5
The San Diego Tribune
The headquarters of "The San Diego Tribune had moved a couple of years Downtown . Previously, and since its inception from the early twenties, was in the neighborhood of Old Town in a building facade in an austere gray stone. The owner, an intellectual by the progressive ideas that had made money in publishing, he founded the Tribune with the aim of turning it into the newspaper of reference for the people of San Diego: a lot of local news, interest in sport, particularly the baseball team the San Diego Padres and an eye to politics in the county.
The initial print run was not high but enough to keep accounts in balance. Sales were off when, thanks to the intuition of the Director (a former deputy director of the New York Times that the owner had pulled up to the competition), was introduced to the tabloid format and extensive use of pictures. The newspapers at that time consisted of a few sheets of size very large, filled up to the extreme of very long articles, printed with eight characters in the body, almost impossible to read.
The increase in pages, though smaller but more manageable, photographs, fonts larger, had increased over the number of readers, including those of advertisers: local businesses and traders, mostly. Of course, revenues had grown in proportion to where the newspaper had proved a good investment.
The owner had always pushed the manager to raise the quality of the newspaper. Well written articles, comments clear, no preconceived idea and an eye toward the powerful and the politicians of the county, were the its guidelines. Our newspaper has to be the beacon towards which they look for all citizens, always said.
With the recession, the newspaper was in crisis, lower sales, substantial decrease in advertising. He risked bankruptcy and closure. With a harsh restructuring, a massive dismissal of journalists and staff, had barely survived until the sixties. The former owner had died, the children were not interested in publishing, it was only natural then the sale of the newspaper. The transition from a so-called publisher pure industry group was traumatic: cut the quality of the articles, more room to gossip, less attention to politics. The Tribune was
survived, had seen the birth of the twenty-first century and the collapse of the towers. The property was passed from hand to hand several times to reach a publishing magnate who bought it in order to bring it back to its former glory. More investment, new technologies and new building, were his first steps. If
must again be the beacon of the city, the headquarters of the newspaper must be in its center, in the highest. For this had been purchased the last five floors of the newest skyscraper in Downtown . Twenty-storey building in steel and glass, with the facade that reflected the sunlight and gave the different shades of color according to the prospectus weather conditions and time of day.
Frank Lee entered the home of the Tribune past ten o'clock when all the journalists were already at work. He greeted the doorman, went through at a quick pace and book the elevator lobby. When the glass door that opened on the wide-open space of the drawing is opened, secretaries, journalists and graphic stood up and applauded him. A thunderous and sustained applause that Frank moved.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;one scoop eccezionale>>'s chief editor said, shaking his hand.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Sapevo that there l'avresti fatta>> exclaimed Molly, the secretary, and kissed him on the cheek. And plenty of backslapping and congratulations. All to report that \u0026lt;\u0026lt;i sales figures say that the copies are sold out in the early hours of mattinata>>. Or \u0026lt;\u0026lt;The Tribune is mentioned in all TV services oggi>>. Suddenly the door opened, and the Office of the Director of Dover White, the secretary of the director, called Frank:
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;The boss wants you parlare, is urgente>> then, turning to the entire editorial staff, he says: "Tune NBC's press conference and listen to Duke Beker live, maybe there are developments>>.
Frank entered the office of Edward Clark. The director was sitting with his feet on the desk, had the TV remote control in hand and tunes to the all-news channel for NBC. On the screen ran the inscription: "live - the press conference of director of the county of San Diego."
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Siediti Frank, see what he has to say in his defense that bastard Beker>>. Frank sat down without saying a word on a comfortable black leather chair and held his breath. What would be the move of the Council? He knew how to respond the allegations of the newspaper?
