The Full Story

Years ago in my previous life as a newspaper guy, I had occasion to write a feature story about a local high school coach. Successful. Personable. Admired by players and parents, respected by his peers. Through conversations and research, I learned that his father had passed away several years earlier. His father was one of his role models, a huge influence on his life and career. 

During one conversation, he revealed that his father had committed suicide. It was devastating for the family, but he gradually opened up about how it affected him going forward. It made him more aware of and sensitive to depression and mental health. He tried not to wall off thoughts and emotions and to communicate better with his own family. He thought it made him a better coach, because he tried to be more receptive to his players and their situations. 

As I wrote the piece, the coach’s father’s suicide and subsequent ripples weren’t central to the narrative, but I wove them in as a component of the whole, among stats and accomplishments and quotes about his life and impact on others. A day or two before the piece was scheduled to run, the coach called and asked that I not include his dad’s suicide and his remarks about it. He said it was still a painful subject for the family and they didn’t want it publicized. 

We haggled a bit. I asked if people outside the family were aware of it. He allowed that it was kind of an open secret within their community but he didn’t know how widely known. I said that I tried to handle it sensitively in the piece, that bringing it to light might help others experiencing similar situations themselves or in their families, that he had spoken movingly and eloquently about a difficult subject. 

He appreciated the possible benefits but was still uncomfortable with the publicity. I told him that I’d speak to my boss and relay his request. My boss wasn’t thrilled with the idea of removing that story thread, though understood the reluctance to expose a family tragedy. In addition, we would have to continue to deal with not only the coach, but the entire high school coaching community. If they thought we had betrayed a confidence or exploited a sensitive situation for the sake of a more memorable story, that would reflect poorly on the paper and make our work more difficult. 

In the end, I removed the dad’s suicide and reworked the story into a boilerplate feature: good coach; a little background; stats and records; here’s what everybody says about him. Perfectly acceptable piece. But it was lacking. I knew it. He knew it. His family and inner circle knew it. He was hugely grateful. 

I think about that story now and then, particularly in the past few days, in the wake of the Shohei Ohtani interpreter gambling kerfuffle and a completely unrelated piece on the sports and cultural website Defector with the headline: “You Never Get The Full Story.” 

The Ohtani situation is weird and convoluted, with several components that don’t pass the smell test: competing explanations; empty days before a denial and counter accusations; interpreter/aide/friend with unfettered access to mega-star’s seven-figure account; said mega-star’s supposed complete ignorance of the matter. 

Here’s hoping that further reporting will provide answers and clarity, rather than more questions. The Defector piece is by and about a woman discussing the complications of putting together a podcast or documentary that attempts to straddle the line between journalism and collaboration with subjects and interviewees. One of the author’s and documentarian’s points is that journalism, and storytelling in general, is an imbalance heavily tilted toward the storytell-er and not the storytell-ee. That’s accurate in many, though certainly not all, cases. 

The headline, however, rings true damn near all the time. Journalism, or to be more precise, reporting, is a trade-off. Reporters have a certain level of access and inquiry. They compile information as quickly and thoroughly as possible and, based on their judgment and knowledge, present it within the constraints of time and space and available material. Some stories lend themselves to follow-ups, based on individuals or subject matter. Some do not. The former provide more information and context, but does that make the picture fuller or the canvas broader? 

With the latter, reporters and editors simply hope that they got it close to right in their lone shot. It’s almost by nature incomplete. Good reporters agonize about this. They always want more information, more time, more space to tell better, more complete stories, which they come to realize often ain’t gonna happen. They do the best they can that day and try again the next. The landscape is littered with partially or unreported stories, from government and business f*ckery to local topics and people worthy of recognition. 

It’s increasingly challenging to tell those stories, as news outlets wither and disappear, and powerful interests are shielded by money and layers of protection. In Ohtani’s case, there are also language and cultural components that add another level of difficulty. As for the documentarian’s and podcaster’s concerns about exploitative journalism, the journalist or reporter is responsible for treating subjects courteously, if not respectfully, when warranted. There are times when being adversarial is appropriate – hell, necessary – and times to pull back rather than open a wound, even if doing so would make for a better story.