What A Reporter Wants

This originally appeared on Sunday, Oct. 26, 2008

You readers might think that we in the news reporting dodge would fight like tigers over the chance to cover a story like a presidential candidate coming to a West Bradford youth athletic facility to deliver a rousing campaign speech -- at which the candidate stirred the passions of his audience by declaring, “I need your vote.”

You might think that such an assignment would rouse us from our normal “cops-‘n-councils” drudgery and motivate us with a sense of excitement and First Amendment-y awe to rival any scene in “All The President’s Men,” and that, in addition, we would actually look like Robert Redford or Dustin Hoffman while covering it.

You might think that we would approach the task of reporting such an event with the same seriousness of purpose as would a firefighter at the scene of a burning schoolhouse, a policeman running down an armed bank robber, or a Republican National Committee staffer shopping at Saks Fifth Ave. for that “just-so” perfect Valentino pants suit to add to Sarah Palin’s soon-to-be-donated-to-charity wardrobe.

You might think that, but you would be wrong.

Reporters do not like covering campaign events. We do not like standing in big rooms with crowds of sweaty people, being herded around like sheep, forced to write down meaningless phrases that someone else wrote, all the time wondering how we were going to be able to keep our eyes open at the computer while we re-type those same meaningless phrases into a story.

Reporters secretly envy the people who go to the campaign rallies to actually rally, instead of transcribe. We envy them because for them, when the rally is over, it’s over. They can go home, heat up a burrito, turn on “Dancing With the Stars,” and if someone asks them how the rally went they can say, “fine,” just like that, and no crusty old editor is ever going to look at them and shout, “I send you out there for three and a half hours with two photographers to fill six columns and a 72-point headline and all you’ve got for me is ‘fine?’ ”

No, we reporters like news stories such as the one that hit the wires last week, dateline Jackson, Mo.:

“A man who left about $1,000 in $20 bills in an unzipped vinyl bag on a desk at his home is expected to be reimbursed after mice mutilated the cash. The man left the cash on the desk, but misplaced it during severe weather in March. He eventually found the bag, and in August took it to First Missouri State Bank in Jackson in hopes of covering his losses. Bank manager Michelle Johns said Wednesday she and two staffers picked through rodent droppings and bird feathers in the bag and reassembled the bills.”

Give a reporter an assignment that includes the phrases “$1,000 in $20 bills” and “rodent droppings” and you’ve given him the greatest Christmas present Santa ever conceived.

October marks my 26th anniversary covering current events for the Daily Local News. I’ve covered presidential campaign rallies, Ku Klux Klan marches, murder trials, open space referendums and Coatesville City Council before it became dysfunctional. My favorite story, however, is none of the above.

My favorite story is the one about the guy from Phoenixville who got mad at his neighbor for calling the police about a loud beer party he had at his apartment. The next day, the neighbor confronted his accuser in the backyard and pointedly took off the t-shirt he was wearing. Tattooed un-mistakenly across his chest were two words that are commonly used to describe, in vulgar terms, the act of human reproduction -- one a verb, one a pronoun.

He got 90 days probation, a $50 fine, and a reporters’ undying affection.