Beker Duke appeared in videos with an impeccable pinstripe gray. His face was tense and rather emaciated. Frank saw the obvious bags under his eyes, a sign of sleepless nights, and the wrinkles that had not noticed before.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;... that is why with pain that I am forced to resign as an adviser firm in the county of San Diego>> s'impressero were the last words in the mind of Frank. The Director Clark jumped on the chair and complimenting Frank said.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;We did it, Frank. The press has done his duty again. Investigated, verified the facts and disclosed them. The public has judged and the powerful shift has taken the consequences. This is the press and this is democracy>>.
screen, deprived of sound, Frank saw that the scrolling text was changed and now the headline: "The Duke Beker adviser resigns." The images were those of the video posted on the blog of Patricia Perez, spaced from the first page of the Tribune .
At a press conference the City Council had defended himself, explaining that the news published was almost entirely false, that yes, he admitted having committed the ingenuity and small have been used, but only healthy of cocaine and other drugs. The confidence of his constituents, however, had failed and needed to protect his family. Then she had to solve its health problems. For this he would resign. Beker not what he said was a judge on the basis of data published in the Tribune, had opened an investigation into the contracts to be assigned to him and most likely would end up in jail soon. Frank, at that point, become fully conscious of his success had forced a powerful, corrupt and addicted, to resign.
Frank was still sitting in his chair and listened to the famous "thought the real journalist" of Clark, when the managing editor of Black, John Willis, broke out in the office without knocking and announced:
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;During the night there was a murder, a woman's body was found in Sun Street. The science is already in place but it seems they are waiting for the forensic pathologist and the detective in charge of investigations. It should send someone in place quickly and>>.
director Eduard Clark fixed his eyes on Frank, they understood what it meant to look and said
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Noo!, Not I, not the black stuff for me. In that area there are local red light, will be the usual prostitute murdered by a customer. Send Freddy has just been hired and will be happy to write the article>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Frank, you know what to tell the police when there is a crime of a prostitute or a junkie? "Victims of human zero." Write a report and then close the file. This should not happen, our task is to prevent this from happening>> Director paused then continued:
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;You know what I should do a good journalist? A good journalist should not find out who was to commit a crime is a task of the police. You should not do justice, the judge. In the first place should tell a story. Who was the victim, what he did, as he lived, who her friends were, what were his values. Citizens must know that the victim was not a number, a zero, but a person who deserves to be known and remembered. Second, journalists must also check whether the police carries out his duty, and if the court makes a just sentence. For this reason I do not want an article that anyone can write ten lines, also a blogger, but a real investigation. You must find out who he was and what was a victim and follow the police investigation. And if that's the matter, we must do to know>>.
Frank had heard those words. Five years earlier he had been hired recently and was asked to write his first article. Frank then had thirty years and had returned in San Diego after that "everything", as he said, had happened. He was alone, apart from the few friends Fat Boy and Ellen Evans, no money, no job and especially without knowing how to do anything except surf. He decided to become a journalist, but first would have stopped years before returning to school.
He studied at night and worked during the day. Odd jobs: bartender, longshoreman, what happened. Thanks to his experience as a surfer managed to get hired as a clerk in a shop selling sports equipment. He was good at giving advice, the clients trusted him. And then the store was near the beach, could do a "ride" during the lunch break. Surf and studied. Read very: newspapers and books of all kinds. Recovered in a short time lost. He pointed to the University. Not only because he was older than the other students but because it was the best, what took the highest ratings. The girls made the thread, asked to study with him. Some of the more daring, asked him to go out with him, but Frank was not ready. The memories were still too sharp to begin a new story. Remained on its own and always refused invitations.
With graduation came time to find a real job in a newspaper. He sent many resumes, but received few responses, very few interviews, no offers. It was thanks to surf when he was hired to Tribune .
director Eduard Clark had a grandson. a grommet, a PIVELLINA surf every morning going to the beaches of La Jolla to get a ride. One day when the sea was rougher than usual the boy found himself in the centrifuge. The wave overwhelmed, drowning. Frank was there and saved him. A stroke of luck for him. The boy wanted to thank him by offering him a beer. At the bar began to speak, what equipment you use. Shortbord or longboard? What do you do? The usual questions. When the young surfer learned that Frank wanted to be a journalist said
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Maybe I can repay with you, give me your phone number>>.
