When it comes to covering news in small-town America, there are certain categories of stories that draw more attention than others.

Feature stories are my favorite: highlighting the unique accomplishments or experiences, or even inspirational anguishes, that shape who we are as people, community members, friends and neighbors. 

Routine news stories are important and impactful, like when your utility bill might go up, what projects a city or school district is seeking bond funding for in the next election, or when a new bridge (like 7th Street) is being constructed.

Sports stories are typically all positive. Who doesn’t love a Wildcats football win, or a history-making back-to-back state wrestling champion?

Yet, one category of news inevitably rules them all. The most reads. The most talk. The most interest.

Crime.

About 90-95% of crime stories are what I would consider ho-hum. Drug busts, burglaries, assaults, theft from public entities and the like are all fairly routine in this industry. They happen, they get reported, and they are unequivocallly the most read.

Then, there are the crime stories I hate to report but are my duty to do so, mainly sex crimes and domestics.

I get asked every now and then, yesterday even, “How do you choose what stories you report?” The answer isn’t a simple one.

The ho-hum crime stories become a bit routine: This person stole a bunch of stuff from this place, or that person was distributing large amounts of meth. In the last dozen years, I have reported week-in and week-out for this publication, those pieces tend to write themselves.

The most difficult are the ones involving children, and in the last two weeks, we’ve had a couple. In the March 11 issue, my top story was a domestic. As a general rule, I don’t write domestics. Most are adult relationships gone south, with an abusive partner acting in ways most would consider unfathomable, but no one is affected outside of the home, which makes them less reportable. 

But, when it comes to children involved in domestics — especially when those children are the reported victims — that changes things.

My top story last week was one I hesitated to write, but when I read the probable cause statement — alleging a teenager fled a home and hid in a ditch in the cold for an hour — it seemed like something that should have been at the top of the front page.

Yet, before the papers even hit the racks, I got a call from one side of the story telling me it was all wrong. Later that day, I was approached in person from an individual on the same side saying I didn’t have the facts. Even later that day, I got a call from someone on the other side of the story upset with how it was reported.

In these moments, it’s difficult to ascertain the truth. I am not the creator of the story. I don’t make things up or ignore facts. I am the messenger. 

All crime stories are word-for-word from probable cause statements — first-hand accounts from our local law enforcement professionals who were at the scene, took the report, made the assessment and recommended XYZ charges.

There are always three sides to a story: The accused’s, the victim’s and the truth. It is the prerogative of the public to call for help when they need it, followed by the police recording the information they obtain on scene. 

Then, the responsibility is passed to us, to report the information back to the public — full circle. It’s a delicate task that inherently requires to fairness to all involved, and it inherently it hurts all involved. 

It’s a high wire we toe.

We attempt to do so with as much neutrality as we can, with initial respect to law enforcement and the victim.

We also understand everyone is innocent until proven guilty — and we empathize with their loved ones while reporting probable cause statements.

Every word of every crime story I write is tied back to probable cause statements, paper trails, as I call them. Probable cause statements are also entirely allegations, that law enforcement officer’s assessment of a situation and what charges should be filed. I am never on scene, nor do I have the resources to conduct individual investigations of allegations of crimes on my own. 

Yet, I am held accountable of reporting such. And, I take that responsibility very seriously. I use my best judgment and 15 years of total experience to determine whet’s reportable and what’s not.

It’s a burden I do not enjoy, but it’s part of the job. 

One sector of crime I do take very seriously — and hate to report as often as it arrives on my desk — is child sex crimes. The top story this week is exactly that, and the victim is a person who has appeared frequently within the pages of my paper in far more positive light. 

Crimes such as reported this week happen more often than they are divulged to authorities, and I’ve seen over the last decade-and-a-half, even reported ones do not always get the attention they deserve. I’ve had people come into my office asking to report some, and I have been forced to turn them away because of the lack of a paper trail. 

I’ve also been on both sides of that. I can speak personally to having stories in the paper about relatives of my family accused of heinous acts reportable via probable cause statements. 

One thing I have learned over the years, is crime reaps punishment. Punishment for the accused, but even more so punishment for their families — on the alleged perpetrator’s side and on the victim’s side. 

Awful acts are awful for all involved, and all related to all involved. And, in our tight-knit communities, the awful is amplified.

We’ve taken ample heat in the last week for our reporting, warranted or not, and we very well may take more this week. With crime comes punishment; not necessarily punishment for the accused, but punishment for those related to the accused and the victims.

I was asked last week, “What if someone wrote about you what you’ve wrote about the person who’s been accused?”

The answer: I don’t know. I do know a crime that has affected my family has been printed within the pages I publish within the last few years, and it was hard to face. 

I hope to never be in that position. But if I am, I’d be a hypocrite if it wasn’t reported in our paper..

Kyle Troutman has served as editor of the Cassville Democrat since 2014 and owner/publisher since 2023. He is a three-time ISWNE Golden Dozen award winner. He may be reached at 417-847-2610 or [email protected].