Shave and an Interview: Two Cents


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Okay, so there was no real shave involved. Just a haircut.

Right in the middle of my interview with an alderman.

For journalists, I feel like this issue comes up a lot. You get up at the crack of dawn, eager to start the day and get to work calling all those important people you need even more important quotes from. You pick up the phone and by noon you’ve already talked to plenty of people.

Most of them being secretaries and communication buffs.

This was the situation I was in the other day. I was working on my first big project (covering an immigrant community) for my International Reporting class.  I had called Alderman Richard Mell’s office on Thursday and Friday and was told by a very pleasant woman that the alderman was not available, but she would sure pass my message along.

Mell, for those unfamiliar with Chicago politics, is the father of Patty Mell aka Patty Blagojevich. He is also alderman of the 33rd Ward and has been for 36 years.

No small potatoes there.

I wanted to briefly speak with him about the history of Muslim business owners in Albany Park-part of his ward and the area I was covering.

After hearing nada from Mell’s office on Thursday and Friday, I schlepped through that useless block of time known as the weekend, before waking early on Monday to give it the old college try before my haircut at 11.

“Of course,” the woman on the phone says, “the alderman has an opening to talk at noon.”

Smack dab in the middle of the haircut appointment I made a month ago.

Times like these are truly the test of your journalistic strength.

So, what did I do? Cancel the appointment? Tell the alderman to take a hike?

Neither. I did what any crazy writer with a deadline (and split ends) would do.

Went to the haircut. Excused myself to the bathroom at noon. Called Dick Mell while precariously perched on the toilet seat in the world’s smallest bathroom. And talked to him for ten productive minutes about Albany Park’s Muslim community.

Then turned right around and got the rest of those hairs cut.

Just another day in the life of a Columbia journalism student.