Opinion : Every story affects somebody\'s neighbor; today it was mine

Fire destroyed the home of Lester and Donna Geiger in rural Brandon Wednesday afternoon.

Brandon and Vinton firefighters spray the area where the fire began in the basement.

Heating oil ignited the fire at the Geiger residents in rural Brandon Wednesday.

Smoke fills the air near the Geiger home as firemen douse the flames.

Two significant newsworthy events – a minor house fire and a tragic double-fatality automobile/bicycle accident – in the year before it became my job to write about such events taught me a significant lesson: Every person involved in a fire, flood, accident or any other tragedy is somebody’s Somebody.

Somebody’s mother or father.

Somebody’s child.

Somebody’s husband or wife.

Somebody’s friend.

Somebody’s neighbor.

Today, that somebody was my neighbor.

We heard a knock at the door – the one we never use – and it took us a while to figure out what the noise was.

Our neighbor, Lester, was calmly standing at the door when we finally opened it.

“Call the fire department,” he said. "The house is on fire.”

At first, I thought it was the house we own down the road, which he can see from his place.

“No,” he said. “My house.”

“I guess this means I won’t be your neighbor anymore,” said Lester as we watched the Brandon and Vinton firemen spray the house. It was already too late when they arrived – the single story house was fully engulfed, with oil burning from a heating oil line in the basement.

Lester’s wife, Donna was in our house; their small dog safely escaped and sat in the car.

Everything in the house was destroyed. Lester, a WWII Navy veteran, kept a flag displayed on a pole near the house. That is one of the few of his possessions he still can use.

It’s funny, how the mind of the journalist works. My first thought, I am glad to say, was to make sure Lester and Donna were OK. My second thought was, “Do I take photos of this?” My first response was no. Then I thought that maybe the Geigers and their family would like to see what happened, and have some sort of keepsake. I sent a kid into the house.

Then I remembered what Peggy Noonan wrote the day the Challenger blew up. She had been a writer for Dan Rather’s radio show for three years before becoming a speechwriter for Ronald Reagan. She was at her office when the TV screens showed the tragedy.

“I did what CBS trained me to do: Handle the horror by writing the show,” Noonan wrote.

I’ve never had that kind of horror to write about, but I try to remember Noonan’s words. I try to let my words help people understand what happened, and what people did to help.

I do it differently than many others in my field.

Today, my neighbors were in the ambulance, which was parked in my driveway. Television reporters knocked on the door of the ambulance while my neighbors (and their dog) were inside, hoping to get a story. I would never do that, although I have spoken to a few people after minor house fires, if I saw them outside. To me, the people who suffer because of something like this are more important than the story. I would never want to add to their pain just to add a few lines about what happened.

My neighbors and their dog will be ok. Their families are helping, and even a grandchild who recently got married a few days ago decided today to stop by on the way back from her honeymoon.

And me, I learned one more time to remember that every person we write about is somebody's somebody. That's a lesson every journalist should remember every time he writes a story.