Hurray for Farris Hassan! I think it’s marvelous that this young man was so zealous about nabbing a story that he made his way to Iraq. Yeah, it was dumb. Yeah, I’d be horrified if I was one of his parents. But I find his journalistic enthusiasm and initiative to be energizing. Plus, it reminds me of a very stupid thing I did when I was only a few years older than him.

I guess I was 20. It was my junior year of college, and I was taking the January Term off (you only needed to take 3 of the 4). I spent January working in a grocery store during the day, and then doing layout for the local newspaper in the evening. It was great fun. However, I’d been taking journalism classes at college, had just read “All the President’s Men,” and figured I would become a newspaper reporter. And so, I yearned to get “out in the field.” And that’s a very appropriate term in the San Juaquin Valley of California.

Migrant worker camps, peopled mostly by illegal aliens, could be found in various places around us. Maria, one of our favorite patrons at the grocery store, came every few weeks and loaded up with hundreds and hundreds of tortillas, plus several 100-pound bags of flour. She was a cook in one of the camps.

Anyway, I decided to go “investigate” one of the camps, see what kind of story I could roust up. And so one day I drove my parents’ car many miles through cotton fields and vineyards until I found a camp. I parked by the road, crossed a field, gently scaled the small barbed- wire fence which ringed the camp, and began walking down the dirt paths of the camp. Most of the people lived in shacks of indeterminate age. A woman stood in front of one. I approached, talked to her with highly broken Spanish, and peered through the screen door to find kids playing on the all-dirt floor. She didn’t say anything back.

Meanwhile, a number of Hispanic guys were watching me closely, and others kept joining them. I waved, and continued walking through the camp. It began dawning on me how stupid I was. I didn’t see any stories in sight. I couldn’t converse with the people. And I was beginning to feel a bit afraid. I hadn’t told anybody where I went. I could disappear without a trace. So I turned around, headed back over the barbed-wire fence, across the field, and to the car. I could see camp folks watching me as I drove away.

I don’t think I ever told my parents about that.

Yes, it was stupid. But it was industrious! Like Farris! He’ll be a great journalist someday. If he doesn’t get himself killed first.