I was asked this question often 10 years ago. Preparations for 225’s debut issue had begun in earnest just a few months before Katrina struck, and the ravages of that storm seemed to make just about everything in life a little less certain.
Our office was downtown then, and just up the street were masses of former New Orleanians camped out at the River Center, eating MREs. As Baton Rouge’s population ballooned overnight, there were gas lines, food lines, evacuees and volunteers in the streets. John Travolta wasn’t far from our office giving free massages [or “assists” as those in his Scientology tent called them].
Strange days, indeed.
The answer of course, was “Yes.” We did still do “that magazine.” And for this I’m certainly thankful.
Serving as a writer and then editor of the publication turned into such a rewarding endeavor for me, filled with exhilarating memories and life-altering stories.
I watched the hearts of elementary children soar like their arms raising to the sky as they called out for new shoes and snack money from rapper Silky Slim, as if he were Santa; shook the soil on the hands of farmer Dwayne Viator who vowed to continue his fathers’ legacy despite the rise of massive agribusiness; sat with young mother Venessa Lewis whose face flooded with tears at the thought of waiting for her beloved’s return from Baghdad; laughed till my sides hurt with best-selling author and humorist David Sedaris; been moved mightily by the death row inmates serving in the hospice at Angola; worked nose-to-nose with late Arts Council CEO Derek Gordon to trumpet the work of Baton Rouge’s top music talents; followed as Casey Phillips confidently dashed through his epic vision for the Walls Project long before brushes hit the first brick; listened as Skip Bertman described how to build an absolute empire; geeked out over movies with Oscar-winning director Steven Soderbergh; held hands with cancer patients, hugged the homeless, saw painters paint and makers make and heard our singers howl; These are echoes deep in the chest.
Along the way we were able to document the rise of the movie industry in Baton Rouge, the surge in farm-to-table cooking and craft cocktails and the renovation and revitalization of downtown.
Many challenges are ahead, but I’ve seen competition become collaboration and walls knocked down to make way for bridges.
And I’ve had the privilege of introducing readers to so much talent—people like Anthony Ryan Auld, Scott Campbell, Sam and Cody Carroll, Lauren Collignon, Clark Derbes, Kristin Diable, Madeline Ellis, Zack Godshall, John Gray, Jared Loftus, Demond Matsuo, Samuel Muyaka, Micah Nickens, John Norris, Raina Wirta, and on and on.
Investing time in and being inspired by Baton Rouge’s most creative, innovative and hard-working people, and being so intensely involved with this culture, its conversations and its growth for the past decade felt like an electric jolt, like being plugged straight into the city’s amplifier. It still does.
No doubt about it, the dial on that amp keeps turning up.
Of course, during my stretch as editor I also learned that you could spend so much of your time putting out fires. The rewards came on the days when you’d look up and suddenly realize you’ve successfully hidden the gasoline and the matches.
But I am humbled to have experienced that, too, in extreme close-up.
Because I learned early on that you can’t do this job from a distance, or over the phone, or in a conference room.
You have to move your feet and get your hands dirty.
You have look people in the eye, meet them where they are—physically and emotionally—or else you’ll never really know what they know, and you won’t feel what they feel. And then their stories—our stories—sadly, will not sound out for others to hear and to feel, too.
And they must—if struggles are to ease, if solutions are to rise, if people are to connect and thrive, and if they’ll be moved to embrace what 225 first called our culture coverage a decade ago: joi de vivre.
Maybe I’m not talking about being a journalist anymore. Maybe I’m talking about being a neighbor.
That’s something everyone should do.
And we can.
Because the hope of journalism is the same as the hope of Man: Our voices matter.
“That the powerful play goes on,” wrote Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass, “and you may contribute a verse.”
Jeff Roedel started as a staff writer at 225 during its 2005 launch and was editor from December 2011 to October 2014.
Jeff’s favorites from the archive
Favorite cover: People to Watch 2013 (January 2013 issue)
This was the debut of our new cover design and the first time people saw the original 225 bracket logo separated from the color field behind it and placed directly on the cover image. I loved that design change we came up with, as well as the others that gave our covers a less cluttered look. Senior designer Carolyn Blakley’s color and text choices for this cover were the perfect and tasteful fit for the reveal of the new look. And the photo shoot at Theatre Baton Rouge with actress Jackie Dixon Tuttle was a lot of fun with photographer Collin Richie capturing the mystery and potential of “People to Watch”—overall my favorite issue each year—with minimal lighting on the stage. Fun fact: Tuttle also appeared on the “Movies Issue” cover in April 2014 sitting among the crowd in the theater photo—so, to date, she’s the only person to be featured twice on the cover of 225.
Favorite cover story: The Ideas Issue (May 2012)
The process of documenting the creative concepts and bold ambitions for the city drummed up by a talented group of locals in the round, as well as producing the finished product—a tangible product for readers to pore over, digest and dream on—with contributor Maggie Heyn Richardson were a complete joy all the way through. 225 often celebrates what’s going on at the moment, but I also liked when we took the time to be more forward-thinking. Where is this city headed? How will it get there? Who will lead the way? The Ideas Issue was just a concentrated form of this that has always been one of the threads running through the publication. And it’s incredible now to see the new developments in the works for the LSU and City Park lakes—one of our city’s greatest resources—some of which are very similar to the ideas presented in this very issue.
Favorite ‘Cayenne Report’: Tiger Pride 2013
Although 225’s first editor Tom Guarisco was the satire master of the Cayenne Report in its heyday, we brought this feature back for a “Campus Edition” when we launched the Tiger Pride publication celebrating LSU Football. Our tongue-in-cheek piece proclaiming that tickets for seating atop the construction cranes that were ever present outside the stadium at that time were now on sale—complete with an LSU hard hat and safety harness and assistance from Boy Scouts when making the ascent to your perch—struck a chord. Then-TAF president Maj. Gen. R.G. Richard called Publisher Rolfe McCollister to tell him that his office had received several calls asking about these so-called “crane seats.” Tiger fandom is serious business, and I love it, but sometimes a good laugh at our football fervor is in order.
Favorite photo shoot: Purple and gold Confederate flag (August 2006)
I felt strange even placing the online order for the flag, so lighting it on fire was a real kick. This was for my interview with Collins Phillips, the LSU student leading protests against the use of this controversial flag, which was pretty prevalent on game days back then. Eventually, LSU Chancellor Sean O’Keefe joined the fray and denounced the flag’s use without issuing an outright ban, but the heat around this issue was as hot as that flag got that day. We didn’t have many takes to get it right, and photographer Aaron Hogan wanted the flames as close to Phillips’ face as possible, but it turned out well. Nine years later, the Confederate flag is still making news, and this was just one example of a great team effort, and, civically, a very timely and important issue for 225 to take on.
My first cover story for 225, and the FBI called meabout it. Some of the people I interviewed and researched for this feature, co-written with investigative reporter Chuck Hustmyre, went to prison for misusing the state’s innovative movie tax credits program. Thankfully the local movie industry continued to grow after a few bad apples had threatened to spoil the whole bunch, thanks in no small part to the hard work and diligence of people like Sherri McConnell, Chris Stelly, Patrick Mulhearn and Amy Mitchell-Smith, among others.
