Isaac’s Journey

Isaac’s Journey

BY: Emily Siner

(Originally published in The News-Gazette, January 13, 2013)

Author’s Note:

When I first started talking to Rabbi Neuman, I noticed his way of speaking: philosophical, well thought-out, and at times very grand. I could tell he was used to giving sermons. I didn’t use a recorder – I had decided I didn’t want to use many direct quotes – but I would write down certain words or phrases he used that really resonated with me. Then, when writing the story, I incorporated his own words into my writing, even if I didn’t put direct quotes around it. That way, it was his voice telling the story, as if he was sitting down with the reader just as he sat down with me.

-Emily Siner

Some things he wants to remember; some things he tries to forget.

Isaac Neuman remembers a pretty woman who prepared the meals for the supervisors at St. Martin’s cemetery, an early Nazi camp in Poland. She took a liking to Isaac. “Stomarek,” she called him, a reference to the “one hundred marks” he had tried to hide from his captors. When they found the money, he had received a vicious beating. “Hey, Stomarek, come here,” she said and handed the 18-year-old leftovers from the supervisors’ meal. She would do this for him over the next year and a half. When he talks about her today, his eyes light up and his face breaks into a smile.

He laughs when he recalls a man named Joel Zolna, who sat next to him on a train to one of the last camps where he was imprisoned. The train slowed down as it curved around a mountain. Isaac was too weak to jump and run, and Joel couldn’t flee with his identification numbers painted on his coat. Isaac’s coat had the numbers sewn on, so he ripped them off and switched coats with Joel, who jumped off the slowing train and escaped. After the war, Joel would take Isaac out to nightclubs and concerts.

These are things Isaac, who is 90 now, wants to remember. He wants to remember every person who did something to lessen his pain.

“Sparks of holiness,” he calls them.

They lit the world in its darkest days.

Continue reading

Genetic disorder means daily battle with calculated risks

Genetic disorder means daily battle with calculated risks

By: Megan Graham

(Originally published in The News-Gazette, August 1, 2012)

Author’s Note:

I tried not to make this a story of “disabled young man lives every day to the fullest even though he may die soon.” Because the story is not about how he looks to a tragic future. The story is about how he looks to the present moment, how he wills himself to wake up in the morning when has no idea how many moments will be left. The story is about a loneliness that he can’t fill because people are afraid of making him sick and maybe afraid of getting close to him. Mostly, it’s about permanently living in that space between childhood and adulthood—a space he may never truly be out of. Going forward, I know I have a lot more to learn. I need to ask the questions I want the answers to, not the answers that a subject gives me. I’m glad Chike and I had the opportunity to spend so much time together, even though I think his story was exhausting for both of us. It was hard for him to tell, and it was hard for me to hear. But it was worth it for me. I hope it was equally worth it for him.

– Megan Graham

In his old room in his parents’ home, a pretty house in the Cherry Hills subdivision of Champaign, Chike Coleman is poking through his shelves. He wants to find a Blu-ray disc, one of the beloved movies he bought in a half-off online sale from a site that sells independent films.

He moves aside tens of his prized jazz CDs, the Soapbox Derby trophies and the Hardy Boys books. The shelves are filled with 25 years of memories: books he has loved, model cars done in candy-colored lacquer, his University of Illinois diploma.

His high school and college friends — most 25-year-olds, for that matter — no longer live in the dust of their boyhood belongings. But after his fleeting years of collegiate freedom, Chike moved right back into this room, with its boxes of waterproof dressing and nonstick pads and bandages, bottles of hydrogen peroxide, soap-free cleanser and Clindamycin gel.

“It’s just kind of waiting,” he says. “Just like everybody else. Except your wait feels a lot shorter than everybody else’s.”

Chike glances at a photograph of him leaning back casually in his wheelchair, royal blue graduation gown draping his chest as he smiles broadly. He looks normal. He looks healthy.

Yet these are two things Chike will never be.

Continue reading

The longings of … a beautiful boy

The longings of … a beautiful boy

By: Christian Gollayan

(Originally published in The News-Gazette, June 10, 2012)

Author’s Note:

I learned that intimate journalism could be more than just reporting the facts or gathering sensory details. When I was able to sift through my subject’s facade and get to the heart of who he is – his goals, longings and fears – and put that down on the page, I think that’s a part of intimate journalism, too.

– Christian Gollayan

He’s 6 feet tall barefoot, 6-feet-5 in his Jeffrey Campbell heels. He loves Lady Gaga and Andy Warhol and beautiful women who don’t care about what other people think.

