Edward R. Murrow

That's Ed. He's got a cigarette in most photos. And suspenders. And furrowed facial expressions. If you have to explain "He's a famous journalist", he's probably not that famous. But he's the pre-Cronkite journalism gold standard, a relic from the days when one angle was good enough for America.

A documentary I produced won an Edward R. Murrow award. First it won the "West Coast Regional", then it won the National Award for small-market news documentary.

This is a good thing, to be sure. I think. My point is that it's also awkward. When it aired, it was well-received, but most people missed it.

So, the winners were posted. My boss ran up the stairs to announce the good news. Black-tie awards ceremony in NY in the fall.

It was in the papers. An aunt called from a plane when she found out. Various local newspeople emailed. A neighbor hollered "Nice work!" from the driveway. It's in the trades, and the industry people send nice notes; many bear a surprised undertone. Sara's boss made some sort of congratulatory statement in a staff meeting. Compared it to a Pulitzer, I hear. Let's not go that far.

In fact, let's take it down a notch. Because, when I found out it won the nationwide prize: "Really? Humhm. Cool."

I think that most people have almost no clue what the award means. I am among them.
So, in the end, it's a nice little bonus. Here are the lessons:

1. Now I get it when people say "It's about the story, not us."
2. Now I understand that there are a lot of awards for all sorts of things.
3. Now I have proof that over-editing isn't a total inefficiency.
3. Smoking cigarettes gets an award named after you.