My Most Memorable Story: Lessons Learned from a Career in Journalism

Most people think journalism is about chasing down breaking news. Running toward sirens. Covering storms, scandals, and speeches.

But sometimes, the most meaningful stories are the quietest.

Let me tell you about two of them. Neither made national news. But both made a lasting impression on me—and my readers.

The Story of Miss Evelyn

Years ago, I got a call about a retired teacher who had passed away. No press release. No family requesting coverage. Just a few former students who remembered her fondly.

Her name was Miss Evelyn. She taught in the same classroom for over 40 years.

When I visited her town, the sense of loss was everywhere. Former students stopped by with baked goods and scrapbooks. One woman told me Miss Evelyn bought her a winter coat when she didn’t have one. Another remembered how she stayed late every day to help him with reading.

I interviewed several of them. Wrote a short piece. A tribute, really.

And to this day, it’s one of the most-read stories I’ve written. Not because it was flashy. But because people connected with it. They remembered their Miss Evelyn. And they wrote to tell me so.

The Salt & Pepper Collector

Another story that stands out came from a Facebook post. I was looking for people who collected unusual things. Sherrell White, who runs the Smith County Help Center, told me about her neighbor—Siegelinde Wahler-Johnson.

I’m so glad she did.

Siege, as she likes to be called, was born in Germany and moved to the U.S. after marrying an American soldier she met while working in a department store. That alone is a beautiful love story. But it gets better.

Her salt and pepper shaker collection is massive. Over a hundred sets, gathered from Germany, garage sales, and gifts from friends and family. But what makes the story special isn’t the number. It’s the memories attached to each set.

One looks like grapes. Another like sheet music. One funny pair shows a young couple on one side—and the same couple old on the other.

But beyond the humor and charm, the collection tells a story of family, of moving across the ocean, of making a new life. When Siege looks at her shakers, she remembers who gave them to her. Each one is a tiny time capsule.

Here’s what both stories taught me:

People crave connection. They want stories that remind them of who they are. Where they come from. What they’ve overcome.

Big headlines get attention. But small, heartfelt stories leave a mark.

Journalism doesn’t always need to shout. Sometimes, it just needs to sit down at someone’s kitchen table and listen.

When I was starting out, I thought the best stories would come from city hall or the courthouse. And yes, some of them did.

But now, I look for stories in different places.

I look in old scrapbooks.

In someone’s dusty shelf filled with forgotten souvenirs.

In the voice of a neighbor remembering a beloved teacher.

In a salt and pepper shaker shaped like a music note.

If you’re a young journalist, here’s my advice:

Don’t overlook the quiet stories. They might not lead the 6 o’clock news, but they’ll stay in people’s hearts.

Ask simple questions. And really listen to the answers.

Respect the person in front of you. Whether they’re a mayor or a grandmother in Brush Creek.

And never underestimate the power of nostalgia. It’s the thread that ties generations together.

I’ve covered hard stories. Fires. Trials. Tornadoes. And they matter.

But the stories I remember—the ones readers call me about years later—are the ones filled with warmth, resilience, and love.

Miss Evelyn and Siege Wahler-Johnson reminded me why I became a journalist in the first place.

To tell real stories. About real people.

Not just the news. But the heart behind it.

And sometimes, that heart looks like a little ceramic shaker… shaped like a grape.

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