Last Updated: May 26, 1999
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On printing bad news
Some news is painful to print; so why do it?
A painful memory perhaps explains best why we put bad
news in the paper: So people will know what happened
By Denny Bonavita
Some of the news is unpleasant, even painful, to some of the people
who read our newspaper. Why, then, print it? Perhaps a story will synopsize
my answer.
A long time ago, 30 years or more, a friend died. He was tall, athletic,
in his mid-20s, a year ahead of me during college. We grew, not exceptionally
close, but to become good friends.
All I heard was that he had died in the small town where he lived with
his wife and two young children. Another friend called to get information
about the funeral. We two headed through a rainy evening, to pay our respects.
On the way, we reminisced, as friends will do. And we expressed shock
at his death. Joe was in superb health, as far as we knew.
What had happened?
We found the town, then the funeral home. We joined the group of callers.
Today I know that chit-chat and subdued banter can be OK when friends gather
as much to commemorate a life as to mourn a death. Back then, though, my
friend and I were silent, not seeing anyone we knew except Joe’s wife.
Through the shifting heads of those in front of us, we could see the
casket, too. The only striking thing, as we drew closer, was his mouth,
lips tightly closed. With Joe, conversation was the rule, not the exception.
In life, his mouth usually had been open, often laughing.
What had happened?
I wasn’t excruciatingly uncomfortable. The deaths that come with being
part of a large extended family had brought me to funeral homes often in
my childhood.
But I have been thankful a hundred times over that, on that rainy night,
I felt awkward enough to limit myself to a few handshakes, a hug for Joe’s
wife, and a murmured, "Sorry ... he was a great guy ... thinking about
you."
On our way out, we ran into two other guys from college, and drifted
off with them into a corner. There, we could ask. "What did happen?"
It wasn’t pretty.
Joe had a lot of bills past due, bills brought on in part by his wish
to give his wife and youngsters all the good things he thought they deserved.
As it often does, money worry had led to frustration, anger and words between
husband and wife. So he had gone out and gotten drunk.
Then he had come back home and, in front of his wife, put a pistol to
his head and shot himself dead in their kitchen.
I silently thanked God I hadn’t asked the family what had happened.
But others did.
Well-meaning friends. Acquaintances of the families. Some who remembered
Joe as a kid. Some who had seen him healthy a day or two before.
They asked. Over and over. Meaning no harm, wanting to know how to frame
their condolences. "What happened? What happened?"
They were told, in whispers, usually by someone in the receiving line.
"Suicide ... shot himself ... in their kitchen ... she was there, poor
thing."
And then, a piercing, wailing scream. Joe’s wife had reached the end
of her ability to hear what had happened.
Family members helped her out of the room, half-carrying her as she
keened a piercing, unending ululation.
I had escaped adding to her burden — but out of shyness and uncertainty,
not out of sensitivity. If I had been in my hometown among friends, I,
too probably would have asked that most natural of questions: "What happened?"
As they carried her out, I heard more than one person who had done just
that say, "If I had only known ..."
It can be hard to tell people about violent or unexpected deaths, more
so when the telling is in stark, black headline type on newsprint. The
retelling in the newspaper can hit down in the gut for some family members
and friends of whoever has died. It can be punishing to see the newspaper
story sit there.
But if the death was of a public nature, accidental, homicide or suicide,
and if I do my job, and the rest of us do our jobs, some among us might
get to know what happened before coming face-to-face with those who endured
it.
Some grieving widows or parents or children might be spared even a little
bit of the soul-jarring need to answer, over and over, "What happened?"
A newspaper can be put away, thrown away, or even angrily ripped up.
Its printed version of the news can be put, or kept, out of sight. The
voices, though ... those can go on, and on, and on.
On that rainy night so many years ago, I found that though there is
pain in learning what has happened to end the life of someone we cared
about, there is also pain in not knowing the answer to "What happened?"
Which is better? Getting the information out, or letting it be? Is the
word "better" even appropriate? I think not. There is no "better" way to
handle bad situations; there are just ways that are comparatively, less
bad or more bad.
I do know that if we tell the stories of what affects our communities,
and do it properly, people won’t have to ask, over and over, "What happened?"
Bonavita is managing editor of The Courier-Express, DuBois, Pa.
