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My 30 Minutes of Fame
It seems surreal, even now.
An unexpected phone call on a Sunday morning
propelled me—a 25-year-old journalist from Corpus
Christi with one year’s experience—into the media
spotlight.
The news that Vice President Dick Cheney had
accidentally shot his 78-year-old friend during a
weekend hunting trip at a South Texas ranch wasn’t
what I expected to hear during my quiet weekend
shift Feb. 12 at the Corpus Christi Caller-Times,
but that’s exactly what I did hear.
On that Sunday morning in Corpus Christi, population
280,000, the newsroom and its infinite number of
scanners were quiet, if only for a few hours.
The phone’s sharp ring shattered the silence. It was
nearly 11 a.m. Central Standard Time, and little did
I know what lay ahead.
“I have some information, and I’m giving it to you,”
said Katharine Armstrong, one of the owners of a
South Texas ranch, moments before she relayed to me
the story that forced me into the media’s eye. |
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Kathryn Garcia, 25, is a reporter at the Corpus
Christi Caller-Times. |
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“The vice president was a visitor at our ranch,”
Armstrong began. Then: “The vice president
accidentally peppered Harry.”
My pen paused briefly. I wrote “VP” in my notes and
circled it. “Are we talking about Vice President
Cheney?”
I knew this was going to be a big story, a
national story, but I had no idea that I would end
up on this side of it. Here I sit writing a column
about my experiences, and I still find myself
wondering, Why me?
My thoughts were swirling through my head.
First, verification from a second source. OK, I
thought. Who? An official…with the White House. It’s
not a place I had ever needed to call—heck, we
didn’t even have the phone number.
I jumped on the Internet, went to the White House’s
home page and, after searching for what felt like
forever, found a switchboard number. A bit of
haggling with the operator later, I was able to
verify the story with Cheney’s spokesperson.
My story was posted to Caller.com by 1:48 p.m. CST,
and 30 minutes later, the phone calls were streaming
in from newspapers, radio stations and television
networks: the New York Times, the BBC in London, Fox
News Radio, ABC News, Australia’s news service—one
right after another.
By that time, fellow reporter Jaime Powell, who
Armstrong had originally tried to reach, and I were
together in the newsroom working on the next day’s
story, trying to not only report but also feed the
international media frenzy.
Everybody wanted to hear from us, the reporters.
The next day was even more hectic with television
appearances on Good Morning America, MSNBC and CNN.
They say I handled it well. It seems like a dream
now that I look back on it.
I spoke to the camera’s red eye, repeating the
timeline of my day, trying to ignore the bright
lights that shone in my face and instead focusing on
the anchor’s voice talking to me in my ear.
The questions were sometimes pointed, occasionally
offensive. They all wanted to know how a local
newspaper could break such a big story.
It was good reporting. It was source building. It
was journalism.
And for me, it was a dream. It was serendipitous. I
was at the right place at the right time. But I also
handled it well, the way I was supposed to.
They say everybody gets 15 minutes of fame. I was
lucky: I think I got 30.
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