Jerry Davich

Don’t try to answer the 'why' of NIU gunman’s deeds

Sat, 16 Feb 2008 21:11:04 -0600

Now that we know the identity of the suicide-gunman - Stephen Phillip Kazmierczak - from Thursday’s mass shooting at Northern Illinois University, it answers the "who" question of what happened. And we already know the "where," "how," "what," and "when" aspects of his evil act, taking the lives of five NIU students and wounding 20 more, which I wrote about in my Saturday column, found at http://www.post-trib.com/news/davich/index.html.
Now comes the tricky part, attempting to answer the final question in our minds: Why?

Valentine's Day challenged? I'm here to help

Thu, 14 Feb 2008 05:07:57 -0600

In my newspaper column today, found online at http://www.post-trib.com/news/davich/index.html, I shared notes about a few couples I noticed in public - at a bar, in the grocery store, etc. - and how they treated each other when they figured no one was watching. I wrote this Cupid's Day column not to reveal public glimpses about the couples' slings and arrows, but to discover private glimpses about ours.

Does Amy Winehouse deserve all those Grammys?

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 21:55:43 -0600

Soul singer Natalie Cole, the 58-year-old daughter of legendary crooner Nat King Cole, echoed the feelings of many music fans Monday by saying drugged-out, screwed-up, singer-songstress Amy Winehouse shouldn't have hauled in so many Grammys at Sunday's ceremony.
"I don't think she should have won," Cole said in an interview on People magazine's website. "I think it sends a bad message to our young people who are trying to get into this business, the ones who are trying to do it right and really trying to keep themselves together."
Winehouse, for those out of the pop music loop, is currently receiving treatment at a rehabilitation clinic for drug abuse after breaking into the music scene with her first (prophetic) hit "Rehab."
On Sunday, she nabbed five - count 'em five - Grammy awards, including record of the year, song of the year and best new artist.
Cole, who helped announce Winehouse's record of the year victory at Sunday's ceremony in Los Angeles, later said, "We have to stop rewarding bad behavior. (Winehouse) needs to get herself together... this is about discipline and hard work, and you don't get to just do your drugs and go onstage and get rewarded."
So, do you agree with Cole?
I say, NO, NO, NO!

Day in the life of a cyberspace columnist

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 17:54:23 -0600

A lot of reader comments I receive via cyberspace never make it to print or into this blog.
They're either too inflammatory for public consumption, too lengthy for space considerations in the newspaper, or just too wacky, off-base, or irrelevant for either forum. So they get deleted, forwarded to editors for other reporters to consider, or saved for future columns.
Still, I wanted to give you a quick peek at what I'm talking about, including some reader feedback to previous columns and suggestions for future columns, so here you go. Enjoy.

Our job here? Ask a bunch of questions

Wed, 06 Feb 2008 22:09:11 -0600

It's 4 p.m. in the Post-Tribune newsroom as deadline approaches for daily stories.
For the past few hours, the past few days, the past few years, the past few decades, it's the same routine here and, I'm sure, at every other newspaper.
Reporters, columnists, editors, photographers and other editorial staff are all doing pretty much the same thing: Asking questions.
That's what I do for a living. That's what they do for a living. That's what we do for a living. We ask questions.
As if I needed it, I even have a little yellow button on my desk reminding me what I do for a buck. It says, "Ask a bunch of questions."
On this day, I'm on the phone asking a Griffith man, who's black, about his claims of discrimination from a Griffith businesswoman, who's white. And via email I'm asking a Hammond woman about her brother's murder that was never solved. So far on this day I've asked about 25 questions to various sources, readers, and colleagues.
I know, I've been counting.
Behind me, one reporter is on the phone asking questions about an interstate closure, and another is asking questions about an alleged arsonist who was arrested.
A photographer is asking local tire repair shops if potholes have made their business any busier. And an editor is asking another reporter about changes in his story.
Questions, questions, questions. Like I said, that's what we do.
You'd think we'd have some answers by now - and some of us do, about all kinds of things - but each new day we come back into this office, open up our email, pick up our phones, and begin asking new questions.
And we keep asking them until we run out of time, not answers, sort of like Sisyphus, the Greek mythological character who the gods condemned to ceaselessly roll a rock to the top of a mountain, only for it to roll back down from its own weight. Again and again and again. Rock after rock, question after question.
In my younger days, I had all the answers. Or so I thought.
These days, all I have are questions. Thank God I get paid to ask them.

