When I announced I was retiring from The Oregonian after 43 years and 6 months, the newsroom’s leaders graciously offered to give me a sendoff with a cake and drinks.
I passed.
I asked instead for what I thought would be a more appropriate sendoff: to write a letter of thanks to the readers and to the people I’ve written about during my long career.
While I’ve never met most of the newspaper’s readers, we created a bond, one that I will miss when my stories no longer appear in The Oregonian and on OregonLive.
Over the years I’ve read all the letters and emails you’ve sent my way. I’ve listened to your voice mails. I’ve talked with you on the phone, good conversations that often filled me with hope, even though this is a profession that can make the best of us jaded.
Now, a special thanks to the people who gave me their most precious asset – themselves.
A story, for me, emerges out of the fog, unformed. Something about a person, situation or moment in life – good and bad, tragic and full of joy, funny and poignant – intrigues me.
Over the years, I reached out to many people who had never met a reporter, let alone been interviewed by one. A voice on the phone. A knock on the door. No one had to talk with me. But they agreed to talk. During long conversations, questions and answers, and more questions and answers, their story came alive.
In this business, we casually refer to everything as a story, even when it’s often more a topic or an incident, a series of facts assembled in a coherent fashion for readers.
I contend readers today are bombarded with and overwhelmed by facts.
Answers to nearly every question can be found within seconds on the internet.
What we long for is meaning and a connection at a deeper and more universal level.
We are, fundamentally, creatures with a need to understand, to have things make sense. In the midst of ambiguity, we seek certainty.
Science provides some answers but will not help us with the greatest questions.
Who am I?
Why am I here?
What is my purpose?
For those answers we must turn to story.
Will Durant, a historian and philosopher, once wrote this:
Civilization is a stream with banks. The stream is sometimes filled with blood from people killing, stealing, shouting and doing the things historians usually record, while on the banks, unnoticed, people build homes, make love, raise children, sing songs, write poetry and even whittle statues.
The story of civilization is the story of what happened on the banks.
During my career, I’ve covered the banks.
Most news “stories” are forgettable. Even award-winning news accounts seem dated, almost irrelevant, after a few years or even just a few months pass.
The stories I’ve found on the banks are timeless and universal.
They deal with the complexities of life, revealing the themes of our shared journey: Honor, compassion, fear, hope, loneliness, joy, regret, dreams and nightmares.
Late last year, I wrote a story that captured what I’ve been trying to do all my career.
It centered around a brief encounter between a high school principal and a 16-year-old student more than 60 years ago. Six words from that principal changed the course of the boy’s life.
Readers found no news in the piece. But I received many letters and calls, not just from Oregon, but across the country, all after having their hearts touched by the story of two men they will never meet.
Here’s an excerpt from one letter:
There is much to be read that is divisive, contentious, sad and disheartening these days. This story is what we so desperately need these days. Thanks for the reminder of human goodness and the power of seemingly small things. You made me cry – but thank you.
Now it is time for me to say thank you – and farewell.
Yet let this not be the end of our relationship.
Please keep in touch with me at thallmanjr@gmail.com
In deep appreciation and gratitude.
-Tom Hallman, Jr.
Hallman has been a reporter with The Oregonian since 1980 and was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for feature reporting in 2001. He is a lifelong resident of Portland.