Monday, April 27, 2009
Dominique Freedman (Continued)
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As I walked into the office of The Oklahoman, I was greeted by the friendly faces of my coworkers and my mind was immediately at ease. These were people who had faith in me and my ability to write a good story about even the most elusive and toughest people out there. Dominique Freedman wouldn’t be any different than last year’s Henry Zellman, the pedophile who’d kidnapped and murdered a 12 year old girl last year in Enid. I sat face to face with that animal for four straight days, trying to extract what little information he was willing to share about why he did it and why he wasn’t remorseful. In the end, my reward was a nice 500 word story and a nomination for “Most Promising Young Journalist in Oklahoma”, one of the most important awards an up and coming writer in Oklahoma could receive.
No, Dominique Freedman wouldn’t be hard. Frightening, maybe, but hard no. I’d just have to put all of the rumors I’d heard about him out of my mind and walk in with a completely blank slate. No presuppositions; no lingering doubts; no judgments. When I sat with Freedman, I would be a journalist working a character piece. Still, that didn’t quite get me off the hook; I’d still need to coax a good story out of him, and the man was notorious for being a tough interview. In my own honest self-assessment, I just wasn’t sure if I had what it took to go toe to toe with one of the most powerful people in Oklahoma.
My thoughts were interrupted by the overly loud voice of my editor Phil Chrisman, yelling at me to “get my shit together” and get into his office. This was going to be a long day; Phil was never this gruff this early in the morning without there being hell to pay on the other side of his glass windowed wall.
"Where the hell have you been for the last two days”, Phil demanded as soon as I walked into his office. I’d barely had time to close the door and sit my briefcase down before his rough interrogation continued: “We needed you here to liaise with one of the Tulsa TV stations and nobody knew where you were!”
“I was working on the Dominique Freedman story you assigned me, Phil”, I quickly shot back. This time, at least, I’d gotten Phil’s clearance before disappearing on my own for a few days. “Remember, the story you want done by the end of the week?”
“Yeah, I remember. Sorry. This office has been a freaking zoo for the last three weeks and it’s getting hard to keep up who goes where anymore”, he said a little more meekly than was needed, “How’s the story coming along anyway?
I lied and said it was going pretty good. The truth is that everything I’ve done between Monday and today was research. I didn’t even actually have an appointment with Freedman until tomorrow and that gave me less than a day to organize my notes and write the story if I were to meet the publication deadline. Of course, I’d never tell Phil that, especially since I’d just dodged the bullet on the whole two day disappearance thing. No, the story was coming pretty good as far as he was concerned.
“Freedman is an interesting character”, I concluded. “There’s a lot of rumor surrounding him and there’s even some allegations that he might have been involved in some of the weird disappearances in Quapaw last year. Nothing nailed down in stone, of course, but worth asking about when he and I sit down”.
I could tell that this last part, the “when he and I sit down” part, didn’t sit well with Phil.
“You haven’t even talked to him yet?” he boomed. “What the hell is wrong with you Morrison? You do realize that today is Wednesday, right?”
“Yes, I realize that”, I said sarcastically. I hated being talked to like I was a child and Phil had a way of making you feel about five years old anytime he raised his voice. “But I’ve got everything I need for the interview tomorrow and it’ll be fine. You know I’m always on time with my stories, Phil. Cut me some slack.”
Phil glared at me, knowing that I was right; I was always on time with my stories, even if it meant staying up all night writing them. Still, he’d never liked my last minute way of doing things. Hard core newspaper men like options. Last minute doesn’t give those.
“Go get to work Liz. Bring me a winner”
When I got back to my office there was a note stuck to my phone: “Call Dominique Freedman”.
This had just become my lucky day.
No, Dominique Freedman wouldn’t be hard. Frightening, maybe, but hard no. I’d just have to put all of the rumors I’d heard about him out of my mind and walk in with a completely blank slate. No presuppositions; no lingering doubts; no judgments. When I sat with Freedman, I would be a journalist working a character piece. Still, that didn’t quite get me off the hook; I’d still need to coax a good story out of him, and the man was notorious for being a tough interview. In my own honest self-assessment, I just wasn’t sure if I had what it took to go toe to toe with one of the most powerful people in Oklahoma.
My thoughts were interrupted by the overly loud voice of my editor Phil Chrisman, yelling at me to “get my shit together” and get into his office. This was going to be a long day; Phil was never this gruff this early in the morning without there being hell to pay on the other side of his glass windowed wall.
"Where the hell have you been for the last two days”, Phil demanded as soon as I walked into his office. I’d barely had time to close the door and sit my briefcase down before his rough interrogation continued: “We needed you here to liaise with one of the Tulsa TV stations and nobody knew where you were!”
“I was working on the Dominique Freedman story you assigned me, Phil”, I quickly shot back. This time, at least, I’d gotten Phil’s clearance before disappearing on my own for a few days. “Remember, the story you want done by the end of the week?”
“Yeah, I remember. Sorry. This office has been a freaking zoo for the last three weeks and it’s getting hard to keep up who goes where anymore”, he said a little more meekly than was needed, “How’s the story coming along anyway?
I lied and said it was going pretty good. The truth is that everything I’ve done between Monday and today was research. I didn’t even actually have an appointment with Freedman until tomorrow and that gave me less than a day to organize my notes and write the story if I were to meet the publication deadline. Of course, I’d never tell Phil that, especially since I’d just dodged the bullet on the whole two day disappearance thing. No, the story was coming pretty good as far as he was concerned.
“Freedman is an interesting character”, I concluded. “There’s a lot of rumor surrounding him and there’s even some allegations that he might have been involved in some of the weird disappearances in Quapaw last year. Nothing nailed down in stone, of course, but worth asking about when he and I sit down”.
I could tell that this last part, the “when he and I sit down” part, didn’t sit well with Phil.
“You haven’t even talked to him yet?” he boomed. “What the hell is wrong with you Morrison? You do realize that today is Wednesday, right?”
“Yes, I realize that”, I said sarcastically. I hated being talked to like I was a child and Phil had a way of making you feel about five years old anytime he raised his voice. “But I’ve got everything I need for the interview tomorrow and it’ll be fine. You know I’m always on time with my stories, Phil. Cut me some slack.”
Phil glared at me, knowing that I was right; I was always on time with my stories, even if it meant staying up all night writing them. Still, he’d never liked my last minute way of doing things. Hard core newspaper men like options. Last minute doesn’t give those.
“Go get to work Liz. Bring me a winner”
When I got back to my office there was a note stuck to my phone: “Call Dominique Freedman”.
This had just become my lucky day.
Labels:
introduction. the darkness,
story part
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