Last week, as I was driving through the winding and wooded roads of western Massachusetts, I thought about how the homicide rate in Rapid City has been down this year. Then yesterday, the Rapid City Police Department said a local resident who was shot over the weekend had died.
After having worked here as a reporter for two-and-a-half years, I’ve realized that Rapid City never seems to run out of news stories. It was a great place to start my journalism career in the United States.
I thought the rifle shots were fireworks, even as I wondered what could be the occasion for festivity that evening of March 28. It turned out, a shooting had just occurred a few blocks from my apartment.
A month ago, I had trouble sleeping after covering a murder sentencing. A video of the stabbing was played in court before relatives of both the victim and the attacker took the stand.
Being a cops and courts reporter involves a lot of chasing people for interviews, and often getting “No comment" or "Sorry, I can't give out details." Weather forecasters, on the other hand, have not refused me so far.
An old quotation on being love, which I first read in college, popped in my head while I was covering an attempted murder trial the week before Christmas.
Mass shootings have always seemed removed from me. But an event I covered has made them seem much closer.
Last month marked my second year of living in the U.S., where I never expected to be covering the criminal justice system that was a mystery to me.
One of the most famous murder cases in South Dakota is the shooting of “Wild Bill” Hickok, considered one of the greatest gunfighters of the Wild West.
The unexpectedness of how a reporter's day goes is the nature of the crime beat. It was among the first things I learned on my first journalism job, and holds true 17 years later.