then late last week, back in Cleveland, a 3-year-old died from a gunshot wound.

According to the police scanner feed reported by a television news outlet, the shot was accidentally self-inflicted.

The horror of that is unimaginable.

The number of victims don’t define a tragedy. The heartbreak it causes does.

I wish I had told my professor that.