The visibility of a small-town journalist

Shortly after I moved from New Jersey to a small town in northeastern North Carolina in 1976, a native told me, “No matter how long you live here, you’ll always be a Yankee.” Grateful for that warm welcome, I resisted the urge to say, “Well, at least we’re 1-0 in Civil Wars.” With the exception of a six-month stint in Pennsylvania in 1978, I’ve been in the South ever since.

The community newspaper, which came out three times a week then and still does, was the first small-town paper in my career. I later worked for two other North Carolina papers, both weeklies. One advantage of small-town papers: Everyone knows who you are. It’s hard to blend in when you’re the one with a camera, pen and notepad.
But having a high profile can come in handy when news breaks. I got along well with the police chief in one town, and after he turned in his resignation to the mayor one day, I was one of the first people he told.

I then went to the mayor and asked him about it. “How’d you find out?” he asked. Of course, I didn’t answer.

“I’m gonna MAKE you tell me,” he continued. Of course, he couldn’t. Actually, the mayor’s wife previously ran the newspaper, so he was only halfheartedly trying to strongarm me.

The visibility of the small-town journalist can also be a detriment. I remember having someone come to the newsroom and lead me out to their truck, where they wanted me to take a picture of a deer they had killed. Or when I was sitting at home watching TV on a Sunday afternoon and someone knocked on my door and asked me to take a picture of them with a big fish they had just caught or the big watermelon they grew.

In some ways the small-town journalist’s life is similar to everyone else’s; people are friendly until you do something they don’t like (like write something unflattering).

One night I was standing outside City Hall after a City Council meeting when I saw the town’s ambulance go out. I recognized the driver and then saw her toddler son, who was probably about 3, in the front with her. When the next issue of our weekly paper came out, I wrote a column that included a few paragraphs about how rescue squad members shouldn’t put their children in potentially dangerous situations.

For a long time after that, I was thankful I didn’t have a wreck that would require ambulance transport. I could envision having the plug pulled on me, no matter my condition.