My Newsroom Home

For 10 years, my home was in the newsroom. It was a noisey place, with police scanners, computers "ding-ing" with instant messages and wire service alerts. Oh, and the constantly ringing phones and network squawk boxes also contributed to the cacophony.

It was inhabited by quite a wiley cast of characters, that’s for sure.
There were anchors of all sorts (the dad type, the mom type, the cool older sister, the naughty cousin, the gay uncle, the surly jaded uncle who no one wants to claim.)

The reporters were more like siblings. Some desperate for attention. Some so bent on success they could barely remember your name. Some brilliant, they were the ones who made you really proud. Others were friends you wouldn’t want to live without.

The producers were my people. We had no desire to be on-camera, we just wanted to make news. We worked hard together, forged strong bonds, drank too much, stayed up too late (or too early depending on the shift). We saw each other through bad relationships and good ones, holidays away from our real families, and created our own little version of home with each other.

I had two newsroom homes. One in Davenport, Iowa, the other right here in Milwaukee. I still keep in touch with friends from Davenport (we even convinced one couple to move here!) even though they have almost all moved on to other markets and careers. Since I left my newsroom home in Milwaukee, I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how well my family there has kept in touch with me. They saw me grow up there, during my 8 years as a news producer. I got engaged, got married, graduated from grad school, bought my first house, got a dog, and had my first baby… all with their support and encouragement. When I go back to that newsroom now that I’m on the other side (in Public Relations) it still feels like I’m going home. I hope I’m always welcome there.