“Something Like?”

Richard M. Nixon came to Charlotte campaigning for president in 1968, when I was a reporter at The Charlotte News.   When Nixon made a stop at the local television station, WBTV, I was there.  I was assigned by my newspaper to the death watch, to be nearby in case someone shot him. Or shot at him.

This photo was made on that same trip with the national reporters did have an opportunity to question Nixon.
The Big Boys gather around Nixon at an impromptu press conference on that same trip.

Thank goodness that didn’t happen, but that assignment gave me my first closeup look at national reporters who follow presidential candidates around the country, some of the Big Boys of my old craft.  Back then almost all of them were males.

The speech Nixon gave was embargoed, which meant it couldn’t be reported until it aired.  So some of the national reporters left to get something to eat and left a friend to cover for them.

I was there when the Big Boys began returning, meeting their colleagues in the lobby of the station, asking what Nixon had said.

I heard this exchange:

Big Boy #1: “What’d he say?”

Big Boy #2: “He said, a, a, wait a minute,” and he turn the page of his notebook. “He said, ah, can’t read it.” He turned another page. “He said something like…”

It was pivotal moment in my career:   Something like?  Something like!  “Something like” isn’t good enough.  Word for word, what did the man say?

From that day on, for almost 40 years, I taped recorded almost every face-to-face interview I conducted. 

Postscript: I was only accused once of a misquote and that involved a telephone interview — I never recorded phone conversations.  I don’t criticize reporters who do tape phone calls, didn’t then and don’t now. They have their way of doing business, I had mine.  Here’s the problem. If you record phone conversations pretty soon you get to be known for that.  That kind of reputation would have made some sources reluctant to talk with me on the phone for fear I might be taping them.  I didn’t want that.

Coming Friday: Handling Bad News

 

 

Jail Party

I was working in a poor section of Charlotte when a fellow stopped me on the street and asked, “You remember me?”

I did.

“Hello, Wolfman,” I said. “How you been doing?”

 Mecklenburg County was closed in 1969. This photo, was published in March by The Charlotte Observer. Wolfman may have mopped this very hall.
The old Mecklenburg County was closed in 1969 but almost 50 years later it’s still there, on top of the old courthouse.  Wolfman may have mopped this very hall.

I had met him the year before, when he was an inmate in the Mecklenburg County Jail. He had helped me with stories I wrote in 1966 about problems in the jail, problems that help defeat a long-time Democratic sheriff.

“You should write stories about that new Republican sheriff,” Wolfman said, referring to Sheriff Don Stahl, a former FBI agent who had defeated J. Clyde Hunter, the Democratic candidate.

Wolfman had been back in jail since Stahl took over, and he didn’t like it.

Sheriff Don Stahl: He locked up Wolfman.
Sheriff Don Stahl: He locked up Wolfman.

I asked him if Stahl’s jailers had whipped up on him.

No, he said.

Or denied him food or medicine?

No.

Well, what then?

“They locked me up,” Wolfman said.

I started to explain that that’s what happens to people in jail — they get locked up, but Wolfman cut me off.

“It won’t that way when Sheriff Hunter was sheriff,” he said.

This is an eight-person cell in the old Mecklenburg County jail. Both photos were published last March by The Charlotte Observer.
This is an eight-person cell in the old Mecklenburg County jail. This photos and the one above were published in March by The Charlotte Observer.

Before this new sheriff came along, Wolfman said, he had been a trusty. He had to work a little, mop floors and such, but he pretty much had the run of the jail.

He said a jailer took him to a grocery store every so often to buy candy and snacks which he resold to other inmates at a tidy profit. Sometimes he was allowed to bring back a bottle of wine, too.

As the head trusty, Wolfman said, he got to pick the woman trusties.

“And I didn’t pick nobody that wasn’t friendly to me. You know what I mean?”

I told him I thought I did.

One evening, just before the election, Wolfman said he and a woman trusty took a plate of turkey drumsticks, a bottle of wine, and a box of postcards, and went up on the roof of the jail. He said they spent several hours eating, drinking, and addressing post cards urging voters to “Re-Elect Sheriff Hunter.”

To see The Charlotte Observer’s story about the old jail, published on March 1, go here.

Coming Friday: The Crazy Hiker, Part 1