That, sir, is a recording device.
LESSON: When you start recording a meeting or have an audience, it’s on the record. Don’t say anything you’d regret.
As a fledgling journalist, I covered small town council meetings—the yawners that few constituents attend.
I always arrived on time and sat in the front row. Imagine my surprise during one of my first weeks when a half-dozen councilmen in business suits loudly traded astoundingly racist jokes.
They turned and looked at me briefly, but anxiety turned to relief when they spotted the new “girl reporter.”
Too bad the meeting was otherwise lacking in news. I led with their comments.
The next week I again arrived early. A councilman—face red and veins throbbing—called me over. He yelled, and I calmly reminded him the council recorded everything. Then, despite a growing audience, he threw me against a wall and choked me while my feet dangled.
Five 50-something councilmen tried vainly to rip him off me. It was so bizarre to look down on their fearful faces and his enraged one. Finally, they were able to calm him down.
You could argue that should have led the next council story. Instead, I tried to hide the bruises in turtlenecks and knit scarves and declined to press charges.
I was there to serve the readers—and the council learned the hard way. From then on, the council was all business. And so was I.
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