Don’t Feed the Journalist

Commentary

Storey County, Nev. — After more than four years writing for a newspaper in Virginia City, Nev., I’ve developed a specific professional skill: the ability to find humor in situations that were absolutely, positively not meant to be funny. It’s a survival mechanism.

When you work in a town steeped in history, ghosts, and questionable plumbing, you either laugh or you start yelling at inanimate objects, and that’s generally frowned upon in newsrooms. Back in the glory days of Mark Twain, Dan DeQuille, and the other legendary Sagebrush Journalists (yes, that’s a real thing, and yes, it sounds like a minor league baseball team), a story like this would’ve been handled with a flourish of sarcasm, a raised eyebrow, and probably a fabricated quote from a mule.

They referred to these stories as “quaints,” a term for fake news before it was an offense to the mainstream. Quaints existed to fill column inches and entertain readers, and nobody pretended otherwise, because most everyone was in on the joke.

Which brings us to the modern-day press release that landed on my desk like a pigeon with a warrant out for its arrest.

Storey County officials are reminding the public that feeding pigeons is against the law. Let that sink in.

Not discouraging. Not frowned upon. Illegal.

Feeding non-domesticated pigeons, because apparently there are domesticated pigeons somewhere, is classified as a misdemeanor. That’s right. You could be standing there, crumbs in hand, thinking you’re Snow White, and suddenly you’re Public Enemy No. 1.

The reasoning, of course, is serious business. Officials warn of overpopulation, property damage, and health risks.

And they’re not wrong. Pigeons are flying biohazards with wings and an attitude.

According to the county code, this ordinance came about after a noticeable increase in the pigeon population, because nothing multiplies faster than something you feed for free. Still, there’s something wonderfully absurd about seeing this press release sandwiched between stories of fatal crashes, drug busts, and assorted human misery.

The town fathers, bless their earnest hearts, want this taken just as seriously as anything else in the news. Somewhere in Storey County, a lawmaker lost sleep over pigeons.

I mean actual sleep. Tossing and turning, haunted by the soft coo of criminal birds.

And that’s where the humor writes itself.

Because in a world where the headlines are usually grim, it’s refreshing to get reminded that sometimes the biggest threat to public order is a guy with a loaf of bread and a soft spot for birds. It’s a reminder that local news, truthful news, still has room for the ridiculous, the quaint, and the wonderfully unnecessary.

Mark Twain would’ve loved this one. He’d have milked it for three columns, blamed the pigeons for civic decay, and somehow worked in a jab at politicians.

Me? I’ll say this: if you see me in Virginia City, feeding the pigeons, mind your business. I’m not a criminal, I’m a journalist, practicing history.