New No. 1 on my hit parade of clunkers

... mistakes happen

Jeff Kaley

WAURIKA — Around noon last Wednesday, that great song by Martha Reeves & The Vandellas started cycling in my head, and I’ve been unable to make it go away or even lower the volume.

See, there are a lot of positive things about being a one-person editorial staff for a weekly newspaper, but it can also be a little ... uh, problematic if a major mistake is made.

I produce 80 percent of the editorial copy that runs each week in the WND. Although one of the cardinal rules in the business is that you are your own worst proof-reader, I’m usually the only person who proof-reads all the copy — self-generated or submitted.

When there’s a mistake, I look around for someone to blame and the only person there is me. If there’s an error, I’ve got nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

So it was after the Wednesday, Jan. 13 edition hit the racks containing a mistake that’s not only one of the biggest I’ve made in 32 years, but it’s also become No. 1 on the hit parade of “Kaley’s Most Embarrassing Moments in Journalism.”

That afternoon, I started getting calls and e-mails from gentle readers (Well, a couple weren’t overly gentle) telling me there was a HUGE MISTAKE in a front-page story about Noel Curington.

After 21 years as minister at Church of Christ in Waurika, Noel had retired, and it was only fitting this charming fellow, a Waurika native who’s done much good in the community, should get some props.

Problem was: In the story, WND readers, members of the Church of Christ, parishioners at First Baptist Church of Waurika, Noel and his family, and myself were stunned to discover that Noel had retired after years of service at ... First Baptist Church of Waurika.

It wasn’t just a one-time error — every reference in the story was about the “Baptist Church!”

When I realized what I’d done, I was totally flummoxed. I called Noel and his wife, Kay (who was also mysteriously renamed “Ann” in a caption to one of the pictures that accompanied the story), and slobbered all over myself, trying to find words other than “I’m sorry.”

As testament to their humanity, both Curingtons showed a sense of humor about the HUGE SCREW UP. In fact, Noel’s first reaction was, “I hope the Baptists aren’t offended by being associated with me!”

Still, a gracious reaction from the Curingtons wasn’t enough to make good for this moment of professional and personal embarrassment. So, on Page 5 of today’s WND, there is a corrected version of the story of Noel’s retirement.

In this business, mistakes are something you learn to begrudgingly accept but never like.

I’ve read newspapers since I was a child and have been in journalism since 1977, and I’ve never seen an error-free newspaper. A misspelled word, use of the wrong tense, the wrong form of a word like “to”, poor sentence structure, an incorrect name, the mysterious “dropped word” phenomenon — these are just a few of the clunkers that occur in stories, headlines, picture captions and advertisements.

As a journalist, you learn to live with that fact of life, although if you are truly professional, you keep pursuing the illusive pristine publication. And it’s factual errors that trouble you most.

A factual error makes you look like a complete moron, and is more embarrassing than noticing your fly is open, when you’re introduced to the President of the United States.

So, you may ask, how in the heck did this one happen? Well, once I calmed down and thought about it, at least I was able to identify how a good story went bad.

To wit: On Sunday, Jan. 10, I received an e-mail from a childhood friend. In part of that missive, he wrote about having taken a new position as minister of a church in southern Missouri — a FIRST BAPTIST CHURCH.

About an hour later, I started writing the story about Noel, and through the power of suggestion or because of a loose connection beneath my skullcap, the transformation of Noel Curington from Church of Christ preacher to First Baptist minister came to be.

Three days later, I found myself with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

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