Second Look
Doyle Murphy's series
We talked a while back about Doyle Murphy's idea for the Greeley Stampeed, the annual rodeo that draws the same boring coverage year after year. Doyle wanted to try something different, something like Brady's 300 Words. It's a risky venture. It takes a good reporter and photographer to pull a short set of stories like that off without the cheese and ridiculousness.
I think Doyle did a nice job. Check out his series, Second Look. Links to the others are found at the bottom.
Here's some interesting reader feedback on the Tribune's website: "I thought the stories were a good break from the usual. The man or woman (or horse in one story) on the street who attend, volunteer or work in the Stampede are often overlooked. The stories were on the whole well written and would be a good addition to the paper. Murphy should be commended for his idea and efforts."
Another: "I liked it — a unique departure from standard journalism. But rather than quick hits, I'd really like a deeper look into someone's life, rather than just a look into their day. These were fairly short-sighted in terms of content; leaving perhaps too many questions when I finished reading."
And this: "Honestly, I think you are going to make yourself look foolish if you continue in this manner. If you have a talent for writing, don't ruin your chances to be well thought of as a journalist by continuing with these sappy, embarrassing stories."
Here's one of Doyle's stories:
The night finds the young couple sitting in the grass.
They're two teenagers, not charmed, not rich. Above them, the lights of the Ferris wheel sparkle against a dark sky. She of 16 years with brown hair falling past her shoulders. He of 15 years with tanned shoulders and arms. They have a single cigarette between them and little to do but sit here together and talk quietly.
"It's enough," he says.
She teases. He smiles shyly and dips his head behind an arm. This night marks one and a half weeks of a young romance.
They walk now. Past the pleas to throw a dart, shoot a basketball, win a puppy. They each swing their arms separately. They glance at the workers and slide by the other couples brought out by electric lights, a cool breeze and something to do.
Money went to rides in the nights before. They walk now only to walk. She slips behind, jumps and pushes down on tanned shoulders. Brown hair falls toward his face as he leans forward and carries her. She hops down. They laugh.
He sees a friend. He fidgets and shuffles a half step away from her. The friend is gone. He and she walk together again. She bumps his hip with hers. Now their hands. His left. Her right. They walk past the booths, the end of the blacktop. The crowd has thinned to a few. The noise softens, and the glow of light bulbs sharpens against the dark.
Above them, others spin wildly and scream. They are the only two standing in the quiet corner of the carnival for a moment. She hooks her arm around his waist. He drapes his over her shoulder. She leans in close, and they look up at the spinning, flashing night.