I did have a talk with the editor of the Ladoga Daily, Ms. Sylvia Yanez, hoping that she wouldn’t hold me to an article that revealed VIV’s identity if she allowed Wes and I to use credentials from the Daily to attend the journalism conference. I met her in her office.
“It’s not that I don’t want to write for you,” I explained. “In fact, I would be honored to do a story for you. But the nature of this story is sensitive. Let’s say I find VIV and she asks me to respect her privacy, I will have to do that.”
“That’s fair enough.” Yanez said. “I’ll give you guys the credentials, but pitch me something when you’re done. Something interesting.”
I was happy that she was so understanding and as I left with the credentials, I don’t know why I was so worried. Of course Yanez would understand. She respected the work that VIV did and she would want to protect that source more than she would want an interesting story for the paper.
In preparation for the conference, Wes and I did a lot of reading on the conference website that listed all of the media outlets that would be sending representative, doing presentations, and which reporters and organizations would be receiving awards. We hoped to see if anyone would stand out as a potential candidate to be VIV, which required a lot of cross checking of names against various search engines and social media platforms. But it was very much a needle in a haystack scenario. Literally anyone, or no one, going to the conference could potentially be VIV and without asking the question outright, there was just no way to know for sure. We knew some things had to be true, that VIV was either a current or former resident of East Ladoga who had most likely lived there in their childhood, and that they still had some connection to the city if they were able to distribute the paper in town so regularly. We could only hope that flimsy profile would help us sort through all the hay.
The day before Wes and I were to attend the conference, I was in Ladoga and noticed a new issue of This and Other Things that I took to Mr. Smith’s house to see if he had found it. Of course he had and was pouring through it as he absently welcomed me into his home.
“They suspect that someone is onto them.” Mr. Smith said.
The theme of the issue was the invisible hand, or the way some people make a difference in the lives of others without recognition. There was a story about the mysterious and regular appearance of donated food at the local homeless shelter. For years, staff at the shelter have found boxes of food on the shelter’s doorstep every Monday morning and no one knows who donates it. It’s perfectly good food too, not some sadistic prank, just a good Samaritan making a difference without the need for kudos or thank yous. There was also a story about a homeless man who received $20 every week for a year from a man that he didn’t know. The homeless man saved the money until he was able to buy nice clothes that he used to interview for job, which he got and allowed him to afford an apartment. The (formerly) homeless man explained that he tried to get the man’s name, but he refused to give it. “He said that he didn’t want me to feel like I owed him anything in return,” the homeless man explained.
“What do you mean they suspect?” I asked Mr. Smith after I had thumbed through the issue and saw that there was no mention of someone trying to get in touch with VIV.
“The whole theme of the issue seems to be aimed right at you.” Mr. Smith said. “It expounds the virtue of doing good without having your name attached to it. VIV is telling you that finding their true identity is a useless endeavor.”
“Is that what she’s saying? The homeless man in that story saw his benefactor’s face. He didn’t know his name, but he knew him. If there is a message here for me, it isn’t stop looking for me. It might be, if you find me, let that be enough or something.”
“So you’re not on the fence about it anymore?” Mr. Smith asked.
“No, not really. Wes and I are going to the conference and hopefully this will be the end of the investigation.”
“I truly hope that you find what you’re looking for.” Mr. Smith said. “And promise me that I’m the first one you tell when you figure it out. If anyone gets to know, I want to.”
I promised him. The next day at the conference, things were more hectic than Wes and I had anticipated. The hotel was packed with journalists from all over the southeast and the place was buzzing with noise and activity.
“Where do we even start?” Wes asked and I could see that he was not enthusiastic about our chances of successfully finding anyone in all of the activity.
We decided to make our rounds of the various booths that publications had set up in the hotel conference room. We both wore our Ladoga Daily press credentials prominently so that any casual observer would know where we were from. The booths varied in purpose. Some papers seemed to be recruiting reporters and other seemed to be selling subscriptions. Other booths didn’t represent papers at all, but products that reporters might be interested in like business card printing services or fancy pens. And this was most of the first day of the conference. The second half of the first day was dedicated to speeches and presentations from important or knowledgeable people in the industry and Wes and I decided to skip most of them and opted for schmoozing at the hotel bar. We were just as likely to find VIV there as we were in those presentations. Actually, our chances were much better of finding her at the bar because it was packed with journalists for most of that first day.
We sat at the bar and eventually a guy came over and introduced himself.
“I’m Tim,” he said. “It’s weird, the first person I met from Ladoga said it was a little-known place, but you guys are the second and third person I’ve met from there in less than an hour.”
Wes and I shot each other a look of glee.
“Who else did you meet from Ladoga?” Wes asked.
“A lady. She works for a paper in TN. I can’t remember her name or the name of the paper, maybe I’ve had too much to drink. These conferences…”
“She was here in the bar?” Wes asked, cutting Tim off.
“No, she’s at the booth for the paper she works for. Really nice lady, very good reporter. I think she’s getting an award tomorrow.”
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