We got a mixed bag of economic news today.

The Department of Labor reported that the pace of job losses in the United States slowed a bit in April as the unemployment rate neared 9 percent. The number of laid off employees last week were about 600,000, much lower than economists expected. But alas, the number of people still getting an umemployment check rose to yet another record of 6.25 million.

When you hear such numbers you start to almost get numb to what’s really behind them — lots of jobless people.

I decided to let you hear from some of those unemployed voices from time to time in this blog. Partly so we can understand the real struggles these people face, and partly because maybe we can all lend a hand by offering advice, a contact, a kind word. Or, it might make us think about the individuals we know who are out of work and may need some help. Take them to lunch, or for a cup of coffee. Offer them connections from your LinkedIn account, or from alumni, or from the local grocery store.

Some day, it could be one of us.

A while back you heard from Al Kemp, an unemployed newspaper journalist. So many of you were touched by the story he shared about how his daughter took his layoff that I wanted to check back in and see how he’s doing.

Here’s Al’s essay on joblessness:

By Al Kemp

I don’t know who I am anymore.

Five months ago I was a productive, hard-working news reporter, with writing talent, reporting skills and news judgment forged over a 23-year career at a metro-sized daily newspaper. I took pride in my work, burrowing inside the news by cultivating a roster of official sources along with a motley crew of trusted insiders.

Today, however, I have a very different persona. Today I’m a contender for a part-time package-handling job at United Parcel Service. I’m also an applicant for a retention supervisor’s job at Comcast, as well as a prospective parole officer for the state. I’m still in the running for a tech writer’s job at Campbell’s Soup in Camden, N.J. And a half-hour from here, at the giant Boeing factory in Ridley Park, Pa., I’m being considered for three different posts: procurement manager, HR generalist and a material handler.

Heck, how hard can it be to handle material?

There’s a simple reason I’m seeking work so far from my chosen field: It’s the only way I’ll ever land a job. This is what dawned on me after nearly 30 job applications in the journalism/public relations arena (utilities, hospitals, even a home-shopping channel) yielded just two interviews and no job offers.

With my severence package set to expire next week, I’ve been throwing mud at nearly every wall I see, hoping some will stick. I’ve learned to tailor my resume to highlight the skills required for each job. In this economy, a resume is not a one-size-fits-all affair.

After all, whoever’s the boss of Boeing material handlers could probably not care less that I have a long list of awards and honors for headline writing from every applicable trade association.

If I do say so myself, I’ve written some very persuasive cover letters. It’s no small feat to write a letter that explains why a laid-off journalist would be a perfect match for, say, a consumer safety officer with the Food and Drug Administration.

Evidently they weren’t persuasive enough.

There was a brief glimmer of hope in February when I got a nearly perfect score on the exam to be a data collector for the U.S. Census. But in March they called back to say that the weeklong training session (which would have paid about $600) had been canceled.

About the only success I’ve had has been substitute teaching. But the work is sporadic, and without state certification my earning power in public schools is seriously blunted.

Still, the kids tend to accept me, and I actually manage to teach. One student dubbed me “Mr. Al” and the name stuck. They call me “epic.” However, ninth-graders in large numbers just rub me the wrong way. For one thing, they’re bored by John Steinbeck.

One day last month I finished my teaching shift and decided to stop at a favorite tackle shop and get my fishing license for the season. It was a Friday, and the afternoon rush was already under way. Sitting in traffic is when the futility hits me hardest. I feel desperate and useless. Out of rope and out of hope.

Even in my darkest hours I know why I haven’t completely unraveled. Because I can’t.

Anyway, after purchasing my license and a few things for the tackle box, I headed north for the long drive home. I allowed my mind to wander away from its constant preoccupation and linger in a happy place, on the banks of a favorite bass pond I know.

I pondered the fact that some folks believe that going fishing is as simple as putting a worm on a hook, throwing it in the water and waiting to land a big one.

But any angler knows it isn’t nearly that simple. One must consider when to fish. Morning or evening? And where to put their bait. In the depths or near the shore?

And whether they’re hoping to land sunfish, a trophy bass or a great white shark, successful anglers know they must present their bait in a way that their particular quarry will find almost irresistible.

But at the end of the day, as they trudge home empty-handed, all those who fish must confront a single dreadful question whose answer – if only it was knowable - foretells their very future: Are there any fish in the water at all?

Visit Al Kemp’s Web site,www.galaxyofwords.com