Jones had promised the remote village would serve as a Utopian society were residents could live closer to God, the problem was Jones thought he was God.

As is the case with all self proclaimed disciples Jones began to abuse his powers. When word of the problems reached the San Francisco bay area, the place where many of Jones’ followers were from, Congressman Leo Ryan decided to investigate.

My father, Don Harris, covered the west coast for NBC Nightly News at the time and decided he would accompany Ryan on his fact finding mission in Guyana.

After some resistance, Jones allowed the media and Ryan’s delegation to visit the compound. For two days with the help of lots of signing and dancing Jones was able to put on a pretty good performance … the people in the cult said they felt safe and happy.

However on the second night one of the cult members slipped my dad a small note. The yellow piece of paper explained that Jonestown was not a happy place, that women and children were being raped and tortured. The author asked that my dad fly him out of Jonestown and my dad agreed to save him a seat.

However the next day my dad decided to take the note and confront Jim Jones on camera. It was the last interview my dad would do. An outraged Jones ordered all of the visitors out of the camp and my dad, his camera crew and Ryan returned to a nearby airstrip. While they waited to board their two planes and tractor pulling a small trailer pulled up next to the aircraft.

A group of men who had been laying down in the trailer suddenly stood up and started shooting. My dad was one of the first people hit. Bob Brown, his camera man, bravely kept rolling during the ambush and I fear recorded his own execution.

Word that something had happened on the runway reached my family in Los Angeles later that day. My mom Shirley called me at my part time job at a drive through dairy but I downplayed her fears saying my dad was more than capable of taking care of himself. He was one of the last reporters in Saigon when it fell and covered the Six Day War in the Middle East.

Unfortunately I was wrong.

We now know Jones specifically ordered my dad killed and there wasn’t a lot of cover out on that runway. My dad’s sound man Steve Sung was able to escape into the nearby jungle but not before a shotgun blast tore away a good part of his forearm. I got to see him several years later at a political convention and was shocked by Steve’s wound. The flesh missing from his arm was a painful reminder that my dad’s death had been very violent.

Thirty years later finds me doing the job that I’ve wanted to do since I was five years old. That’s when my family says I walked into my dad’s Tampa TV station and asked general manager Bob Doty for a job. Bob declined my offer to work but the year after my dad was killed hired me on as a summer intern at WINK TV in Ft. Myers, Florida.

I regret I repaid Bob’s kindness by doing an unauthorized story on security at the Ft. Myers airport. Without any managers permission I tried to sneak some simulated Molotov cocktails passed the baggage screening area and got caught. My idea came from a story my dad had done in Dallas in 1972 when the airport had just started to use magnetometers to search for guns. My dad’s investigative report, done with his bosses approval, showed the equipment was not as effective as it needed to be.

My story showed that I was an idiot.

Trying to emulate your folks is all well and good, but I clearly did not have the experience or maturity to do what I did.

Doty had to fire me and my photographer the next day. The FBI asked that I not return to Florida.

Since 1982 I’ve made other reporter mistakes but have tried to up hold my heritage of fairness and honesty. Like anybody who follows in their folks footsteps you try to keep those qualities alive. I worry a lot of our viewers don’t like us and even worse, don’t trust the news media and I try to change those impression relations every day.

When my dad was killed in 1978 I vowed to become the youngest correspondent to join the network. At the time Tom Brokaw had set the mark at age 36. So I started jumping from market to market but something happened when I got a job here in Spokane. We bought our first house here, had our second baby at Sacred Heart and when we realized there was a park or lake just about every other block we decided to make Spokane our home forever.

After living all over the country we know you’d be hard pressed to find a prettier city with nicer people.

I regret my dad never got to meet my wife Lori. He would be very impressed. He would also be very proud the way his grandchildren Brad and Jessica turned out. Most of all he would be glad 30 years later we have moved on with our lives and we are happy but his daughters, his son and his wife still miss him very much.

The I.R.S. started investigating his organization. The news media intensely followed the story. Jones became somewhat paranoid. In 1977 he convinced his congregation to follow him to an isolated tract of land that the People’s Temple had purchased in Guyana. The encampment was called Jonestown. Soon relatives of cult members demanded that the U.S. government rescue what they believed to be brainwashed victims living in concentration camp-like conditions under Jones’s power.