Frank gave a talk to Tribune and was hired. He began writing short articles for local news, that nothing but the director kept an eye on him. Recommended but not because his grandson because he had seen his qualities.
was September when he was found the body of a Mexican near the border. Did not talk about nothing but illegal immigration in the city. Should throw them out all these illegal immigrants, no need to regularize, they said. The Director Eduard Frank Clark called his office and told him:
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;I want you to go to Mexico to Tijuana, you have to find Who are these people at risk of life they want to enter the United States. I want you to tell their stories>>. So it was that Frank had his first investigation, and heard those words: a good journalist must tell a story, you need to know the people. Actually, that investigation is not completed it. No, but came back with something bigger. A survey from the first page that opened the door of his career.
Frank crossed the border and took up residence in a hotel in La Playas de Tijuana, not far from the center of Tijuana. Near the ocean. He brought with him his shortboard. He got up early in the morning, went out with the table, went to the beach and gave her best. Just a few days because everyone would notice "that American who does incredible things with the board." Of course, attending a bar to drink at all and offer help to know the locals.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Hola amigos ¿cómo estás?>> said a man in his fifties, quite low, olive complexion that was watching him for some time, sitting at a table in the bar.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Bene, on a day like this can not go that bene>> Frank said. He approached the table, ordered two glasses of cold cerveza for him and the man and sat down.
They spent several days before Mexico began to speak. Days spent at the bar drinking and talking about women, tacos and waves. But when the Mexican spoke seriously, Frank listened and changed the object of his investigation.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;A couple of years, illegal migration has declined. Almost no one wants to cross the border, only those with relatives or find work is sure to risk their lives to come to the U.S.. Now the work is here. A Tijuana. Moonlighting certainly underpaid shifts, with twelve to sixteen hours, but you do not risk your life>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;May type of work?>> Frank asked.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Mexico in 1994 signed the NAFTA, the North American Free Trade Agreement. Goods such as motor vehicles, textiles, computers are crossing the border are not subject to customs duties. There are countries like China and India are suffering instead of the limitations in exporting to the United States. They produce so much and very low price. To avoid forcing Chinese factories to close the American ones, there are limitations to the amount of goods that can enter the United States. Unfortunately, China and India have a need to export and then the devil comes into play Mexico>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;In that modo?>> Frank asked.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Tons of Indian and Chinese products come to Tijuana. There, in illegal factories, the goods are processed in made in Mexico. A little thing, sometimes it is enough to label. And in that way across the border without paying duty and violating the embargo>>.
America is flooded with goods from Asia, do not even know because it depends on them, does not realize it. There are markets, particularly textiles, which are now in the hands of one or two foreign countries. What would happen if one of them decide to raise prices or suddenly decide to boycott the U.S.? Easy to understand. That was the story to tell: how come the goods? Who produces them? In that conditions experienced by Mexican workers?
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Voglio see the factories and we know who lavora>> Frank asked. He had to promise a substantial reward to the Mexican newspaper but the money was well spent. He took pictures and wrote a lengthy investigation that appeared for a week straight in front page of the Tribune . Sales of the newspaper increased and, instead of asking if it was just open the borders to illegal immigrants, Americans began to wonder if it was still tolerable almost totally dependent on goods produced in Asian countries. Frank had become a good journalist. He told a story.
Frank's thoughts returned to the present. A murder, a story to tell.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Ok, Ok, I'll go, but the usual conditions. No time limits, free to carry out personal investigations thereof will be ready when I get the whole story complete. Of course if it's worth it, no article>> said the editor of the newspaper.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;As usual, Frank. I'm sure something interesting will come out>>.
(continued)
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