|Agents search home of John Swallow (Salt Lake Tribune)|
|Former Attorney General John Swallow|
She opens the door and finds herself wrestling with the screen door while trying to balance the cookies, and use her leg as a broom to sweep the Swallow's family dog back into the house. The boys, still blissfully unaware of the minor chaos they have created in her world, pet the pup as he bobs and weaves around the agent's ankle. Finally she wrangles the dog, stuffs the cookies under her arm and give a quick glance to the cameras across the street and yanks the screen door shut, the boys seem a bit confused, I can almost imagine their thoughts, "That's not how Missus Swallow acts when we bring cookies."
I'm debating heading over and asking the boys who told them to deliver snickerdoodles into the middle of the state's most high profile criminal investigation when a fine mist of water coats my face. The angry neighbor in too short shorts and sensible Rockport shoes, has turned on the sprinklers, hoping for a frenzied retreat of soggy reporters. Most just snicker, cover the sensitive parts of their electronic equipment and move out of the gentle squirt. "It's on a timer," he says arms folded, grinning and satisfied, as if he finally assembled a kitchen hutch from Ikea.
As I flick the water droplets off my shirt, a small man in a starched blue button down and ironed slacks saddles up to me, as if he has something to say, but he is silent. I know he is preparing a monologue so I stand quietly and wait. "So this is news?" He asks, as if I'm poolside at a squirrel skiing contest (which would be awesome if it existed) I turn to him, as he stares at the modest ranch style home currently filled with agents, his eyes shaded by Rayban's. "Well when search warrants are served at the homes of 2 former attorney's general in one day, I'd argue, yes, that is news," I say.
|Former Attorney General Mark Shurtleff|
This neighborhood is ferociously supportive of John Swallow. You might even say rabidly so. Rabid devotion is the only way to explain, how usually mild moms in Toyota Corrolas, can find themselves speeding past you and screaming, "Leave him alone you vultures!!"
Later I hear that a fellow reporter at the Shurtleff home has been harassed and threatened by neighbors there. someone, she says, even threw a baseball at her during her live report.
As we pack up for the night, the neighbor who choreographed the strategically timed sprinkler assault is on his knees in a puddle of water in front of a fractured, spewing sprinkler head. "Dad!" his young son shouts, as the man attempts to avoid the spewing plastic valve, "The water is broken!" the man, with both hands around the fountain, says, "It was worth it," as water fills the pockets of his snugly fitting shorts.