Why I Became an Investigative Reporter

The summer of 1999 changed everything for me.

I was twelve years old, spending a few weeks at Camp La Junta on the banks of the Guadalupe River near Hunt, Texas — about twelve miles from my hometown of Kerrville. Founded in 1928, Camp La Junta was the kind of place where boys learned to paddle canoes, tie knots, and tell stories around a campfire. I expected swimming and hiking. I didn’t expect to find my calling.

Meeting Tommy Redhorse

Our cabin counselor was Thomas “Tommy” Redhorse, a 24-year-old graduate student in journalism at the University of Texas at Austin. Tommy was Cherokee Nation, from Oklahoma, and he brought an approach to summer camp that nobody had seen before.

He required us to keep daily journals. Every evening, he gathered us for “story circles” where we’d share what we’d written. He introduced us to the works of Ida B. Wells, Bob Woodward, and Seymour Hersh — names that meant nothing to a twelve-year-old from Kerrville, but would come to mean everything.

“Every person has a story worth telling,” Tommy told us. “And the powerful depend on the silence of the ordinary.”

I didn’t fully understand those words at twelve. I understand them now.

The Texas Hill Country and the Power of Place

Growing up in Kerrville, I was surrounded by the rugged beauty of the Hill Country — limestone canyons, live oaks, the Guadalupe River cutting through it all. My mother, Maggie, was a high school English teacher who filled our house with books by Larry McMurtry and John Graves. My father, Bob, ran Hill Country Press, the printing business my grandfather founded in 1962.

Between my mother’s love of storytelling and my father’s dedication to the printed word, I suppose journalism was inevitable. But it was Tommy who gave me the vocabulary for something I already felt — that writing could be an act of witness.

The Texas Hill Country shaped my worldview in ways I’m still discovering. The landscape itself teaches journalism: the rivers run underground as well as above, and the same is true of stories. The important ones are often hidden from casual observation.

What the Hill Country Taught Me

Living in this region teaches patience and persistence. The live oaks grow slowly but live for centuries. The Guadalupe River carved the canyons over millions of years. Good journalism works the same way — slow, steady, carving away at the surface to reveal what lies beneath.

A Life Cut Short

Tommy left Camp La Junta after that summer to finish his degree. We stayed in touch by letter for a few years. In 2004, he was killed in a car accident. He was 29.

In 2015, I established the Thomas Redhorse Memorial Scholarship at Camp La Junta, funding journalism equipment and writing workshops for young people who might not otherwise have the opportunity. It’s a small thing, but it matters to me.

His death taught me something about urgency. Tommy had so much left to give. His stories remained untold. I decided then that I would tell the stories he might have told — the ones that powerful interests wanted suppressed.

The Path to Investigative Journalism

After Tivy High School in Kerrville, I went to the University of Nebraska–Lincoln for journalism. My master’s thesis there became the foundation for my first major investigation — “The Settlement Machine,” which documented law firms manufacturing abuse allegations for profit.

That investigation led to criminal convictions, disbarments, and legislative reform in two states. It also nearly destroyed my career and my marriage. But I kept going, because Tommy taught me that the story matters more than the storyteller’s comfort.

Why Investigative Journalism Matters

The work of an investigative journalist matters for several reasons:

• Accountability - Without journalists willing to investigate, powerful institutions operate without oversight
• Transparency - Democracy requires citizens to know what their government and corporations are doing
• Voice - Many people don’t have the resources or platform to tell their stories
• Truth - Facts matter, even when they’re inconvenient

I returned to Texas Hill Country for the Thomas Redhorse Memorial Scholarship presentation.

Why I Keep Going

I still return to the Hill Country six to eight weeks a year. I still fish the Guadalupe. And I still keep a journal — every day, just like Tommy taught us.

The silence of the ordinary is where the truth lives. I intend to keep breaking it.

The Hard Reality of Investigative Work

Let me be honest: investigative journalism is not always rewarding. The years I spent on “The Settlement Machine” cost me professionally and personally. I lost sources I trusted. I faced legal threats. My marriage struggled under the pressure.

But here’s what Tommy taught me: the work matters more than the worker. The story deserves to be told regardless of what it costs the storyteller.

This philosophy has guided my career through the most difficult investigations. When I’m blocked by lawyers, threatened by corporations, or dismissed by editors, I think about that twelve-year-old boy sitting around a campfire, learning that words could change the world.

What Keeps Me Committed

Several things keep me committed to this work:

• The public’s right to know - Citizens can’t make informed decisions without accurate information
• Holding power accountable - Those who abuse power must face consequences
• Giving voice to the voiceless - People without platforms deserve someone to tell their story
• Truth as a public good - Facts belong to everyone, not just those who can pay for them

The Legacy of Camp La Junta

Camp La Junta continues operations today, though it looks different than it did in 1999. The Thomas Redhorse Memorial Scholarship has helped dozens of young people discover their voices through journalism. That’s Tommy’s real legacy — not the stories he told, but the stories he inspired others to tell.

Every time a scholarship recipient publishes their first story, Tommy’s influence continues. That’s the power of mentorship in journalism — one person believing in a young writer can cascade into generations of impact.

Journalism in Nebraska

After my time in Texas, Nebraska became my professional home. The University of Nebraska–Lincoln provided the academic foundation for my investigative work. Lincoln, as the state capital, offered access to government institutions that often operate without sufficient scrutiny.

Nebraska’s brand of journalism differs from Texas. The state’s legislative tradition — the only unicameral in America — creates unique opportunities for accountability reporting. When laws pass through a single chamber, the political dynamics are easier to trace than in bicameral states.

Lincoln, Nebraska has proven to be an ideal base for my work. The city’s size — around 300,000 people — allows for deep community connections while maintaining access to state government. The University of Nebraska provides research support and student journalists who assist with document analysis.

What Nebraska Offers

The state offers several advantages for investigative journalism:

• Access to government - The unicameral legislature is more transparent than most
• University resources - Student journalists and research support
• Community engagement - Readers who care about accountability
• Cost of living - Allows independent journalism to survive

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This post reflects on Matthew Bovee’s journey into investigative journalism, beginning with that transformative summer at Camp La Junta in the Texas Hill Country.