New York Times crime reporter Michael Wilson was plucked from the Oregonian staff in 2000. Wilson is a fascinating guy. I used to sit near him in the bar and listen as he talked about reporting crime stories in Portland. One day he came in and announced that the Times had recruited him. He was very happy of course, and ready to celebrate.
Why would he want to leave lovely Portland for the rat race in New York, somebody naively wondered aloud.
"I'm a crime reporter," Wilson said matter-of-factly. "And Portland doesn't have crime."
This was an exaggeration of course, but one gathered Wilson's meaning. Portland has its share of crime, but New York has more.
For a crime reporter the job opportunity was a no-brainer.
Here's Wilson on the last New Yorker to die on 9/11, not as the towers collapsed earlier that day, but just before midnight on a dark street corner in Brooklyn.
When you think about that day 10 years ago remember that violent death is as American as baseball and comes in many guises.
Remember that one murder hasn't more meaning than any other. Not really. Mass murder perhaps sells better is all.
TS
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