Far Afield

XV

100 XV Stanley’s blather concerning his brother’s psychology sounded plausible in his personally ransacked office—delivered as it was with fraternal conviction—but when I emerged in the outside world I realized that none of it would help me in persuading Trevor to alter his course. Stanley’s understanding, after all, was an inbred one, and to arm myself before meeting Trevor I needed an outsider’s larger perspective on the queer nature of politics here and the queerer matter of how he had managed to exist in the public consciousness (other than in a state of ridicule, that is). I suddenly recalled the name of the Morning Gleaner reporter and my intention to ring him up. If I did manage to convince Trevor back in the race, this would be a good time to begin an association with him; even if I failed in my mission, I could call later with the exclusive that Trevor had quit. Indeed, in spite of the harsh tone he had taken in his articles, I was glad to provide R. S. Bando with a break. Having worked and established a career in a major media market in the US, I took a superior pity on those whom I thought had been marooned on the more distant shoals of the media by bad luck, lack of ability, or their own shortness of ambition. I asked Wilkie to stop at a newspaper box where I bought a new copy of the Gleaner and hunted down its address and telephone number. From a nearby phone booth, I then dialed the paper and asked for Bando. No one answered and instead I got a voicemail machine. To my surprise, it was a woman’s brusque voice that told Scott Brown 101 me to leave a message and the best time for her to call back. Without responding, I hung up and again called the switchboard. “I’m trying to reach Ms. Bando. Is she in?” I was immediately put on a very lengthy hold. “I’m afraid she’ll be back tomorrow,” said the operator who I’d imagined had gone and inspected the entire newsroom and perhaps the lavatories, as well. “Do you want her message box?” This time, I left a detailed message identifying myself and my purpose in calling, and asked that she phone me at the hotel as late as was convenient. Though I tried to sound as supplicating as possible, I also doubted that I would hear from her before the next afternoon. To a reporter, an unsolicited call is something to be put off for at least a day, or until the remindful follow-up. Some reporters are expert at never phoning back members of the public and thus manage to accomplish a great deal of work. Returning to the car, I was uncertain how to proceed. I had hoped for some fresh information to help me plan my moves but having none threw me back on myself in an unfortunate way. I dreaded the fact that on my own I would have to convince Trevor of something firmly against his wishes, given that the act of persuading others in the service of anything but journalism has never been one of my talents. In fact, in the few times I have tried it, I’ve been all too amenable when people have refused what I’ve had to offer and more often than not, I’ve ended up convinced of their contrary point of view. This lack of fervor has struck others as strange, perhaps even distasteful since it seemingly arises from a lack of resolve, yet for me it has been mostly advantageous, given that it springs from my ability to become more interested in the details of others’ lives instead of the satisfying of my own desires. And perhaps it explains why so many of my news sources were so willing to talk with me and why I stayed a successful reporter for so long, at the expense, it must be said, of other callings. Indeed, several of my colleagues, after their news careers ended, ventured into jobs in public relations and advertising. In them, they were greatly happy, working half their previous hours for a 102 Far Afield good deal more money and in the privacy of modern offices. My attempts , however, were more disastrous. Both times I tried the field, I lasted exactly...