Bob Miller, Environmental Reporter

Bob Miller, an environmental reporter for the News Times, has been in his field for 30 years. Even with such a long career under his belt, he spoke of the unpredictability of weather. Storms can hold a course for days, and without warning, turn away at the final hour. Environmental stories can also include pollution scares and concerns from a city or town.

Miller talked about tragedy and the sensitivity of those affected. Direct family members aren't really approachable for an immediate news story, although it is possible to get statements from people such as neighbors and distant relatives. Most families afflicted by tragedy will post signs to turn away press immediately.

He talked about the ice flows that melted, a rare occurrence that happens maybe once or twice in a century. When asked about which was his favorite story, he was quick to reply with the 1994 ice flows. Another story of interest was a drum skinner who imported drum skins that apparently were afflicted with anthrax...a news story that sparked the interest of the entire town, and consequently destroyed the man's career.

Miller shows the scope one person in the field of journalism can cover, and makes it seem a varied and exciting, yet challenging, profession.

Graffiti in Danbury

Graffiti from the Danbury line.

Danbury Police Officer Ken Utter, interviewed by Sandy Carlson on Danbury Graffiti.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ir9nCqTdMVo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06eJhVXHIM8

WCSU: Host of "Future of News" Conference

(re-uploaded)

Western Connecticut State University: Host of "Future of News" Conference

In the previous semester, I'd taken a course on public speaking; a dreary basic requirements course that no one really took willingly. A few basic ideas from that class stuck in my head, but they wern't given a human face James Dyer shared his personal philosophy on interpersonal communications. It was very refreshing to see a more rustic political figure in these times, especially in a very different political era. Seeing a part of the personal life of a politician is something I'd never seen before, either- it's unsettling to think that they would have private lives, hopes, and dreams of their own, too!

Hearing about his struggles against the KKK rally in Danbury, and his stance about racial integration (no one benefits when we pick on a group of people) was inspiring to see. He did well explaining what his role as the Mayor was in Danbury, and he expressed his ideas in a very matter-of-fact sort of manner. He was very easy to like; he presented his faults and trials that made him seem human enough to empathize with, yet strong enough to command.

And then, of course, the corruption charges. Taking money from mall revenues, and all sorts of different characters. Money that he isn't allowed to take.

" Dyer was indicted in 1989. The indictment included one count of racketeering, under 18 U.S.C. Sec. 1962(c) (1988); two counts of extortion, under 18 U.S.C. Sec. 1951 (1988); and four counts of willfully filing false tax returns for the years 1983 through 1986, under 26 U.S.C. Sec. 7206(1) (1988)."

And he got off on all of them, except a tax filing charge. The judge reportedly said something along the lines of "This should not be a proud victory for you". He spent six months in prison, and five years on probation.

You know; sometimes, not trusting anyone works out. He looked like such a nice guy. I feel like somewhat of a coward for not inquiring about it; he certainly wasn't going to talk about any of it on his own, but it wasn't a battle I would have won. He's certainly good at what he does- the public speaking portion of it, anyways.

alackofadhesiveducks

My near death experience, which perhaps didn't bring about any dramatic behavior changes, but cool enough in its own right.

It's the night of my 18th birthday, though not quite midnight so I'm still caught in the age of seventeen. I'm at Roanoke College, and me and some friends are running about between parties, looking for a great time and not really finding it. Or maybe we were, but I'm pretty biased about my whole experience at the college, so I'll never really clearly remember. But I do remember this, with absolutely vivid recollection;
We're at a street, getting ready to cross; someone in our group hurries across the street. Trusting his judgement, assuming he would not try to cross the street with oncoming traffic, I step out to make my way across without looking both ways. And, of course, there is a car, and it's going really fast, at least forty, and at the very last second of its passing, a clutch timing survival reflex that had somehow been latent for all of my sedentary white upper-middle class life rears its head when it is most needed, and I contort my entire body into a curved "C" shape around the contours of the blur of the automobile as it passed by me in the darkness, my face inches from the top ridge of the frame, the side view mirror grazing my belt and shirt as it made its way along.
And, after making it across the street into the back of my friend's car, I loudly recited a fight club quote that was absolutely god damn perfect for the situation, but no one had even seen the bloody movie much less read the book, so I just looked like an idiot. The end.

March 22nd Spring Break No Class

March 29th Review Chapter 7, 18, Quiz and Discussion

April 5th- Profiles due, peer edits in class

April 5th Chapter 13, 20 Quiz + Discussion

April 5th Chapter 13, do exercise 4






The middle brother, on my right, has his eyes fixed on the casket. Or maybe the flowers surrounding the casket, I can't really tell. There's sorrow in his eyes, more than I would come to expect from him, but certainly enough for the occasion. His hands are fidgeting as well, of course not nearly as much as the boy, but he's well into his years and should have this sort of thing under control at this point. Their ties are matching; him and the boy I mean, both a formal red.
Maybe the boy's father dressed him, too. Both of them, fidgeting and eager and maybe a little bit sorrowful. I really would have liked that furthest seat.
The organ player sits down, stretches his knuckles, and sets to work on the keys. That was her favorite part of church, she made that rather obvious, so the three of us made sure to have a decent organ player for her service. The player's hands have barely rolled over a dozen keys, and middle brother has already covered his face in his fingers, giving tears to the crevices of his sweaty palms. I can't even look past middle brother at right brother. My eyes don't let me, and I don't care to fight them. I'm sure he's found a shoulder sturdy enough to cry on, because his wife certainly isn't here. Speeches, eulogies, an hour or so passes, a few glances at my watch, and the funeral is over.


Hours later, I'm back under te