Bless me, Father, for I have sinned journalistically

I'm flogging myself this morning, and I deserve it.

I have erred journalistically, and there's no way to take it back.

When I taught journalism at Sandpoint High School and advised the Cedar Post, a sign was tacked to the board above the light table.

DO IT RIGHT, the sign read.

I impressed that upon my students and expected no less from myself. I've worked long and hard throughout my life to DO IT RIGHT, especially as a writer. I'm proud to have succeeded most of the time.

I cannot think of enough words in the Thesaurus to list in expressing how deeply I HATE mistakes. And, the feeling of making them myself as a journalist ranks right up there with running over a dog. I've done both. I backed over my beloved Lab Ebony a few years ago. She died a few minutes later.

That may sound dramatic to use as a comparison, but when one works a lifetime to DO IT RIGHT and screws up royally, the resulting emotion is lower than low.

Here's the mistake.

I took a picture of the wrong house. It was supposedly the house where Gov. Sarah Palin and her family lived during her first three months in Sandpoint.

There are plenty of logical reasons and credible explanations why this mistake happened, but that is still no excuse.

Why?

The picture of the wrong house and the wrong street address appears in the winter edition of Sandpoint Magazine. For accuracy purposes, the address for the Heath's house on North Fourth should be 712, and the house next door to the one I photographed should be in the magazine picture.

Furthermore, Sandpoint Magazine, which is distributed and available around the area for six months, serves as a source for history. I screwed up on that history.

I did not know this until yesterday. I had no idea the magazine had already been distributed, and my editor did not know of this error until yesterday when a man called the office to inform the staff that the mistake was out there. He had heard about it at work, Arlo's Restaurant, to be exact, where he is a server.

I received an email yesterday afternoon from my editor telling me of the wrong street address, appearing in the story. That was bad enough, but when I learned upon going to the house later in the afternoon that it was not only the wrong street address but also the wrong house, the flogging began.

As I said, there are plausible reasons for this mistake, but they are too convoluted to explain. Plus, they do not undue the wrong.

Fortunately, the nice man who lives in the wrong house has an upbeat attitude about this situation.

"I'll have a story to tell every time I serve this jelly," he said to me with a big smile. I came armed with a magazine and with a jar of fresh apple jelly to soothe whatever frustrations he may have if people come knocking on his door, asking if Sarah had lived there. I am so indebted to him for his acceptance of the situation.

To err is human, they say. I've made my share of mistakes but very few journalistically. To me a journalistic mistake on anyone's part is like a mortal sin because the public deserves truth and accuracy. Reporters are the stewards of both, and they should take that responsibility seriously with every word, every phrase and every sentence, and, yes, every photograph appearing in their work.

I'll move on after this blunder, but it will haunt me and drive me to work overtime from this day forth seeing that mistakes do not happen in my work. I guess that is the only silver lining in this story. We learn by our mistakes, and I have learned one more time never to assume anything, even when it appears to be correct.

DO IT RIGHT. As my penance, I vow to work even more diligently than ever before in following that journalistic commandment.