The sweater story

At about 5 o’clock one day this week, our boss was getting set to leave. One of the other reporters had written a story about green gifts for the next day’s paper. On his way out, our boss decided to tell us a little story about a multicolored sweater his mother had once given him as a gift. He considered it to be the perfect example of a green gift, I guess because it was handmade. Anyway, that’s when it happened.

I had only ever talked to Larry, my boss, on the phone before coming here. Whenever I talk to someone on the phone, I always try to put a face and an image to their voice. Is that weird?

Larry has a fairly deep voice – not quite Men’s Warehouse deep – but it has that raspy quality. It’s a good radio voice. He also laughs a lot, which makes him sound very jolly. For some reason, when I pictured Larry, I pictured him as a slightly overweight guy who enjoys wearing bright sweaters. I don’t know why that image came to mind, but it did. It’s pretty far from the truth. He actually favors a lot of single-colored earth tones.

But when Larry told the story about the sweater, I, for some reason, blurted out my story about me having pictured him as a guy who wears crazy colored threads.

He looked at me quizzically and then let out one of his deep belly laughs. I thought it was a good moment. A kind of redefining moment like when I rapped at my old golf course boss:

When counting change
I don’t make a mistake.
Cause with my skills
This job’s a piece of cake.
All I can say is you
better watch out Jake
Cause your best place might be in maintenance
With a rake.

My coworkers had different ideas about the sweater story.

“How long have you been working here?” the sports editor asked. He thought I stepped over a line. The story bordered on an insult, in his opinion. I argued the point, saying whatever I conjured up wasn’t the truth. How could that be an insult? It’s not like Larry actually wears crazy sweaters and I was making fun of him.

The next morning, Larry gave me an extra glance when I walked into the office. It wasn’t menacing or friendly. It was just thoughtful.

Then we had a conversation about an upcoming story.

Also, this may be the best lead I've ever written, if only because the situation is so rich.

Comments welcome,
Andrew

What and why?

Our paper has been mixing it up lately and that’s got me thinking a lot about the purpose of journalism.

Here’s the abridgement of what happened: The mayor’s chief of staff made some business deals with the local government (sold them some parts to a wheel well) and forgot to fill out a form before doing so. Not filling out the form got him in trouble because it potentially could have been construed that he was trying to use his power to make a good deal for himself. Not filling out the form also violated some local rules and actually could have been (and I guess still could be) punished criminally.

I did not write these stories. The story was already being developed before my first day. But I have dealt with the community response, which has been mixed.

At a local government meeting that I covered recently, several of the chief of staff’s family and friends came to speak on his behalf. Many people recognized I was reporter and spoke very loudly in my direction about how terrible it is when “the people who write about these things are so sensationalistic.”

Sensationalistic. Maybe, though I disagree. But certainly not inaccurate. No one to my knowledge has accused the stories of being false. And if you read them, you’ll see they aren’t written in a sensationalistic manner. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they are 100 percent justified.

The chief of staff certainly made a mistake. He should have known to fill out the form (and if the big raise that he received recently from the mayor is to be justified, he should be doing everything in his power to seem 100 percent competent).

But all he did was a make a mistake. It’s pretty clear he did not intentionally ignore the form, hoping to steal money from the local government. He simply didn’t know about it. I guess that’s where I begin to question the necessity of the stories.

I’m all for attacking those in power, but I think it’s best done when there’s a true wrong to be righted. This series of reports may be the beginnings of a bigger wrong, but as it stands right now I can understand why the chief of staff’s family and friends are so upset.

I’m excited to work at a paper committed to this type of journalism. I just think we need to be careful, tactful. We don’t want to become the Spokesman Review who essentially ran a mayor out of town because he was gay.

And I don’t think we will become that. I trust our leadership.

But I was interviewing the local government’s finance director the other day and he said our paper had recently turned into the National Enquirer. He said he was hesitant to speak to us. He asked me why we were behaving this way. I didn’t really answer him, nor was it my place to answer him.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about the question. Why were we doing it? Why do we put out newspapers in general?

That’s not a question that can be answered concisely.

Later that night I thought about a conversation I had with a person who recently lost her home in a fire. I had written an article on the fire. She thanked me because many people, after reading the article, had offered her help.

That reassured me. Newspapers can help people. And helping can take many different forms. Sometimes it means getting a story of a tragic fire out there so people can donate money, clothing, time, whatever.

Other times helping means forcing the local government to watch its every move so that citizens have the most effective and efficient leaders.

And other times, maybe newspapers don’t help but only hurt. But I hope that’s rare. And I hope that’s never the intent.

Comments welcome,
Andrew