He loves vodka. He takes it straight up, pursing his lips, keeping a composed face. It makes him feel as if he’s made of plastic; it’s reassuring. If he can keep a strong face after a shot, he can keep a strong face after anything.

Continue reading

The personal touch

The personal touch – Always there for his patrons, driver has earned loyal regular following

By: Melanie Zanona

(Originally published in The News-Gazette, May 23, 2010)


Author’s Note:

When I sat down to write this article, I remember being surprised by how different the story was from what I expected it to be. Once I got over my own notions of what the story “should be” and let the details guide me, the story quickly began to unfold before my eyes. In the end, I realized it’s not always about writing the story- it’s about finding the story. And that’s a lesson I use in my writing every day.

My story was a semi-finalist in the Hearst Award’s creative feature writing category.

– Melanie Zanona


The shamrock-embroidered button on Steve Robinette’s taxi van dashboard reads “Kiss Me, I’m the Designated Driver.” It’s from Unofficial St. Patrick’s day last year, when a group of his regular customers asked him to pull over and grab one from a vendor on the street. Small, plastic handcuff keys are dangling overhead on the mirror, from when Robinette picked up some girls at a Halloween party this October. Just below that, slung around his cup holder, is a faded glow-in-the-dark necklace that a customer gave him from a “hippy concert” at the Canopy Club last month. For Robinette, a Yellow Cab taxi driver, his van’s dashboard is just as colorful as his character.

“I try to form regulars and really get to know them,” Robinette says of his cab clientele. “My role is more like driving nieces and nephews around.”

The night starts out like most other nights. A group of sorority girls, their stiletto heels clicking on the pavement, scurries out of Mas Amigos restaurant and piles into Robinette’s elongated taxi van.

A ringing chorus of “Steve!” echoes through the cab as they scrunch up next to one another and get situated.

“Take us to Kams!” one of the girls shouts.

Continue reading

The Long Road

The Long Road

By: Karen Mellen

(Originally published in The Chicago Tribune, April 27, 1997)

Author’s Note:

The most important learning [experience] was that of getting organized to complete a big feature story. This was the first time that I had completed such a long feature story, which has a different narrative arc than a news story or an in-depth piece focused on straight news. There were two challenges: to come up with a an organizing structure for the story and organize my notes during the interview process.

In this case, in working with Prof. Harrington, I was able to come up with a process to complete the necessary interviews and research for the piece, while also determining the organizing structure for the story. In the end, I determined that a traditional chronological structure made the most sense to tell the story of how Kelly lives, and put her experience into context.

– Karen Mellen

Kelly O’Brien awakens at 7:15 in the morning, lying on her back in the same position in which she fell asleep eight hours before.

Her 5-foot-10-inch frame is stretched out, fingers pointing toward the foot of her bed, her head propped up on two firm pillows. In her field of vision is the ceiling, painted white, a glowing digital clock to her right, a Michael Jordan poster on the wall by her feet.

If she lifts her head just two inches, straining her neck and shoulder muscles, she will touch a plastic buzzer she can grasp with her lips and blow into to signal for help. She doesn’t need to do this on this morning because Jinny Cho, her PA (personal assistant), arrives on time at 7:30.

O’Brien, paralyzed from the neck down in an alcohol-related car accident 5 1/2 years ago, can begin her day.

Continue reading

Heart & Coal

Heart & Coal

By: John Lock

(Originally published in The News-Gazette, March 20, 2011)

Author’s Note:

Anything can be a character. Coal isn’t just a dog, man’s best friend. To her, he’s closer than a best friend. Your best friend isn’t always there, always helping, always listening. She shelters him from the verbal abuse he sometimes gets, just because someone doesn’t think a dog belongs in a Subway. He shelters her on dark night trips across campus. That kind of bond isn’t easy to get across on paper.

– John Lock

“Watch this,” Bridget Evans says. “Sit. Stay.”

Bridget wheels away around the corner, down the aisle at the Halloween store. Bridget is smiling; she knows what her dog Coal is thinking.

Where is she going? What if she needs me? Coal’s eyes are smiling as they follow her.

When the 21-year-old University of Illinois student disappears around the corner, he stares intently at the spot. After a couple seconds, his tongue hides in his mouth and he looks quizzically at the empty space.

Maybe I should go find her. But she said to stay. But what if she needs me? His eyes, mouth and head droop together below his shoulders, and he starts to whimper, softly at first, then progressively louder.

Continue reading