I didn't know her well.
When I first met her, she was a college intern in the Ogden, Utah, newsroom where I worked as a feature writer. I thought she was as green as a Granny Smith. I also thought she dressed too suggestively. It probably was not my imagination. Her tight sweaters and her short skirts caught eyes and turned heads from the city desk to the sports department. More than once I wanted to tell the tech on the photo desk to pick his tongue up off the floor and wipe away the drool.
She was young, barely out of her teens, and easy on the eyes. That was my conclusion way back when. I didn't give her enough credit.
In the last seven years, she went from intern to full-timer to being the copy desk editor in charge of the front page, referred to by managing editor Andy Howell as "a very good grammarian, the go-to person to resolve all punctuation and grammar issues...really witty (with) a great sense of humor."
In the past seven years, she grew up and became a newsroom veteran. She also got married and, just three months ago, had a baby boy. She recently returned to work from maternity leave.
Then last Thursday, on her way to work the night shift, her 1998 Volvo station wagon was struck by a semi-trailer. She was killed.
It hurt my heart to be reading those nice quotes from Andy, because they were taken from a wire story about his assistant news editor's death in a brutal crash. The story was probably written by Andy's police beat reporter.
I can only imagine what her newsroom family must be going through. When I was there, we were a family. A rather dysfunctional one, but aren't they all, really? Reporters cover accidents all the time -- gather the facts, write it up and move on. What if it's one of your own? It's a gut-wrenching reminder that they're not just names in stories. They're people. They could be the people sitting next to you on a bus or in the cubicle next to yours at work or in a chair next to you at the breakfast table.
Her name was Kari Lynn Harland Higley. She was 28. And she will be missed. By a son, a husband, relatives, friends, co-workers and some who barely knew her.
When I first met her, she was a college intern in the Ogden, Utah, newsroom where I worked as a feature writer. I thought she was as green as a Granny Smith. I also thought she dressed too suggestively. It probably was not my imagination. Her tight sweaters and her short skirts caught eyes and turned heads from the city desk to the sports department. More than once I wanted to tell the tech on the photo desk to pick his tongue up off the floor and wipe away the drool.
She was young, barely out of her teens, and easy on the eyes. That was my conclusion way back when. I didn't give her enough credit.
In the last seven years, she went from intern to full-timer to being the copy desk editor in charge of the front page, referred to by managing editor Andy Howell as "a very good grammarian, the go-to person to resolve all punctuation and grammar issues...really witty (with) a great sense of humor."
In the past seven years, she grew up and became a newsroom veteran. She also got married and, just three months ago, had a baby boy. She recently returned to work from maternity leave.
Then last Thursday, on her way to work the night shift, her 1998 Volvo station wagon was struck by a semi-trailer. She was killed.
It hurt my heart to be reading those nice quotes from Andy, because they were taken from a wire story about his assistant news editor's death in a brutal crash. The story was probably written by Andy's police beat reporter.
I can only imagine what her newsroom family must be going through. When I was there, we were a family. A rather dysfunctional one, but aren't they all, really? Reporters cover accidents all the time -- gather the facts, write it up and move on. What if it's one of your own? It's a gut-wrenching reminder that they're not just names in stories. They're people. They could be the people sitting next to you on a bus or in the cubicle next to yours at work or in a chair next to you at the breakfast table.
Her name was Kari Lynn Harland Higley. She was 28. And she will be missed. By a son, a husband, relatives, friends, co-workers and some who barely knew her.
Comments
That's so sad. :(