"Citizen journalism" and the publishing power of the internet were points of conversation with guest speaker Eugene Driscoll, the Editor and writer of the Valley Independent Sentinel. Mr. Driscoll gave discourse on a variety of topics, ranging from his views on the current state of print journalism, to the beginnings of his non-profit community oriented news website. Driscoll discussed how the gap between the journalist and the reader has all but disappeared through internet technology. "Letters to the Editor" are a thing of the past, as now the internet allows anyone with access to a computer to publish text for all the world to see.

His site, Valley.newhavenindependent.org, relies on foundation support. In addition to the contributions of Driscoll and a full-time co-worker, the site contracts fifteen to twenty freelance stories per week. The site has a strict news coverage area of the Valley.

"[Internet] Journalism is a two-way communication", said Driscoll. He cited websites such as Facebook and Twitter as "basically, a talking Rolodex". Along with his speech, his website certainly keeps current on internet information technologies. Many stories have links to external sources, video, and other multimedia. Driscoll and his team have shot live video using smartphones on-site during especially dramatic ongoing stories, such as a housefire.

Driscoll was eager to share experiences of high-risk stories. He lives in the community in which he reports, giving him a special connection to the stories he writes. In an aforementioned housefire, Driscoll made a 2 mile drive from his own residence directly to the scene, witnessing an affected family member receiving news of her grandmother's death in the fire. It made for a raw, emotionally graphic scene, one that made for a more compelling news story than "a santized" statement from a first responder given hours later. It made clear to us that Driscoll is a man very passionate about his work. He makes a grand example for young men and women interested in the field, and is a very refreshing sight in a world dominated by big business journalism.

Hurricane Katrina, the infamous natural disaster of 2005, left a proud and culturally rich New Orleans ravaged and in shambles. The relief effort, one that has faced fierce criticism from onlookers and participants alike, came with a call for a batallion of volunteers; a plea for anyone- from highly trained specialists to any pair of hands seeking good hard work.

Dave Adam was among those who heeded the call.

Mr. Adam, a 25 year old former college student of Trinity, was working in a few aimless jobs when he heard the Red Cross' plea for volunteers to assist in the Hurricane Katrina Relief effort.

Dave was quick to cite his reasons for committing to such a undertaking; "looking for adventure" was high on the list, as he saw Katrina as a "once in a lifetime" opportunity.

Adam was stationed with the Red Cross in Biloxit, Mississippi. His task was to operate food delivery routes with other like-minded individuals. The routes were traveled in "ERV"s, or Emergency Response Vehicles, which Adam affectionately referred to as "basically, ice cream trucks". He described the Red Cross relief effort as a three-step wave procedure; summarized in evacuation, food and water distribution, culminating in re-entry of the population and facilitation of reconstruction.

But Dave Adam became intertwined with Red Cross politics when he took note of how his food routes neglected areas that were in dire need, and instead delivered to areas that were often comparatively well off. He cited Hancock County, an area that was in dire need of food delivery, but without obvious explanation had its food delivery route cut off by the Red Cross.

And, Adam got involved. Perhaps even moreso than a route driver should have, or more than the Red Cross would have wanted, but he saw things that simply were not adding up. His biggest move was contacting the Pastor of the local baptist church, a recognized leader in the area, explaining how routes to his community had been shut down. His phone call proved a potent catalyst, and ultimately a massive thorn in the side of Red Cross- rallying the community behind the Pastor, and making very clear to the relief effort that they were neglecting a hoist of hungry mouths. This pushed back the Red Cross' deadline for exiting the area, making Adam's superiors, in his own words, "furious".

This community outrage spurred by Adam's phone call only extended the life of food routes to Hancock County, as they were inevitably shut down once more.

Adam and a few of his trusted contemporaries took physical action. He began ignoring assigned food routes entirely, and brought aid to Hancock County. The Red Cross began to notice misplaced inventory, and fearing theft of aid supplies, began swapping drivers on routes regularly. Adam managed this delicate charade of delivery for nearly two months, but the Red Cross eventually caught on.

Adam had garnered the reputation as a "hippie" during his time as a volunteer, citing his liberal demeanor, long hair and full beard as reasons for being marked as such. And through this, his Red Cross superiors saw a seemingly easy way to out Adam from the relief effort.

He was approached by a superior, and was told that they had evidence of Adam selling marijuana out of one of the relief vans, which Adam vehemently denies to this day. "It simply wasn't true", he said. And back in Biloxit, he was prepared to call their bluff. The Red Cross superior, certainly by no means a representative of the law in any shape or form, said that they had video evidence of the deed at the police station, and would be happy to show it to him.

Adam consulted a friend in the area, and quickly became panicked. He feared an unjust police response from a force under pressure in an increasingly lawless area.

So he chose escape. "I explained the whole situation to my father, who had just drove down with my car for the relief effort when I told him Hancock County routes were being shut down", he said. Adam had seen enough adventure for good, long while.