On Monday, Oct. 12 I was due to accept the Mark Hellinger Award, awarded to the St. Bonaventure University Jandoli School of Communication’s “most promising graduate,” at the National Press Club in Washington, D.C. Due to the outbreak of COVID-19, its location had been moved to my hometown of Jamestown, New York and to The Robert H. Jackson Center, where I spent two summers as an intern. However, an uptick in cases in Cattaraugus County led to its cancelation late last week. The following are remarks I had prepared for the event.
I’d like to first begin by expressing my gratitude to Aaron Chimbel, Kathy Boser and the faculty of the Jandoli School of Communication. Upon finding out that they had chosen me for this honor, my first instinct was to literally thank all of them, which I did. Once again, I am honored by their decision to choose me for this prestigious award.
Receiving this award in its rescheduled location would have been humbling. From that same podium, I’ve heard authors, Civil Rights heroes, Holocaust survivors, and leaders from all across this globe tell their stories. I’ve sat on panels in that room, I’ve moderated panels in that room and I watched one of the most powerful men in sports shed a tear in that room — because of a documentary I produced on his father that was shown in that room.
Without Jamestown’s living monument to Justice Robert H. Jackson — the gold standard for the written word on the nation’s high court born and bred in this community — I probably wouldn’t have even considered a career in journalism. I’m so sorry I could not share with the Jackson Center staff in this achievement.
There are so many people to thank and I regret that I will not be able to thank them all within the confines of these remarks. But first and foremost, this honor does not happen without a support system of people who have helped to make me, me.
A mother and father, Joy and John, who have anchored our family, sacrificing greatly so that I could follow my dreams; My brothers John and Ryan, and their spouses, Natalie and Jenny, that have cheered me on and supported every endeavor of mine; My grandmother, Rosemary, my most frequent reader and ardent supporter.
Legions of teachers and mentors, like Scott Kindberg, who responded encouragingly to an email asking about an opportunity to intern with him, even though the newspaper didn’t have an internship program and even though I was barely 15 years old.
And lifelong friends — more like family — like Matt DeAngelo and Doug Berlin, who have never wavered in helping me stay focused and strive toward being the best version of myself.
They — in addition to so many others — helped me build a foundation that eventually led me to the foot of the Enchanted Mountains, where I have only been a proud heir to a journalism legacy set by esteemed alumni, many of whom have become friends, and several of whom I am honored to succeed in receiving this award.
My love affair with this program and this university is a story that nearly never happened.
It was five years ago Monday that my parents and I were completing what we thought would be the last of my college visits.
It was the second tour of my dream university. This was the clincher. Being on that one campus had been my aspiration since the seventh grade.
But two months later, that all came to a screeching halt. I was rejected.
And so it was back to the drawing board.
And thanks to a few good friends, encouragement from more than a handful of local Bonaventure alumni, a trip to the Reilly Center with Scott, and a sign from a guardian angel above, by the middle of January I was sitting in Dr. Denny Wilkins’ office even though I had little clue about the spirit of this program.
My friend Mike Vaccaro — a past Hellinger recipient and one of the first people to reach out to me to congratulate me on choosing St. Bonaventure University — told me that Dr. Russell Jandoli would leave recipients of this award with these words:
“To whom much is given, much is expected.”
But that day, sitting on the second floor of the Murphy Professional Building, Dr. Wilkins phrased that same premise to me as only he can:
“I know what we can offer you, what can you offer us?”
Denny was right to be confident in what the Jandoli School of Communication could offer me — experienced, passionate professionals equipped with decades of experience to educate my peers and me. Only upon immersing myself did I realize that there was so much more.
For, it was from Carole McNall that I learned that the First Amendment is only the beginning of a journalist’s right to pursue the truth.
When I felt my writing had gone stale, it was Chris Mackowski who made me fall back in love with it by noticing one thing every single day.
Rich and Anne Lee taught me how to navigate a working newsroom by pushing us to go the extra step, make that extra phone call and work on the edge of our comfort zones.
Being mindful in everything I do was something that came from Anna Bulszewicz. And from Paul Wieland, I learned not to take myself so seriously.
Adjuncts like Chuck Pollock and Craig Melvin brought color into my work, one through the artistry of words, the other through the artistry of our world.
And forward-thinking administrators like Dean Chimbel and Dr. DePerro encouraged us to dream big and move forward.
And from Dr. Denny, well, I learned just how powerful words can be and what life was like living with one each semester — CHOICES, FAILURE and CLARITY were only a few of them.
And that was only inside of the classroom. Meanwhile, outside — Tom Missel, Scott Eddy, Steves Mest and Campbell, Dylan Nuzzo, Ryan McDonough, J.P. Butler, Jean Ehman, and Alice Miller Nation each played a significant role in letting me put my studies to work— whether it be at a soup kitchen, tutoring table or courtside at the NCAA Tournament.
Looking back to that snowy day in January, I can’t say I remember how I answered Denny.
I can only hope that I was able to offer this program — that produces not just high-level performers with bona fide principles and practices but also communicators of high moral fiber — the dedication, innovation and passion it gave me in return.
But, while I stand here humbled by the decision my professors and trusted mentors made regarding this honor, I recognize the unique times in which we live and my heart still breaks for my friends who were robbed of all the ‘lasts’ that comes with a final semester. They are with me in my heart today.
Whatever I have been able to do is a result of being pushed by them — that crew of communication majors, among them my friend Layne Dowdall who I had been so thrilled to share this moment with, who were bonded together by the walls of Robinson Hall’s first floor and solidified by our mutual coursework. As iron sharpens iron, we sharpened each other.
The road that lies ahead is uncertain. This coated nucleic molecule has ravaged our daily life and taken hundreds of thousands of others. And, to boot, one of the most, pardon the cliche, important elections in our history lies ahead in just a few weeks.
But colleagues, please know this: this J-school Class of 2020 made up of different races, tongues and creeds that matriculated amid the front end of this divisive election cycle, sought internships from media organizations under siege and graduated — in-person ceremony or not — amid this global pandemic, have just the kind of backbone needed for the workforce we are all entering.
We are not “fake” or “crooked.” Instead, we are capable — capable of what this ever-changing, ever-evolving world will throw at us.
And, much like the truth on which we aim to report, we will persevere and we will prevail.
“To whom much is given, much is expected,” indeed.
Cameron Hurst 