I'll bet dollars to donuts this guy makes you smile

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 20:31:47 -0600

So I limp in to the Family Express gas station after playing Thursday night tennis at The Courts of Northwest Indiana in Valparaiso.
My weekly ritual after playing 90 minutes of sweaty, no-Gatorade tennis is to quench my thirst by - what else? - eating chocolate donuts. And Family Express typically gets fresh ones delivered each evening, so here I am.
But before I can make my laser-beam beeline to the donuts case, I'm interrupted by an employee behind the counter.
"Hi," the 20-something guy says cheerfully. "How ya doin'?"
I look around. Is he talking to me? Is he actually greeting me personally? Unlike, say, at Blockbuster Video, where employees cough up a vague and indirect “hi” after some Pavlovian doorbell goes off. No, this guy, who I immediately nicknamed “Mr. Friendly” in my head, greets other customers behind me in the same upbeat manner. "How ya' doin?" "Hello." "Welcome."
Amazing, I think to myself while choosing the absolutely largest possible chocolate donuts in the case.
In the meantime, Mr. Friendly chats it up with some guy with a pony tail. They seem like old friends. Until, that is, the guy wants to buy some smokes, I think, and Mr. Friendly asks for his I.D.
"I've gotta ask," he explains, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't want to get fired or anything."
So he asks, and the pony-tail guy shows his ID.
But then, just as I ponder splurging for three donuts instead of two, Mr. Friendly utters the sweetest words to my ears.

Region motorists exhaust disgust, dismay over emissions column

Sun, 03 Feb 2008 12:47:50 -0600

I expected it. I deserved it. I got it.
After my Sunday column ran on the BMV's decision to tighten a legal loophole allowing thousands of Lake and Porter county motorists to detour around strict emission mandates and the costly repairs often needed to comply to state law - initially sparked by my Jan. 7 column - I knew I would hear about it from angry readers. And I did.
The first phone call came in at 7 a.m. on Sunday.
"You're a moron, Jerry, for bringing this issue to the attention of readers, and to the state."
Others followed.
"Thanks a lot, Jerry," one man sarcastically hissed. "I'm a father of five who makes $35,000 a year, and I can't afford to buy a new vehicle if mine won't pass emissions. So thanks a lot."
Sunday's column, by the way,

And the winner for best nickname for VU's super fans...

Thu, 31 Jan 2008 19:21:30 -0600

Last week I wrote a column on Valparaiso University men's basketball "super fans," six super-charged students who show up for each home game dressed in unique outfits.
One game they dressed in bikinis for Hawaiian Night. Another game they dressed as ninjas. For the game before holiday break they dressed as Santas, even wrapping themselves in twinkling Christmas lights.
They’ve been called “The Six-Man Crew” by VU players, “The Crusader Disciples” by the VU radio announcer, and “Those Crazy Students Who Always Suit Up” by some fans.
Still, they have no permanent name, not yet anyway.
Suggestions welcome, I wrote in my column.
Well, I've received a few suggestions for their nickname from readers and I say the best one is...

Heath Ledger but not Fidel Castro?

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 22:11:38 -0600

OK, be honest,who had Heath Ledger in the Celebrity Death Pool?
Not me, not you, and surely not the obituary writers, I'll bet.
Oh sure there's an obit already penned for Britney Spears, the AP recently revealed. Not too surprising, even at age 26, huh? And surely there have been obits in the can for years on, say, George H. Bush, Keith Richards, and Dick Clark (He IS still alive, right?).
Yep, it's simply sound journalistic policy to be prepared for such notable deaths. (What, you think newspapers and media outlets scramble at the last minute to pull those off?)
But still, Heath Ledger? Geez, no one saw that one coming.
Personally, my money has been on...

Do you drink to enjoy, or drink to escape?

Sun, 27 Jan 2008 17:32:51 -0600

So there I was late Saturday night chatting it up with Eddie, his wife, Lisa, and her friend, Nancy, at the End Zone Bar & Grill in downtown Hobart. I just met them a few minutes earlier but it felt like we were old buds. They even offered to buy me a drink, but since I drink only Cokes it would have seemed insulting to them to accept their offer.
Anyway, I popped in to that bar around midnight with my wife and her wedding-party friends because they insisted the reception we just left had to continue, well, somewhere. It seems that someone who obviously drank too much and who had no right picking our next destination, picked the End Zone and I was the designated driver, so there I was chatting it up with... well, you know, Eddie, Lisa, and Nancy.
That's when some guy who obviously drank too much started yelling at some other guy who obviously drank too much, and several other serious-looking guys in white "SECURITY" shirts - who obviously didn't drink too much - busted in to control the situation. Eddie, who like I said just met me, was kind enough to guide me away from the ruckus for my own protection. Sporting my sportscoat, collared shirt, and dress shoes in a sports-themed bar known for its drinking more than its sports and attire, I must have looked like I needed protection, but that's OK.
Anyway, a few minutes later four Hobart cop cars pulled up outside the joint, siren lights screaming, and a stream of Hobart's finest busted in to also control the situation.

