Passing this on my Saturday run reminded me of a WWII veteran I interviewed in 2001. A deeply patriotic man, he seethed at the shabby condition of the flags his neighbors put up — and promptly neglected — after 9/11.
That detail never made the paper. The man, in fact, never made the paper.
We were considering him and several other people from his generation for a year-long project. He opened up almost immediately, welcoming me into his home and telling me bleak wartime stories of witnessing the deaths of men he trained.
All those decades later it was still raw for him. Too raw, as it turned out. He called me up later, sounding very shaken, telling me I shouldn’t have asked the questions I asked and he shouldn’t have told the stories he told. I apologized for upsetting him. We crossed him off our shortlist of potential subjects for the year-long project.
Even though no published journalism came out of talking with him, he is one of the many people I think of when I hear about some reporter fabricating a story, a source, a quote. Beyond the obvious ethical reasons not to fabricate, I just have never understood the impulse to cheat yourself out of being surprised by real stories, real people, real quotes. If I’d skipped that interview and sat in a bar making up imaginary quotes, my fake WWII vet would have reveled in this sudden surge of indiscriminate flag-waving. It simply never would have occurred to me to have the vet step into his driveway, point at his neighbor’s weather-beaten American flag, and speak with righteous, bristling contempt.
That’s a small thing, I guess. But small surprises absolutely nourished me during my time as a reporter.