To investigate their concerns, California Congressman Leo Ryan, accompanied by several journalists, arrived at Jonestown to interview its inhabitants. He reported that his life was threatened by a Temple member during the first day of his visit. Ryan cut short his visit and decided to return to the U.S. with some Jonestown residents who wanted to leave. As they boarded their plane, a group of Jones’s guards opened fire on them, killing Ryan and four others. Some members of Ryan’s party escaped. Jones knew they would report the murders. This would make it impossible for the commune to continue functioning. Jones decided his followers must make the ultimate sacrifice.

912 followers were given a lethal purple drink, a mix of cyanide, sedatives, and tranquilizers. Jones didn’t drink the deadly nectar. Instead he fatally shot himself in the head.

It seems an improbable story, a bizarre tale, almost unbelievable but true. How intelligent people fall for such a scheme remains mysteriously unexplained. What’s more … it could happen again.

We went shopping with her and saw her save firsthand. She got well over $950 worth of groceries for about $185. It was truly remarkable. Well, we are talking to Jolinda again. She’s reminding us how she does her ‘couponing’, and she has some fresh money saving tips for you and I when we go to the grocery store.

 Her method to save money is simple: first, look at the store ads and write down what you need; second, get online and find manufacturers coupons for the same product in the store ads; third, buy alot of that product when it’s on sale. For instance, if there is a 10 for 10 deal at the store, she will routinely find manufacturers coupons for 80 cents off or $1 off. That means her product is virtually free. And she buys alot of what she buys. You won’t believe how much food is in her pantry. You can get the coupons off of the manufacturers websites or other websites we’ll tell you about tonight.

 Trust me, if you didn’t see the first installment of Coupon Lady back in October you will want to tune in tonight at 5. The Diva of Deals, the Queen of Coupons, will blow your mind.

 Also, once the story airs I can put you in contact with her, she’ll answer any questions you have.

I am patriotic!  I am proud to be an American!  I love our flag and I get chills saying the pledge of allegiance (especially when I hear children say it)… and I get weepy nearly everytime I hear or sing the National Anthem.

I say “nearly” because people can be so rude.  My family and I went to the WSU Cougar basketball game last Saturday night (Go COUGS!).. and, during the Star Spangled Banner, a few rows in front of us… a couple of young women talked and cut-up through the entire song.  GRRRRrrrrr!  Then.. during the last line of the song… (you know, the one… “Land of the Free and Home of the BRAVE”)  the student section shouted “Cougs” instead of singing “Brave” .  This has happened at every sporting event I’ve gone to in the last few years… the Chief’s fans scream “Chiefs,” the Shock fans scream “Shock”… and I wish they’d all knock it off! 

I’m not a stick in the mud, by any means.. but, I think some things are sacred.. and our National Anthem is one of them. 

… wait a minute!  Maybe they just don’t know!  Maybe they’ve actually forgotten what the real words to the Star Spangled Banner are…  I’m here to help… here they are.. enjoy.. and remember.. we live in the “Land of the Free and the Home of the BRAVE”

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro’ the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof thro’ the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore dimly seen thro’ the mists of the deep,
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream:
‘Tis the star-spangled banner: O, long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wash’d out their foul footsteps’ pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave. O, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand,
Between their lov’d homes and the war’s desolation;
Blest with vict’ry and peace, may the heav’n-rescued land
Praise the Pow’r that hath made and preserv’d us as a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause is just,
And this be our motto: “In God is our trust”
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

My e-mail in-box is loaded with beautiful sunset shots.  I got this one from Sara and David Brown.  Sara writes: “The recent sunsets have been spectacular.  This one was taken Saturday Nov. 15th in Republic, Washington looking southwest from my porch.”  That’s quite a view, Sara!  Thanks for the great picture. 

Send your weather pictures to krisc@kxly.com

For some time, in the interest of preventing injury to personal self esteem, parents and educators invested in what amounts to a phony version of reality. Underperformance was ignored, and their little darlings were given ribbons for everything. These kids were encouraged to play sports, though they had aptitude for athletics, and they were given accolades, even when they dropped the ball or came in last.

Elementary school teachers didn’t want to crush fragile little egos or discourage creativity, so they often didn’t correct spelling errors, and thus classroom walls are adorned with many examples of grammatically incorrect work, or math papers where the students didn’t arrive at correct answers, but were rewarded anyway just for trying. As these students progressed through school, their mediocre academic performance was not challenged. They grew up with a false confidence, thinking that they were actually competent, when indeed they were not.

