Every time I think I’m out…they pull me back in

Or something like that.

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The thing is…my job make me like it again today. After weeks, nay, months of apathy and near-disdain for my profession, my job got interesting today. And now I like it again…which is really annoying. It’s kind of like dating a girl for a long time. Over the course of the relationship you start to figure out that she doesn’t smell good all the time, she tends to harp on your little inconsistencies (like flirting with waitresses and bartendresses), and she will occasionally eat your Chinese noodle leftovers when you’re not looking. You’re all ready to find some trollop from the local beanery and then Girl #1 surprises you with a lemon tart and some fancy new marital aide that is really going to spice things up.

Here’s the deal. Local news (especially TV news) is often very reactionary. You only do stories if someone is outraged enough about something to fax over a press release. And then you only do it if the Anthrax Scare at the local daycare center has affected the nap time of fewer then six little monsters. It gets to be a grind and you start wondering if you are any more than a mouthpiece for the newsmakers.

Today, I had nothing. Each morning at 9:30 we meet to discuss what we’ll be doing for the day. Like many days in the last few months, I looked at the floor and picked cookie crumbs out of my colleague’s desk cracks. Before I knew it, I had been assigned to do a story on South Carolina banning all outdoor burning (for you city folk, we here in the rural part of the country burn our junk when we’re tired of looking at it) because the risk of wildfires was getting too great. I didn’t really care. I had become far-too apathetic to mind my daily work duties. I rode out to Pickens, interviewed a guy from the Forestry Commission, played with some dry leaves, and came back to my desk.

My voice-mail indicator was bright red. I didn’t think much of it. I dialed in and started listening.

My stomach fell into my shoes. The guy on the voice mail worked for the state department of pardon, probation, and parole. I had been pestering him for a few days about an upcoming parole hearing. He told me on Monday that Charles Wakefield’s parole hearing had been canceled at his attorneys request. I said I could wait and he promised to call me and tell me when it was set to come up again.

Charles Wakefield killed a county deputy and the deputy’s father in 1975. Deputy Frank Looper noticed a guy walk into his dad’s garage. He grabbed his service revolver, headed to the garage into an ambush. The police eventually caught up with Wakefield. A jury convicted him and gave him the death penalty.

In 1978, the Supreme Court declared the death penalty unconstitutional. Wakefield’s sentence was commuted to life in prison plus 25 years.

He went to parole hearing after parole hearing. In 1997, the parole board actually paroled him. But after a huge public outcry, the parole board decided it made a mistake and said Wakefield had to stay in prison because he hadn’t found a suitable place to live. The overriding though at the time was Wakefield had some friends in high places who thought they could let him go without anybody noticing.

So, the guy on my voicemail was telling me that, despite what he’d told me, the parole hearing went on as planned and the parole board granted Wakefield a conditional release. Sorry you weren’t here to see it, maybe we’ll see you next time.

After I made about a dozen phone calls, I realized I wasn’t the only one who was led astray. See, state law requires that and living victims, victims’ families, the police, and the prosecutor be notified anytime there is a parole hearing. They are supposed to have a chance to speak in front of the parole board to oppose parole. As it turns out, nobody here was notified. Everyone I talked to went crazy. The police chief, the former police chief, the sheriff, etc.

In a period of two hours, the law enforcement community was in a tizzy. The woman who chaired the parole board was backpedaling. She says she didn’t know the locals weren’t notified.

Now, there’s a very good chance the parole board will rescind the guy’s parole and call for a new hearing in which everybody gets to speak.

Now, maybe Wakefield has paid his debt to society. I dunno. Not my place to say. But, if he’s going to get out, it has to be done by the book. And if I wasn’t doing my job today, there’s a chance he could’ve been out and gone before anybody knew (read: the editor is giving himself a shameless pat on the back).

So, for tonight, I like my job again. I feel like I did something. Rather than being reactionary, I caused a reaction. Or, at least, I reported an unknown fact that caused a reaction.

So, this little harlot has tied me around her little finger again. She’ll eat my noodles, smell bad, and slap me when I flirt with Ani (that’s “Annie” to the sober-headed) the Naughty Bartendress.

And next time I go on a rant about hating my job, remind me…I like it sometimes.