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Monday was one of those days when I'm sure I'm in the right profession. I have my News Writing students to thank for that.

In Sunday's Roanoke Times, I'd read that a gay man and six other patrons were shot at a downtown bar Friday night (Sept. 22) by a man who said he wanted to "waste" some gay people. I noticed that, at one point, reporter Kimberly O'Brien identified a source as "Chris, a bisexual man who asked that his last name not be used for fear of losing his job." This would be a good time to talk with my News Writing class about naming names, I thought.

So Monday afternoon, I postponed a discussion about the AP Stylebook and, instead, held up the front page of Sunday's Roanoke Times with the headline, "Roanoke Reels from Shooting." I stated matter-of-factly, "I guess you've heard about this." All but one of 11 students had.

I told the students that one of the issues in our textbook's chapter on journalistic ethics concerns when to withhold names. For example, I said, juveniles accused of crimes generally aren't named in news stories, unless they're tried as adults. I also mentioned the fact that rape victims are usually granted anonymity.

Why do we identify news sources in the first place? I asked the students.

They gave the right answer: credibility. If we didn't use sources' names, readers wouldn't trust their testimony. The practice of using anonymous sources also opens the door to misconduct by reporters. If I don't have to tell you who made a comment, I might just doctor the comment -- or even make it up.

Why did Kimberly O'Brien use even Chris's first name? I asked. Why not call him "A source who asked not to be named because ... ?"

Giving him a first name makes him seem more real than "an anonymous source," students said.

Then we moved on to a harder question: Why did The Roanoke Times grant Chris anonymity but name the seven victims in a box on the same page?

My students didn't even have to think about it.

Chris said he was bisexual, said one. We don't know the sexual orientation of the victims, and the establishment where the shooting occurred isn't exclusively a gay bar. If the victims' sexual orientation isn't stated, there's no reason to withhold their names. Their identification doesn't put them at risk.

While I stood there nodding, other students picked up the thread.

"I have friends who go to bars on Salem Avenue," said one. "I liked knowing from the newspaper that they hadn't been shot."

At this point, I introduced the "Whom does it harm? Whom does it help?" principle. Decide who could be harmed by the publication of the name, I said. Then decide who (or what principles) might be helped. Then weigh the two.

Again, my students were eager to answer. Not naming the seven victims -- one of whom, Danny Lee Overstreet, died in the bar -- might have implied that they did something wrong, they said. Their sexual orientation was irrelevant to their central role in this story: they were the victims. Except in cases involving minors or cases of sexual abuse, victims are generally named.

A student interrupted with a question. She'd heard that the shooter, Ronald Gay, couldn't be prosecuted under state hate crimes legislation and wanted to know why. Because Virginia's hate crimes statute doesn't include sexual orientation, I said. That stinks, the students said. How can that be changed?

I told the class that just last January, members of the college's Spectrum organization, a group that promotes diversity and tolerance, journeyed to Capitol Hill to urge our elected representatives to support hate crimes legislation. The group was assured by an aide to John Warner that Virginia's senior senator would "study the issue carefully."

(Note: This week, Warner told Mike Hudson of The Roanoke Times Tuesday that, because of the Roanoke shooting, he now supports including sexual orientation in the Federal Hate Crimes bill.) Sen. Chuck Robb's aide reminded the group that Robb was a co-sponsor of the federal hate crimes bill. Rep. Virgil Goode, who met with us himself, said he didn't see the need for such legislation when crimes such as murder and assault are already prosecutable under the law. In his mind, a crime is a crime, whether a person commits it out of bigotry or sheer meanness.

Then a student who had been quiet during the earlier discussion asked why details about Ronald Gay's psychological state were included in the article.

"Why can't we just say a crime is a crime?" she asked.

Another student asked, "Do we have to feel sympathy for" Gay?

Two students in the class with family members who are mentally ill spoke up. "My mom is schizophrenic," said one. "If something happened and she went out and hurt somebody, I would want people to show mercy."

I steered the discussion back toward media issues. What are the chances that this story will make the national media? I asked. (Later in the day, I learned it already had.)

One student commented that it's unfortunate the people across the nation might unfairly label Roanoke as bigoted -- and it was around that point in the conversation that I began to receive, rather than impart, the day's lesson.

This student was concerned that outsiders might think there are homophobes in Roanoke. I'd wager that not so long ago, people would have been more concerned that the outside world might find out there are homosexuals in Roanoke.

The tides, I realized, have turned.

My students are a class of predominately, if not exclusively, heterosexuals. I do not snoop into the details of their private lives, but a couple of them are married, and, well, students are fairly preoccupied with whom they're dating. So you hear things, even if you're faculty. But these young people were outraged over the shooting. I read them another paragraph from O'Brien's story, about how Tom Hale, owner of a local gas station, overheard a patron say of Gay, "It's a shame he didn't have more bullets."

My students gasped, in unison.

But do you know what Hale replied? one student asked me. Read the next paragraph, she said.

I read it. " 'What the hell are you talking about' Hale told him. 'We all have a right to live.' " "That's right," my students said. They were clearly rooting for Hale.

One student said she sat up with a gay friend in the residence hall Saturday night, trying to comfort him.

Another said she'd like to go to the vigil Thursday night and wanted to know if the college is sending a delegation.

I stood in my classroom and listened to these young people, and by the time I left, I had tears in my eyes.

We talk a lot, as a society, about how younger generations are inferior to ours. They don't read as much, aren't as respectful, grow up too fast, lose their innocence too early, and so on. But in at least one respect, as a group, they are superior to earlier generations.

My generation grew up watching Rob and Laura Petrie (considered sexy for their time), and diversity to us was Ricky Ricardo. My current students have grown up with "Ellen" and "Will and Grace," in a world where gay actors acknowledge their partners on awards programs and where the break-up of Ellen Degeneres and Anne Heche is mainstream news. I don't believe for a minute that these shows and trends have made anybody gay, but they have made a lot of young people tolerant.

My students today live in a world with more color and variety than the one I grew up in. They have benefited from it. And so, I learned on Monday, have we all.