tape we’d shot and my voice track back to the studio to be edited together. I was ready to go live.
Standing outside the house, I began to concentrate. I gave a mike check then refused the IFB earplug and told Zeke, “You cue me.” He set up a monitor at my feet so I could watch my package on television just as the people at home were seeing it.
Zeke cued me: “Three, two, and … Go!”
“I’m Georgia Barnett, live outside of the Stewart house on the South Side. Inside, the family is distraught and anxious as each member deals with the disappearance of a six-year-old girl named Kelly whom everyone here calls ‘Butter.’”
Back at the studio they hit the tape and I watched on the monitor. The piece opened with the home video of Butter.
“I have a dream today,” Butter said, smiling, her hands motioning out to the audience.
My voice track came in over the picture: “Butter stole the show at the Sunday school program last year.”
Then cut to a wide shot of the Stewart family watching the home video in their living room today.
“The Stewart family is crying, not because the speech itself is so emotional but because for the first time they are watching it without Butter. Butter, you see, is missing.”
A sound bite of Kelly popped up as she wiped away tears. “I don’t know where she is but all I want is Butter to be back home, where she b’long.”
Cut to video of the certificates on the wall. “Butter is a good student who has won these awards for academics and perfect attendance.”
Cut to a montage of photos of Butter at school and in the family’s backyard during a picnic.
“Family members say Butter is a smart little girl who would never cause trouble for anyone.”
A sound bite from Miss Mabel: “Butter is as sweet as can be. And she don’t bother nobody and shouldn’t no one wanna hurt her.”
Video of Butter playing outside by the fire hydrant.
“Friends and neighbors say they last saw Butter playing outside yesterday evening.”
The tape froze on a tight shot of Butter smiling and it flew up in the corner revealing a blue full-screen background with the heading, MISSING GIRL .
“Butter is four feet tall and weighs sixty pounds.”
The information rippled out in white type against the blue background.
“She is light complexioned with brown eyes and brown hair worn in tiny braids. Butter was last seen wearing a pink and white cotton dress.”
Cut to a sound bite of Trip in which I asked him, “Are you worried about Butter?”
“Yeah, Butter don’t know how ta look after herself on the street like me.”
Cut to a slow push shot into the chalk message on the sidewalk,
Butter Where Are U?
Trip’s voice comes up sound full under the picture: “Butter, we miss you. Come home.”
Dump tape. Come back to me live at the scene.
“Police have the description of Butter and squad cars in the area are on the lookout for her during their regular patrols. Meanwhile, the family here will wait, wonder, and hope that Butter will soon be back with them safe and sound. I’m Georgia Barnett, live at Fiftieth and South Hedge, back to you in the studio.”
That was the hardest live shot I’d ever done. After seeing all the pictures, talking to the family, and watching the home video of Butter, I was moved. Now I know her by heart.
S E V E N
T he shrill ring of the phone filled my apartment.
Can a sister get some Z’s?
I’ve only been in bed for a couple of hours! The phone rang again. That’s when I got scared and mad: scared because anytime the phone rings in the middle of the night it’s some serious drama—and mad because the caller was about to drag me dead into it.
“You want her?” the caller asked.
Because the voice was foreign to me, the immune system my body has developed against danger immediately detected trouble.
You want her?
The meaning of the words scrambled inside my head, which felt heavy on my shoulders. My mind and my body were like a
Standing outside the house, I began to concentrate. I gave a mike check then refused the IFB earplug and told Zeke, “You cue me.” He set up a monitor at my feet so I could watch my package on television just as the people at home were seeing it.
Zeke cued me: “Three, two, and … Go!”
“I’m Georgia Barnett, live outside of the Stewart house on the South Side. Inside, the family is distraught and anxious as each member deals with the disappearance of a six-year-old girl named Kelly whom everyone here calls ‘Butter.’”
Back at the studio they hit the tape and I watched on the monitor. The piece opened with the home video of Butter.
“I have a dream today,” Butter said, smiling, her hands motioning out to the audience.
My voice track came in over the picture: “Butter stole the show at the Sunday school program last year.”
Then cut to a wide shot of the Stewart family watching the home video in their living room today.
“The Stewart family is crying, not because the speech itself is so emotional but because for the first time they are watching it without Butter. Butter, you see, is missing.”
A sound bite of Kelly popped up as she wiped away tears. “I don’t know where she is but all I want is Butter to be back home, where she b’long.”
Cut to video of the certificates on the wall. “Butter is a good student who has won these awards for academics and perfect attendance.”
Cut to a montage of photos of Butter at school and in the family’s backyard during a picnic.
“Family members say Butter is a smart little girl who would never cause trouble for anyone.”
A sound bite from Miss Mabel: “Butter is as sweet as can be. And she don’t bother nobody and shouldn’t no one wanna hurt her.”
Video of Butter playing outside by the fire hydrant.
“Friends and neighbors say they last saw Butter playing outside yesterday evening.”
The tape froze on a tight shot of Butter smiling and it flew up in the corner revealing a blue full-screen background with the heading, MISSING GIRL .
“Butter is four feet tall and weighs sixty pounds.”
The information rippled out in white type against the blue background.
“She is light complexioned with brown eyes and brown hair worn in tiny braids. Butter was last seen wearing a pink and white cotton dress.”
Cut to a sound bite of Trip in which I asked him, “Are you worried about Butter?”
“Yeah, Butter don’t know how ta look after herself on the street like me.”
Cut to a slow push shot into the chalk message on the sidewalk,
Butter Where Are U?
Trip’s voice comes up sound full under the picture: “Butter, we miss you. Come home.”
Dump tape. Come back to me live at the scene.
“Police have the description of Butter and squad cars in the area are on the lookout for her during their regular patrols. Meanwhile, the family here will wait, wonder, and hope that Butter will soon be back with them safe and sound. I’m Georgia Barnett, live at Fiftieth and South Hedge, back to you in the studio.”
That was the hardest live shot I’d ever done. After seeing all the pictures, talking to the family, and watching the home video of Butter, I was moved. Now I know her by heart.
S E V E N
T he shrill ring of the phone filled my apartment.
Can a sister get some Z’s?
I’ve only been in bed for a couple of hours! The phone rang again. That’s when I got scared and mad: scared because anytime the phone rings in the middle of the night it’s some serious drama—and mad because the caller was about to drag me dead into it.
“You want her?” the caller asked.
Because the voice was foreign to me, the immune system my body has developed against danger immediately detected trouble.
You want her?
The meaning of the words scrambled inside my head, which felt heavy on my shoulders. My mind and my body were like a
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