We’d heard that Alec Kreider was going to be arrested about 5 p.m. Saturday. But we were asked to hold off on interviewing neighbors until the actual arrest happened - some of them, we were told, were assisting with the case, providing the cops with information, and there was concern that if we swooped in too soon, it might cause a problem. We didn’t want to do that, so we waited - sort of.
Which is to say we knew Kreider’s dad lived in Bloomingdale, and his mother in Cobblestone Court. Police cars were posted in both locations; we didn’t know exactly where he would be arrested. So we kind of hung around, drove through; in Bloomingdale in particular, neighbors were clustered at the end of driveways, in threes and fours, talking in hushed tones. Everyone seemed to know what was going on. Two police cars were parked along Dolly Drive, another drove around that part of the neighborhood; when police encountered anyone who looked like they might be press - Intell photographer Dan Marschka, for example, who was working the story for us Saturday and got out of his car to shoot a picture of the father’s home - they’d give him the evil eye.
There actually seemed to be fewer cops at Cobblestone Court, which led to think the arrest was going to take place in Bloomingdale. We waited. And at almost 5 p.m. on the dot, the cops in Bloomingdale up and left. The arrest was happening in Cobblestone Court.
Fine; there was a half-hour until the press conference started, time enough to talk to some neighbors. I parked, got out and started talking to a couple guys who had a general idea what was happening, but not many specifics. No, they didn’t really know the kid, Alec. Didn’t see him much.
But then one guy nodded: “There’s his sister.”
A woman was walking a girl, maybe 18, back towards the Kreider house. I sighed. Gotta do it, I suppose. Part of the job - the most distasteful part.
I hustled over. “Hi,” I said in what I hoped was a sympathetic voice, “I’m from the Sunday News and…”
”NO,” said the girl. She was crying. I backed off.
A few moments later I talked to the woman, a neighbor, who didn’t really want to talk. Actually, I could kind of tell she did - but it was all just too overwhelming. Understandable. But the one thing she did say was that the family wanted to be left alone. And that, too, was understandable. And so I didn’t go knock on the Kreider’s door.
Later, at the press conference, attorney Bob Beyer, representing the Kreider family, made a few brief statements and said the family would have nothing else to say. He asked the assembled press to please respect the family’s privacy, and not attempt to contact them for comment.
Writing the story Saturday night, I respected tha wish. I did not call.
Neither, it seems, did the Associated Press or the Philadelphia Inquirer.
But both the Intelligencer Journal and the Lancaster New Era did.
I’m curious to know what you think of that.
Not to cast aspersions on our local newspapers, because part of being in the news business is making the phone calls you personally consider distasteful. Asking the person whose son was just thrown into jail, possibly for the rest of his life, what he or she thinks about that. And worse, of course; calling someone whose relative has, say, died in a fire for comment. It is a horrible thing but it is part of the news-gathering process. And the general public usually takes quite a bit of offense to this.
But at the same time - were the New Era, for instance, able to get through to one of Kreider’s parents, able to score an exclusive interview - is there any doubt whatsoever that that edition of the paper would fly off the newsstand? That some of those who profess to be offended by the intrusion into a family’s grief would indeed gobble it up? And then, maybe turn around and rip the media for it.
I don’t know that there’s a “right” answer to this, though I’m sure commenters will tell me there is. What I do know is that after being asked to respect the family’s privacy, I did. But if we hadn’t specifically been asked to refrain from calling, I would have. There’s an argument that for the sake of thoroughness, you must at least try to contact the family. If they don’t want to speak to you they won’t. But maybe they will. So you take a deep breath and make the call, knowing you might get ripped for insensitivity, realizing that sometimes the job requires insensitivity, and the public tends to reward it - and wishing that wasn’t the case.
