Scenting a story...
Sep. 7th, 2001 11:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pyatBefore I left the newspaper today, I fielded a call from a obviously angry man. He was ranting about the destruction of some "wetlands" near Dunnville, about 60 km away from my office. I was about to leave for the day, and asked him if I should stop by the place on Saturday to get photos and find out more. He said it would be too late.
I suggested he call the Dunnville Chronicle (we occasionally collaborate on stories) - his reply was that the Chronicle didn't "dare stand up to that old man."
I suggested he call the police or the Ministry of Natural Resources if he wanted an immediate response - and he said the same thing. They didn't want to get involved.
At this point he started telling me the mayor of the county was refusing to get involved, and I wrote him off as a crank. I passed him off to the editor. I went back into town to pick up Erin, and we went for supper, then out to buy some stuff for the house.
I spent two hours wiring in a new chandelier before I checked my phone messages. Got one from the editor - my crank caller is a former town councillor, and knows whereof he rants. The man he's accusing of clearing wetlands is a fairly important businessman, locally.
*sniff, sniff!* *Yap!* What's that boy? You smell a story? Sic 'im!
Yeah, as a reporter I'm a bit like a senile terrier. Most of the time I'm content to doze at my desk, gnawing on the bones of council meetings and community group minutes that makeup the skeleton of a small town weekly. But give me the scent of scandal, and it's like seeing a rat scurrying off.
Away I hobble on my arthritic legs, yapping up a toothless storm at the fleeing rat. I can't do much if I catch 'em, except gum them, but I can hope that the barking wakes up some of the other dogs.
Ah, yes! The life of a small town reporter! Tommorrow, after getting photos of the big charity plane pull in Mount Hope, I'll be blazing a trail to Dunnville. Once there, I'll be immediately kneedeep in the muddy ruins of a former wetland - private property, too. (If anyone asks, I used a zoom lens, okay?) I'll be intruding on some thoughtless old small town capitalist, asking leading questions, making veiled threats about public opinion, and generally acting like the world's crappiest detective.
I may ever wear The Hat.
Heh. I love my job. :-) Good hunting!
I suggested he call the Dunnville Chronicle (we occasionally collaborate on stories) - his reply was that the Chronicle didn't "dare stand up to that old man."
I suggested he call the police or the Ministry of Natural Resources if he wanted an immediate response - and he said the same thing. They didn't want to get involved.
At this point he started telling me the mayor of the county was refusing to get involved, and I wrote him off as a crank. I passed him off to the editor. I went back into town to pick up Erin, and we went for supper, then out to buy some stuff for the house.
I spent two hours wiring in a new chandelier before I checked my phone messages. Got one from the editor - my crank caller is a former town councillor, and knows whereof he rants. The man he's accusing of clearing wetlands is a fairly important businessman, locally.
*sniff, sniff!* *Yap!* What's that boy? You smell a story? Sic 'im!
Yeah, as a reporter I'm a bit like a senile terrier. Most of the time I'm content to doze at my desk, gnawing on the bones of council meetings and community group minutes that makeup the skeleton of a small town weekly. But give me the scent of scandal, and it's like seeing a rat scurrying off.
Away I hobble on my arthritic legs, yapping up a toothless storm at the fleeing rat. I can't do much if I catch 'em, except gum them, but I can hope that the barking wakes up some of the other dogs.
Ah, yes! The life of a small town reporter! Tommorrow, after getting photos of the big charity plane pull in Mount Hope, I'll be blazing a trail to Dunnville. Once there, I'll be immediately kneedeep in the muddy ruins of a former wetland - private property, too. (If anyone asks, I used a zoom lens, okay?) I'll be intruding on some thoughtless old small town capitalist, asking leading questions, making veiled threats about public opinion, and generally acting like the world's crappiest detective.
I may ever wear The Hat.
Heh. I love my job. :-) Good hunting!
