Written word can help make sense of world

As 2006 began, media experts were moaning the decline of journalism, the circulation losses of daily newspapers and other ominous signs of industry disaster.

But nobody at our house paid much attention — partly because we were all too mesmerized by the written word.

My parents flew to Spokane to spend New Year’s weekend with us — which extended the holiday season. We ate sugar cookies, we played games and we read: columns, books, CNN screen crawls and daily newspapers fresh as they arrived.

My dad disappeared into a copy of my husband’s latest favorite book, Gregg Olsen’s “The Deep Dark,” the story of the 1972 Sunshine Mine disaster in Kellogg, Idaho. He read quickly, determined to finish the book before he left town, surfacing only to keep an eye on the West Virginia coal mine story simultaneously unfolding in real time.

Oh, we took a few breaks for other kinds of diversions — a basketball game (Gonzaga against Saint Joseph’s), a film (“The Producers”), a play (“Mamma Mia”). Songs kept circling through my brain, from “Springtime for Hitler” to “Dancing Queen.” But the one that recurred the longest had to be “We Are the Champions” — not for Gonzaga, but for my team’s astounding Trivial Pursuit victory right in our very own living room. Our younger daughter, my dad and I managed a stunning defeat of a trio of family smartypants who shall remain nameless.

The reason we won: We pooled three generations worth of collective knowledge, largely accumulated through the power of the printed word. Thanks to untold numbers of journalists, writers and authors, our brain cells were crammed full.

But the news story that dampened the joy of this family gathering, of course, was the West Virginia mine disaster.

I checked in with my dad on Tuesday afternoon, proposing a walk to the park. He was riveted by CNN coverage. Another news conference was about to begin. So we delayed the walk.

Together we heard the mining company president say it would take a miracle, but that miracles do happen.

I looked at my dad and thought of the high carbon monoxide levels reported in that mine. I couldn’t imagine anyone surviving.

Later that night, we caught more news. The 12 miners were reported alive, and I felt properly chastised. I considered the many benefits of optimism and vowed to choose it more often.

The next morning, our newspaper arrived late. But when it hit the breakfast table, the headline instantly riveted us. “12 die in mine disaster,” it read. Unlike those of so many American cities, Spokane’s front page got the news right on Wednesday morning. And, sadly, my years of reading bad news hadn’t led my instincts completely astray after all.

I also remembered that the 1972 Sunshine Mine disaster was even worse. But the work of journalists helped readers throughout the world make sense of it, and writers continue even now to delve into its lessons.

Working men and women still need voices and laws that will protect their safety. Then, and now, those efforts will be aided by the diligence of the news media. Journalists must step forward to ask the uncomfortable questions and press for important answers.

And so I have great optimism that the work of journalists — even those of the beleaguered print variety — will continue and just enough pessimism to know that so, too, will moments of tragedy.

Throughout human history, we’ve been riveted by story.

Once the written word emerged, we began to write down our culture’s most dramatic tales. The darkest ones have been the most compelling of all.

We remember “Romeo and Juliet” — the answer to the easiest of my team’s Trivial Pursuit questions last week — not because the two lovers lived happily ever after.

We’re going to continue to be mesmerized by the stories of our time. Like all the human beings who came before us, we’re going to need to keep telling these stories to make meaning emerge. We’ll need both the journalists who report these tales and the historians who preserve them. For that, we’ll require the written word with all its power and its ability to endure.

Even when we journalists falter, the world clamors to learn more — and for headline writers to convey all that has gone so wrong just exactly right.