Never brandish your “reporter notebook.” It’s a sure way to piss people off. Avoid vulture-like questions or mannerisms, like “how does it feel?” Never smile. Don’t stand around with other reporters and joke. Don’t be afraid to shed a tear or two on occasion -- you’ll feel the need, and when you don’t, get another job.
“What happened?” is the best conversation starter. People often mistake me for a cop; I look a little like one, and don’t discourage it. Swearing is pretty much mandatory in most instances. When I say I’m a reporter, I often add that I just want the basics. It’s mostly true: the copyeditors really don’t WANT a big story to break up their neatly arranged pages late at night. It’s the biggest misconception most people have about us: that we really WANT that piece of misery. Believe me: we’ve written dozens of stories about shootings; we’re not dying for another one.
Out of the dozens, perhaps hundreds of late-night crime scenes I’ve visited, the first story I’m told is true about a third of the time. Kids and teenagers are easily convinced gossips: the least trustworthy. Curious, elderly neighbors are only a bit better -- they’re opinionated, but know the neighborhoods, know when people moved in, and who plays loud music, and who fights. Plus, they'll invite you in.
