I went into my office, shut the door, and laid my head on my desk for a few minutes. When I opened my eyes, I noticed the gun-carry permit disc stuck in between some papers. So far, my Sam revenge theory was a bust, but that didn’t mean the disc might not contain other news.
I loaded it in my computer and started scanning for gold amid the data. All I needed was a handful of interesting people viewers might not expect to be armed; then I’d have a story. And my boss would be off my back.
After a couple minutes, I realized I’d never get through the tens of thousands of names. Especially since so many were named Anderson and Johnson, typical of Minnesota’s Scandinavian roots.
I headed to Xiong’s desk. He still had the data downloaded on his computer and agreed to try a search.
“Scrolling will be a time waste,” he declared.
I didn’t argue because I’d already wasted enough time coming to that conclusion on my own. That Xiong knew that, and other clandestine computer stuff, instantly confirmed him as an alpha geek.
He suggested trying to match the carry-permit database to others the station owned. The sexiest—convicted felons—might have been a long shot because county sheriffs were already supposed to be screening out those applications. But any hits there would be pay dirt.
“Obviously we do them,” I said. “What other computerized files do we have names for?”
“State employees and campaign contributors are promising,” he said. “And we have your local-celebrity file still on hold.”
Last year, on a slow day, I’d gathered a few interns to help draw up a spreadsheet of famous Minnesotans—rosters of politicians; business leaders; pro athletes; radio, television, and newspaper names; musicians; even bestselling authors—just for a handy computer shortcut to separating newsmakers from ordinary folk, because newsmakers make the most news. I’d even added birthdays and addresses when we knew them, because that can often help match computer data.
So far, we hadn’t come up with the proper project to harvest them … but I thought this might have been it.
“I will get started,” Xiong said.
I left him to do his computer magic.
By now I had nearly a hundred Facebook friends. And I could lurk on their pages and delve into their cyber lives. If I cared.
Clay still had the most, though Sophie was catching up. She seemed to attract men. Single men. I seemed to attract people with problems. Some felt they’d been ripped off by car dealers or insurance agents. Others wanted me to investigate their neighbors for not separating their recyclables or for letting their dogs run loose across their yards.
Facebook was proving almost as annoying as the Channel 3 tip line. Except here, the crazies had a direct hook to me.
Before Fitz Opheim had left Channel 3 to consult at his next station of news dupes, he urged us to use the social network to promote our stories, but also to let viewers have a glimpse of our personal lives.
“Tell them what you had for lunch,” he said. “Share what you’re reading. Let them see how you’re different from them, but also let them see how you’re the same.”
Noreen had friended all of us in the newsroom so she could monitor how well we interacted with viewers and how many friends we’d acquired.
“I notice you didn’t post your birthday, Riley,” she said.
“I’m worried about identity thieves.”
That seemed to throw her, as if she’d never considered the idea before.
“Well, work on your numbers then. Instead of just waiting for people to friend you, you should friend them. Making friends is making viewers.”
I didn’t necessarily believe her reasoning, but I also didn’t want to argue. I looked at Clay’s Facebook page to see how a man with a ten-gallon mouth had become so popular.
He’d listed his status as “Clay is drooling for steak on the grill tonight.” Several folks had already commented on his good taste. Earlier in the day, he’d encouraged viewers to tune in to see his report on why the H1N1 flu vaccine was so slow in arriving. Normally that would have been covered by our medical reporter, but she was home sick.
Clay and I had a few Facebook friends in common—local media junkies. But he had loads of his own. True, some were from back in Texas. But a surprising number heralded from the Minneapolis–St. Paul network. So in a flash of jealousy, I invited all Clay’s friends to be mine. In this computer age, stealing friends was lots easier than stealing a story.
Then I went back to Sophie’s page and did the same thing.
Within an hour, a couple dozen people I had never heard of had embraced our cyber friendship.
The next morning Xiong showed me the list of a couple hundred computer matches of people who carried guns. I scanned them for news.
One of the sports figures was familiar, Buzz. I also noted a couple of other athletes—a football player hardly anyone had heard of and a baseball player everyone had heard of.
One politician had supported gun-control legislation but now carried a firearm. That had some potential.
As for media personalities, no shock to see that a highly rated local radio talk-show host packed heat. He’d already bragged plenty about being a gun-totin’ American and was true to his dogma.
But a big surprise hit me in the gut when I saw Rolf Hedberg’s name on the list. To my knowledge, Rolf had never written about the right to bear arms, expressed a fondness for hunting season, or even worn camouflage. But Rolf was surprising me in a plethora of ways. Or maybe “frightening me” would be more accurate.
“He is not working for the newspaper anymore,” Xiong said, “so we do not care about him.”
Before I could refute my computer sidekick’s conclusion, he moved down the list efficiently until he reached the prize he’d unearthed—ten felons, who shouldn’t have been able to own guns, had been granted carry permits. A lead story, once we got reactions from the various sheriffs’ offices. And even better if we could get sound and video of the nefarious weapon owners.
Several had been convicted of domestic abuse. Another had stolen cars. Yet another had a DWI felony. The prize: one had shot a man in the chest during an argument.
All had been issued permits to secretly carry a loaded gun.
Normally, I’d have been excited at the prospect of such a story. But all I could think about was Rolf Hedberg. Normally, I wouldn’t have been afraid of him. In a fight, I figured I could take him. Unarmed.
But now I knew that Rolf owned a gun. And Rolf had displayed some very visible feelings that, even from the grave, Sam was ruining his life.
I wasn’t sure just then whether to be more worried that Rolf might have killed Sam or that Rolf might kill himself.
I decided to keep quiet about Rolf until I learned more.
But when I showed Noreen what Xiong and I had on the gun-permit felons, she called Miles to come down and talk since, technically, the story involved nonpublic data. And with all the fuss the NRA was likely to make, she wanted to be sure it was solid enough for the station to go to the wall.
Malik was in the photo lounge, so I briefed him quickly and pulled him and Xiong into the meeting.
“What are you going to say when the cops ask where you got this information?” Miles asked.
“It’s not a question of declining to reveal my source,” I said. “I don’t even know the source.” I told him it had arrived in the mail without a return address.
“Then how can you be certain it’s authentic?” Miles had a valid point, but I explained that I’d already verified that some of the people with carry permits owned guns. Tad Fallon and Buzz Stolee, for example.
“As part of the felon story, I’ll seek reactions from the sheriffs’ offices issuing the permits about how this could have happened, but first I’ll see if I can get the felons to confirm it.”
“How are you going to do that?” Noreen asked.
“We’ll make it good TV,” I promised. I told them my plan was for Malik and me to walk up to the felons and see if we could get them to show us their guns on camera. “I’ll explain we’re working on a story about the conceal-and-carry system and ask how well they think permitting works.”
“Stop right there,” Noreen said. “What if one of them shoots you?”
“Or me?” Malik had been quiet until then. “Sometimes they hate the camera more than the microphone.”
“This could be a huge worker’s comp claim,” Noreen said. “We can’t afford that. I think you should just contact them by telephone. Run their mug shots for the story. Mug shots generally look scarier anyway.”