Giving back completes a circuit.

That’s why I agreed when Diane Hawkins of the Louisville Courier-Journal asked two months ago if I’d speak on a panel at Unity.

The panel, with the obtuse name “Copy editing eye for the reporting guy,” was held the Friday of the convention. It gave me a great chance to share the knowledge so readily given me.

I’m blessed, whether I acknowledge it as often as I should or not.

Through chance, I found the Freedom Forum’s Chips Quinn internship program in November 2002. I was at a loss for opportunity at the time, and Chips Quinn helped redefined my purpose.

The Freedom Forum invited me to Arlington, Va., and put me through a rigorous boot camp in preparation for a new-to-me role - copy editing. Following my orientation, the group placed me at my current paper, the Star-Banner in Ocala, Fla.

Eight weeks into that twelve-week program, the Freedom Forum named me an ASNE/APME fellow, which turned the Star-Banner internship into a permanent job.

To say the fellowship has proved generous, and the Star-Banner supportive, understates the point. I’ve enjoyed numerous opportunities to cultivate my skills, in addition to on-the-job experience. In November 2003, the Freedom Forum invited me (and the other 40-plus fellows at the time), back to Arlington for exposure to some of the best talent journalism has to offer. In spring of this year, I attended the American Copy Editor’s Society convention in Houston, Texas, for more focused training.

At each stop, I’ve added richness to my skills as a journalist. At each step, I’ve grown into a better copy editor.

Now, more than ever, I cringe when I see “pacted” used as a verb, to mean “struck a deal,” on CNN’s crawlers. Now, more than ever, I worry over the finicky placement of commas and modifiers.

Now, more than ever, I have knowledge to give back.

The panel was designed to help bridge the span between reporter’s row and the night copy desk. I tried to pass on a robust passion for grammar. I worked to impart a strong sense of communication between reporters and the editors who work their copy.

The session’s attendance impressed me. Journalists - perhaps 40 or 50 of them - filled the chairs and lined up against the walls of the small corner convention room. I hope at least one of the reporters who attended walked away with a better understanding of the last newsroom step in the process that gets his or her copy into print. With luck, all of them took home at least a little more empathy for their copy editors.

It’s the least I could do, and a first step in repaying my debts to the Star-Banner and the Freedom Forum.

A big excitement of visiting unfamiliar cities lies in exploration and entertainment. Part of expressing that excitement on my trip to Washington, DC, during the Unity convention involved seeing Cody Chestnutt in concert.

Chestnutt disappointed me, way out of proportion with the build-up that I took away from his only LP, The Headphone Masterpiece.

I found out about the show at the 9:30 Club through kismet. During the wait for Sen. John Kerry’s Thursday address to the convention I happened to nosily look over the shoulder of the woman seated in front of me. She had an edition of the Time’s Express, which was opened to a page with the headline “R&B to a T (or Two)”. The brief article offered an advance to the Saturday night “Cosmic Brothas” show. Chestnutt, it said, would headline the night, with Martin Luther, Amp Fiddler and Eric Roberson opening.

My excitement spilled over. I knew nothing of the other artists, save for Luther’s minor appearance on a Roots LP. But what I knew of Chestnutt was that THM offered a delightful four-track experiment in soul music. A coworker had turned me on to the disc, and I quickly learned to revel in songs such as “Can’t Get No Betta,” “Bitch, I’m Broke,” and “Boylife In America.”

Unfortunately, Chestnutt on stage seemed too wrapped up in being a prima donna ar-tist. Fortunately, the show’s set-up put much more emphasis on Luther’s surf-soul California sound.

After the openers, Luther took the stage for two songs, before introducing Chestnutt. The former played the foil to the latter’s fool. Chestnutt played like a rambunctious child on stage, throwing his mic and once even coming close hitting Luther in the head with his mic stand.

The pair worked their way through quality renditions of “The Seed,” Chestnutt’s creepy — though catchy — hit. They also performed what I assume is a new Chestnutt song with protest-ringing chorus “We don’t complain in the streets anymore.” The new track worked up the crowd as Chestnutt asked rhetorically, “Do we want Kerry, Bush or the kingdom of God?”

While working the crowd during the new track, Chestnutt sermonized about creating an underground economy for people to trade their creative efforts. Do you make music, or art, he asked. Then bring what you make to shows, he said, and trade it with like-minded people.

After that, Chestnutt stalked the stage like a lion, holding his guitar out to the crowd like a prop rather than an instrument. Then, he dropped into the crowd, and spent the rest of the show swimming among the concert-goers, signing autographs and shaking hands.

Quite honestly, I was pissed to have spent $15 on a show to see an artist for whom I have tremendous studio respect, only to have him act so unprofessionally. I can appreciated eccentricities and radicalism. However, if Chestnutt wants to spread his revolutionary message, he needs to sell albums — and not just to soul converts.

For him to fly from Atlanta to play two songs wasted my time and his.

Detroit artist Amp Fiddler proved to be the evening’s saving grace. He worked an, at the time, sparse crowd with a sound that blended Roy Ayer’s 70s percussion funk and the casual novelty of Bootsy Collins. That sort of professionalism in entertainment will earn my money in the future, something I wonder about in the case of Cody Chestnutt.