It was 10 a.m. on a Sunday — Aug. 7, 2005 to be exact — when I first spoke with Mayor Bill Welch. It would be quite a task to forget the time the mayor woke you up with a phone call.
“I should have known better than to call a college student this early,” his voicemail said. “I wasn’t asleep,” I practiced in my mind, trying to convince myself that this was not a fib.
The first impression was key. I was a rookie student reporter for The Daily Collegian; he was the mayor. The term “nervous” does not do the moment justice.
My returned call was no better.
Less than 24 hours prior, the mayor’s daughter had been married, and the family was celebrating when this 18-year-old reporter called the house.
The term “mortified” does not do the moment justice.
An apology eventually worked its way out, but the damage was done. I had already destroyed a non-existent relationship with a source, I was sure.
In response, Mayor Welch made the most impressive declaration I’ve ever heard from a politician:
“I’m a public official. This is my job.”
Obvious? Yes. But it is also a simple standard so often forgotten by leaders on every level and one he both preached and practiced.
When I tried to respond with my first question on the list in my lap, he cut me off. He asked, “Who are you?” Terry Casey with The Daily Collegian, I reiterated.
“You said that already. Who are you?” he asked again.
For the next 10 or 15 minutes, we chatted. Yes, I had football tickets. Yes, I was very excited to be in State College. No, I didn’t know he was a former newspaper editor. Yes, I would gladly take advice on journalism.
Rule No. 1: Develop a conversation with your source, and both of you will be more comfortable with the planned interview later. Noted.
The conversation ended with his two requests: a copy of the article after publication and a visit before the next borough council meeting. I agreed to both.
At the next meeting, I arrived early and with The Daily Collegian in hand. Mayor Welch, without a hint of sarcasm, asked if I would be so kind as to autograph it. “You never know,” he said. Then, as if holding an imaginary camera, he pretended to take my picture, “so I don’t forget.”
He never did.
For the next few years, Mayor Welch would greet me by name in passing. He called to congratulate me after I was selected to be the Collegian’s editor in chief in 2008. He asked about work and classes. And every time, he did it with a firm handshake and a smile.
There a politicians who will cheat and lie and steal to have things their way, with no regard for the public. There are politicians who are as tough as dollar store paper towels, but are friendly to their constituents. Then there was Bill Welch.
He was tough when he needed to be, but was also fair and honest about his statements. He backed up his opinions with solid facts, and he kept meetings interesting with light commentary on the side.
And this town loved him for it.
The shoes of Mayor Welch will be impossible to fill, and his replacement will undoubtedly be compared to him on every level. But if he could give his successor one bit of advice, it would likely be to remember always his/her role as a public servant and to act accordingly.
We cannot ask for another Bill Welch. But we can and should ask for someone who was taking notes.
