UF College of Journalism and Communications

Bo knows?

The missing piece

By Boaz Dvir, JM 1988, MAMC 2008

Racing to finish my master’s thesis by the end of the spring semester, it hit me one late night: My documentary lacked a key part.

I had been working on “Jessie’s Dad” with my Documentary Institute partner, Rebecca Goldman, JM 2006, MAMC 2008, for 18 months. We forgot to interview our protagonist, Mark Lunsford, about how he lost his 9-year-old daughter to a repeat sex offender. We concentrated so much on capturing his transformation from an uneducated truck driver into a savvy activist that we neglected to cover this basic point. Now, we faced an unforgiving deadline (and audience) and had to fill in that blank, quickly.

After several phone calls, Mark agreed to do a sit-down interview with us. When we got together in his parents’ mobile home in Homosassa, however, he was in no mood to talk. He sat on his father’s La-Z-Boy in front of a wood-paneled TV, gazing past some melodramatic reality show into his abyss of anger and anguish.

Mark had never allowed himself to grieve. Instead, he immersed himself in advocacy, calling on lawmakers to wise up and crack down on sex offenders and also working with the media, child-protection organizations, prosecutors, judges and others to raise awareness and effect change. After three years of traveling to Capitol Hill and state capitals to push for the passing of Jessie’s Law and other tough legal measures, he realized that his activism could make a big difference but never purge him of his pain.

That day in Homosassa, when I turned on the camera to film Mark sulking, he jumped out of his chair and stormed out of the trailer. Becca and I drove back to Gainesville empty handed.

A week later, with our thesis-defense deadline lodged in our throats like a fishbone, Mark agreed to meet again. This time, he appeared ready to talk. The interview started out well. I asked him a few questions about other matters such as his relationship with Marc Klaas, who lost his 12-year-old daughter Polly to a sex offender in 1993, then eased into the main topic.

Mark had recounted Jessie’s tragic tale many times, but always in emotionally charged settings such as his keynote speech at the Justice Department Victims’ Rights Week. Telling it in a sit-down interview proved disconcerting for him. Besides, he had been feeling burned out, fed up and ready to go into hibernation.

Also, in the 18 months we followed him around the country, Mark had gotten comfortable with our camera. Although this served our documentary well, it posed a challenge when it came to us interviewing him: He rarely felt he had to be “on.”

“I’m tired of telling this story,” he said. “You tell it.”

“The viewers will want to hear it from you,” I said.

“How much would you be willing to talk if you lost a child?” he asked me.

Good point. Although I’m willing to discuss anything, I rarely talk about my younger brother, Sharon (pronounced Sha-rhon), who died at the age of 16.

Mark and I sat in silence for a minute. I had no idea how to proceed.

“You tell them,” he said. “I’ve had it up to here with telling people about what happened to Jessie.”

Although I still failed to fully get it, I started applying the brakes to my quest.

“I don’t expect anyone to understand,” Mark said, “unless I’m talking to someone who lost a child. They’re gonna get it.”

Becca and I left without the clip we needed. We had to find another way to tell our viewers that a twice-convicted pedophile living across the street abducted Jessie, held her for three days in his trailer, raped her and buried her alive.

At first, I thought I should’ve pressed Mark harder. But back in the editing room, I realized he was right. It was time for the rest of us to begin telling what happened to Jessie, and to start doing something about it.

“Jessie’s Dad” has won two production grants totaling $3,500 and the Direct Cinema Outstanding Documentary Award, and is a finalist for the International Documentary Association’s David L. Wolper Award.