I had the awesome opportunity to go to a conference for journos last weekend which discussed how to report on traumatic events.
The editor of the Oklahoma paper that covered the Ok. City bombings gave a great talk (he now lectures for the Dart Center) and the woman who was the superintendent during the Columbine High School shootings also spoke.
But the key topic at hand was the Amish shootings that took place in PA a couple of months ago. Two couples from the Nickle Mines Amish Community were there as representatives and messengers.Two of them were the grandparents of Naomi Rose, one of the victims.
Anyhow, they gave the media people at the conference a critique of how they thought the tragedy was handled. For the most part, they were gracious, but they did say, "the saturation of the community by the press was an excessive, disturbing display of crass capitalism."
Particularly in the covering of the funerals.

Their Stories:
Now that the spot news folks have moved on, they said people are knocking on their doors looking for book deals.
"Now, they are weary," said Naomi, her granddaughter's name-sake. "They (the parents) don't want interviews with people who want to write articles or books. It is time to move on. Now is the time to let the families alone," she said in an accent that sounded like a homemade quilt.
As you can imagine, most of the discussion was heartbreaking, but I was surprised at the humor they delivered as well.
They told a story of a journalist who was dead set on going into one of the funerals. "She wore a pink dress," Naomi said with a smirk, and they all laughed under their wiry beards and soft bonnets.
One of the Amish men there, Levi, said he was running his horse and buggy at about 15 mph and one of the photographers, in an attempt to get a smashing shot, got in his way. "I thought to myself, 'they don't want to move, then pieces are gonna fly.'"
He chuckled at himself so much after that line!

My Observations:
I've always said that my "super power" of choice would be to take a picture in my mind, the then pull the print out of my ear.
On Saturday, this power would've have won me a Pulitzer.
The caterer for the event was pretty fancy. The desserts were more sculptures than treats.
Naomi chose the most incredible dessert - a frozen peach, filled with chocolate and cream, served in a nest of ice cream and topped with additionally decorative cream and chocolate. We're talking Willie Wonka style here people.
Nosey as I am, I watched her choose the dessert. Her eyes lit up in a strange, almost lustful way, and she quickly grabbed the crystal plate away from the modest looking apple pie slices.
She sat at her table and with a look of complete astonishment, dove into the frozen delight. For about two minutes she descended on this thing, licking the chocolate off of her fingers, paying no mind to the dollop of whipped cream on her upper lip, taking nibbles off of the frozen peach - totally in a trance.
And then, at about the third minute of the experience... she stopped. As if a veil had been pulled across her face, she regained her composure and pushed the dessert away.
She dabbed her mouth with the napkin, smoothed her skirt and exhaled fully.
In the end, she probably took three or four bites, but it seemed to me they might have been the most charged bites of her life.
I'll think about her appreciation for the experience next time I have a decadent dessert. I'll also think of her whenever I need to compose myself and assert some more grace.