The drug agent had information. I met him downtown after dark and listened to what he had to say. He was bearded and dressed in civilian clothes. I was similarly attired, though even less stylish than an undercover drug agent.

We stood in the dark and spoke in low voices so as not to be heard. The sounds of traffic and downtown chatter were all around us.

“Look,” the agent said. “Right across the street. That’s one of them. See? And there’s another one just over there.”

I glanced over without moving my head. I pretended not to be looking at all. But the agent was right. It was obvious.

“Along Bartlett Street, they’re all over the place,” he said. “All the proof you need is right up there at the street corners. Check it out. And let me know what you find out.”

We separated then and I went on my way, mulling these thoughts. It was a warm night but I noticed only distantly. My imagination was stirring with this new data. I walked alone and considered the task at hand.

The agent wanted to know why some telephone poles lean. He wanted to know why some stand straight like soldiers while others bend toward the road like hard drinkers waiting for a ride.

What … you thought he was out there passing on scintillating details about drug dealers? As if.

His own slant

I run into this particular agent often and he always has slanted thoughts to share with me. He puts ideas in my head that won’t go away, like itches on the brain.

A short time ago, he pointed out how you always see a single sneaker or shoe at the sides of roads. Rarely a pair. Just a single shoe sitting there as if it stunk so bad, the other had run off.

I might have written a long, yawn-inspiring piece on it, but a USA Today columnist beat me to it. You see? That’s why you have to speak in hushed tones out on the streets. Big city columnists are eavesdropping everywhere.

But the point is, people are always relating information to me and it doesn’t always pertain to crime or scandal. People are vividly aware of their surroundings, especially close to home. They notice when things don’t look right. They notice what their neighbors are up to, even in the hours after midnight. They notice when fruits or vegetables look astoundingly like historical figures.

Since their observations might not make good dinner conversation with the family, these people hail down a reporter, whose job it is to observe their world and relate their findings.

I wish I could remember a quarter of the more bizarre tips I’ve gotten over the years. The guy with the fruits and vegetables? He wanted me to know he had some gourds that looked a lot like famous baseball players from bygone eras. Frankly, I didn’t see it at first. But I squinted real hard at one of them until … yes! That sucker looks just like Joe Dimaggio!

A stranger might call to tell me in breathless tones about an odd, disc-shaped object he saw over his back field while he was out drinking in the woodshed. And as a crime reporter, naturally he assumes I’m interested in a sky phenomenon.

As a matter of fact, I am interested. Interested in all of it. I can’t help myself. What reporter can? When a newsman gets a tip that doesn’t come in the form of a press release, strange things happen in his brain. He sniffs an exclusive. He feels he is privy to information that very few know about and it is his job to inform the world.

Watching for hotshots

Journalists are curious critters. They have to be. You ignore new information at great risk. Dismiss an oddball tip and another hotshot might swoop in like a crow and fly away with the big story.

That’s why one of our city reporters didn’t laugh it off when a group of conspiracy theorists told him – without mirth – that aliens were being held in the old Worumbo Mill in Lisbon Falls.

And it’s for the same reason I found myself wandering down Bartlett Street – and Pierce and Blake and Park and Maple – staring upward with my head at odd angles.

The poles. They really do lean. They lean as though they have dropped something important and they’re searching the ground for it. They lean at varying angles and once you become aware of the fact, the city will never look the same again.

So, it probably isn’t the story of the year. My editors haven’t prodded me lately for an exposé on leaning poles. But I tell you this: If I see a big story about it next week in USA Today, I’m really gonna kick myself.

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