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August 31, 2005

On the Crescent City

Just a few thoughts on New Orleans. First of all, our thoughts go out to anyone who has suffered loss in Hurricane Katrina. And we mourn the loss of so many lives.

The images from New Orleans and elsewhere along the Gulf Coast show us once again the awesome power of nature, and our powerlessness in its face. The looting and lawlessness that have followed demonstrate how thin a veneer civilization is.

I was there just this past spring. I flew down for a wedding, but managed to find some time to wander off on my own for some sighseeing and, perhaps, some beignets from the Cafe du Monde.

I wound up spending the better part of an afternoon on a bench near the French Market, drinking bitter chicory coffee from a paper cup and listening to the wisps of jazz that, in New Orleans, seem to drift around on the wind. Behind me, the slow roar of a streetcar periodically rumbled into my attention. Beyond the streetcar tracks, barges, freighters and cruise boats steamed silently up and down the slate-gray Mississippi.

From the iron balconies of the sultry French Quarter to the oak-shaded porches of the genteel Garden District, New Orleans is perhaps the most exotic city in the United States, and few places in the nation have contributed to much to our culture. It's the birthplace of jazz and Louis Armstrong, the home of Mardis Gras and (arguably) the nation's best cuisine -- all of which sprang from the improbable mix of cultures that makes New Orleans unique.

Now it's debatable as to whether the city of New Orleans will continue to exist as we know it.

What can I say? Words kind of fail me, so I'll leave it in the capable hands of Louis Armstrong to express my feelings on this subject. (This goes out to my New Orleanian friends, Ross and Michele.)

Do you know what it means
to miss New Orleans,
and miss it each night and day?
I know I'm not wrong,
this feeling's getting stronger,
each day that I stay away.

Miss them moss-colored vines,
the tall sugar-pines,
where mockingbirds used to sing.
And I'd like to see
that lazy Mississippi
hurrying in to spring.

The moonlight on the bayou ...
a creole tune that fills the air ...
I dream of oleanders in June,
wishing that I were there.

Do you know what it means
to miss New Orleans,
'cause that's where you left your heart?
And there's one thing more,
I miss the one I care for
more than I miss New Orleans.

Posted by edcrowder on 5:32 PM | Comments (3)

August 29, 2005

Quote-unquote

Several weeks ago I called state Sen. Ernest E. Newton II at his home, seeking comment on the bribery scandal that has erupted around him.

He had not yet been charged with anything — still hasn’t — but key Democratic allies had come out to insist that Newton either publicly proclaim his innocence, or admit wrongdoing and resign.

Ernie had been dodging the press for weeks, so I really wasn’t expecting it when he picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi. I’m looking for Ernie Newton?”

“Speaking.”

I introduced myself and provided the reason for my call.

“You know I can’t make no comment.”

I persisted, as reporters do, to no avail.

“I told you I can’t make no comment. I can’t make no comment.”

“Why not?”

“Because you got to talk to my lawyers.”

The ensuing electronic “click” informed me the conversation had ended.

OK, so it wasn’t exactly substantive. But it was mine — nobody in the press had talked to Ernie for weeks. So I had to quote him — if only to let all the other reporters know I’d gotten an exclusive. (It’s the journalistic equivalent of a dog “marking” a fire hydrant.)

The trouble was, there was nothing that I could wrap a pair of quotes around that didn’t make Ernie sound like an under-educated yahoo.

For the record: Nobody who knows state Sen. Ernest E. Newton would accuse him of being a stupid man. Flawed? Yes. Corrupt? Perhaps. But stupid?

Stupid doesn’t get you to where Ernie Newton is today from where Ernie Newton got started. But he often comes across as dunderheaded and poorly aquainted with the English language — like the time he urged fellow legislators to cut the state budget “not with a meat axe, but with a scaffold.”

All of us — with the possible exception of state Attorney General Richard Blumenthal — misspeak from time to time. And a reporter with an agenda can take advantage of this.

A polished speaker, quoted verbatim, can come out sounding like an outright nincompoop. Conversely, judicious editing can make a blathering idiot sound reasonable (for example, compare an unedited transcript of a Bush news conference with the White House press release).

Honest reporters, when given a chance, generally choose quotes that fairly reflect how a person speaks without mangling the language. If an interviewee misspeaks, he or she can usually be prodded into repeating the point, hopefully minus the error.

But some verbal missteps are so funny that even fair reporters succumb to the temptation to publish them. Ernie’s “scaffold” comment falls into this category. And whole books have been written on the subject of Bush’s malaprops.

This wasn’t one of those comic goofs, though. It was just bad English, uttered off-the-cuff, under duress.

So is it a cheap shot to publish something like that? Perhaps. Did I include it in my story anyway?

Durn tootin’ I did. It’s not that I have an agenda. But he hung up on me before I could give him the opportunity to amend his statement.

Plus, I just don’t like being hung up on.

Posted by edcrowder on 7:49 PM | Comments (8)

August 26, 2005

Is This Thing On?

A newspaper's copy desk is a strange place, but few outsiders give it much thought.

They may notice when it drops the ball and produces a headline gem ("Iraqi head seeks arms") but even most reporters have no idea how many times in a given day copy editors spare our journalistic butts from the uniquely public brand of humiliation that's the bane of our profession.

They may notice when it drops the ball and produces a headline gem ("Iraqi head seeks arms") but even most reporters have no idea how many times in a given day copy editors spare our journalistic butts from the uniquely public brand of humiliation that's the bane of our profession.

One of the reasons copy editors are so effective is that they're basically insane. Case in point: If I want to bring the newsroom to a grinding halt, I need only poke my head up and call out innocently, "Hey guys, does anyone remember whether there's an apostrophe in `Wheeler's Farms Road?'"

Having tossed the grenade, I sit back and relish the chaos as competing theories are introduced, challenged and withdrawn. Maps emerge from drawers and Google is consulted, as grizzled senior editors rifle through decades old clippings in the "morgue." Old rivalries flare up and feelings are hurt. There are people in our newsroom, I'm a bit ashamed to admit, who haven't spoken to each other for years over this very issue.

You see, it's a trick question: This road in Milford is listed both ways — with and without the apostrophe — on street signs and maps, along with a third option with the singular "Farm." For sake of consistency, there's been a longstanding convention at the Connecticut Post to refer to it one way or the other, but nobody can seem to remember what that is.

Which brings to mind a debate that sprung up (on deadline, as always) recently as we covered the controversy over the federal government's decision to close a certain submarine base in Eastern Connecticut.

Seems the base in question is formally named "Naval Submarine Base New London." So why does the Associated Press insist on reporting that the base is in Groton, rather than New London?

The answer is buried on the facility's Web page: The base is in fact on the east side of the Thames River, and thus indisputably in Groton, despite bearing the name of the larger city across the river.

Several other examples of geographically challenged institutions in the area come to mind, notably the University of New Haven, which is on the wrong side of the West River, in West Haven.

Incidentally, Wednesday's decision by the BRAC Commission not to close the base after all provoked rare displays of emotion from Connecticut officials. U.S. Sen. Joseph Lieberman cried "Yahoo!" when he heard the news. Gov. M. Jodi Rell simply cried — to hear her tell it, at least. U.S. Rep. Chris Shays' reaction was straight out of "Fast Times at Ridgemont High": "Awesome!"

Posted by edcrowder on 3:48 PM | Comments (154)