Then at last, in the real world, they discovered the hard way, what logically could have been anticipated: they had misplaced self esteem, but nowhere near acceptable skills.

In the real world winning matters. There is no reward for trying. Employers only reward results. The best and the brightest move up. Many young adults were sheltered from this brutal truth growing up, and their expectations are therefore far beyond their skills. Dealing with the reality that just showing up is not an achievement, is tough for them. For some, it is almost impossible to bear. The self-esteem era probably has done more damage than good in our society. Some hard lessons in life are best learned without sugar coating. We’ve always known that, but social engineers often forget.

In November 1978, Congressman Leo Ryan paid a visit to Jonestown as part of a government investigation. He brought with him relatives of people living at Jonestown and members of an NBC News crew. They spent several days at Jonestown and didn’t suspect people there were in danger. The night before they left, though, someone slipped reporter Don Harris a note saying they wanted to escape. Harris kept the note in his boot overnight, then confronted Jim Jones on camera about it the next day. Jones was visibly agitated and that’s how he stayed until the group pulled out and got ready to head back to the U.S. Most of them never made it. Jones sent his men to ambush the group on the airstrip. Congressman Ryan was killed, along with a defecting member of the cult and three journalists, including Don Harris. Harris left behind a wife, Shirley and three children, including a 17-year old son. That son followed in his father’s footsteps and became a journalist. His name is Jeff Humphrey.

Jeff doesn’t talk about his dad much - at least not in the newsroom or in a public way. Until last week, I’d probably heard him talk about it one time in the five or so years I’ve worked with him. As early as last week, the story of this anniversary was everywhere. CNN did a number of special reports on it and some newspapers contacted Jeff. Jeff decided it was time - for the first time - to share his father’s story with our viewers.

On the air and in the field, Jeff is confident and driven. He puts his head down and works hard on every story - and, is happy to break stories whenever he can. Off-camera, Jeff is one of the more humble people I’ve ever met. He’s not sharing his story for ratings or to get attention. He’s telling it for one very specific reason: to honor his dad. Last Friday, I interviewed Jeff and his mom about Don and about Jonestown. They both opened up about what it was like to get the news - and, how they’ve honored his memory ever since. Jeff talked about what he learned from his dad - and, what he puts into practice in his job every day. He talked about building trust with your sources, about protecting on-going investigations and about showing compassion to people who’ve lost loved ones in a public way. After all, he knows how they feel. It was surreal to sit across from a man I’ve competed with as a reporter (both when he was at another local station and when he and I were both reporters here) - and, see a very vulnerable side. I am touched he felt comfortable sharing these emotions with me, but I know it’s not about me at all. It’s not about Jeff, either. It’s about a journalist who put his life on the line to get the truth. Even though Don Harris died that day, his story brought the truth about Jonestown to the world. He asked questions that lesser journalists would shy away from - and, he paid for those questions with his life. We hope to honor him the way Jeff tries to honor him every day: by telling his story and living up to the principals for which he died.

     I’m meeting so many people and many of them are from the Inland Northwest.  More than 300 people are following my “tweets” so far.

    You can find me at www.twitter.com/SpokaneDave

     I invite you. 

     Join me and you will have direct access and a voice.   What do you want to know or talk about.  Looking forward to the converstation.

       What event, might you ask? Make A Wish Foundations Black and White Gala. It was a first for the foundation. They raised tens of thousands of dollars for kids with life threatening illnesses. The live auction was way fun, even though my husband wouldn’t let me bid as much as I would have liked for a house boat cruise on Lake Roosevelt. I got a kick out of the couple next to us who won the bid for a golden doodle (half golden retriever, half poodle). The wife kept bidding and the husband kept shaking his head, while all of their friends laughed. Once they won, they realized that they were going to have to keep the dog in their hotel room bathroom since that’s where they were staying for the night. Haha. 

       But my favorite part of the night was not my fill-in prom date or the auction of dogs with funning names. My favorite part was meeting the recipients of Make A Wish… the kids, their families. While the event was entertaining, those families brought to light why we were all there. They brought to light why what we were doing was important… giving kids a chance to be kids, giving kids a chance to forget about their sickness, giving kids a chance to enjoy the life they deserve.