I don't blame crooked pols... I blame you

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 11:36:30 -0600

The old guy wore an oversized parka, heavy boots, thick gloves, earmuffs, and a scarf.
He kept staring my way as I ate dinner at my favorite Mexican food joint in Portage.
I knew he had something to say to me, besides chastising me for wearing only shorts and a sweatshirt in 20-degree weather. I get that all the time.
No, he had something more on his mind.
Finally, after both of us paid our bills, he came out with it in the parking lot.
"Hey," he barked, "why don't you write more about crooked politicians in this region? They're everywhere."
Ah yes, the "politics" question.
I've heard this question from plenty of readers the past decade or so. And, as I tell them, once in a while I have poked fun at region politics or local pols, like when I attended my first-ever political fundraiser for... well, somebody. Or when I take a quick jab in passing at a certain mayor or public official.
But, as I told the old guy in the parking lot, here's why I don't routinely write about region politics...

OK, everyone who's from Gary say 'aye'...

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 21:36:34 -0600

I was born in Gary.
I was raised in Gary.
And I left Gary - at age 18.
I hear similar tales of not-so-daring escape from so many readers when I write about my hometown. The only wording that changes is their age when they left: 12 years old, 23 years old, 46 years old. Even 68 years old, I've heard.
But one thing always remains constant with these readers...

Need a job? Look in, well, uh, Gary?

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 12:38:03 -0600

Exhibit evidence #412 that Forbes Magazine and none of its editors, writers, or employees have ever been to Gary was revealed Friday as the corporate media giant publicly announced that Northwest Indiana’s largest city was deemed 39 out of 100 U.S. metro areas for its annual list, “Best Cities for Jobs in 2008.”
So if you’re looking for a job this year in this region (and who isn’t these days, even if it’s for a little moonlighting money), Gary is your best bet, according to Forbes, an even better bet than Chicago, which ranked lower on the list.
OK, to be fair, Gary’s 39th ranking, up from previous years’ rankings, includes four NWI counties, not only the city of Gary.
But still, Gary Mayor Rudy “Hey, We’ve Got Jobs” Clay was quoted Friday welcoming unemployed region residents to his new Hey, We’ve Got Jobs Department, or something like that.
Question is...

God-related question nothing to sneeze at

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 21:26:37 -0600

The older lady stood about 15 feet away from me in the frozen food aisle at the grocery store.
As I reached to grab a frozen pizza from the shelf, the lady exploded with the loudest sneeze I ever heard.
Aaaaaahhhhh-ccchhhooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Sniffle sniffle, snot snot, wipe wipe.
It was like she had been saving up this super-duper sneeze of the century for months, just for that very moment.
Dumbfounded, I just looked at her. And she looked back at me. No one else was in that aisle.
I sheepishly turned to grab my pizza, but she continued to stare my way, waiting... for something.
Finally, a few seconds later, I realized what she was waiting for.
"Uh, God bless you," I mumbled, waiting to see if I said the right thing to curb her wrinkled stink eye.
"Thank you," she hissed curtly before turning away, like my belated "God bless you" somehow offended her.
Well, this isn't the first time such a situation has happened to me in our God Bless You Nation.
On the flip side, I once offered a reactionary "God bless you" to a guy who sneezed near me in an office and he acted like I was nuts, as if I was somehow too far away from his personal space or something.
Holy you-know-what, it seems that this agnostic is damned if I do and damned if I don't.
So, my promised God-related question that I've been wondering for years is this.

911 dispatcher: 'Don't do anything too rash...'

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 20:37:55 -0600

"He's at the back door... he's trying to get in... I'm in the bedroom... He's in the house... I got a weapon... Hurry please... I'm scared... I'm going to shoot... He's turning the door now... Stop it!... Just stop it!... Oh my God... Oh my God!"