In many ways, it’s got a life of its own, thanks to decades of gossip and speculation. And it is – more often than not – as reliable as a watch that no longer keeps time ... in that it’s correct at least twice a day. I’m speaking of the rumor mill, of course, Chenango County’s very own landfill of fabrication, fiction and back-fence talk.

That’s not to say the rumor mill doesn’t have its uses, particularly here in the newsroom. People catch wind of all sorts of “news” throughout the course of their day; at the store, the bank, the gas station, you name it. Said scandals or suppositions inevitably make their way into our office here at The Evening Sun and – as stated – sometimes they’re even on the mark. Most times, however (and I’m sure I’m not raising any eyebrows here), the falsehoods outweigh the facts, and concepts such as integrity and respect are – if not ignored completely – conveniently brushed aside.

Said Alvin Adams, “Appreciate the power of rumor, often malicious, no matter how preposterous, within the local populations you are seeking to help.”

Everyone reading this, I’m fairly certain, has been involved with our local rumor mill in some way, shape or form over the years, and I’m no exception. Hell, I’ve even run into old friends, years after we last saw one another, greeted with a hearty, “Hey, man, I thought you were dead” or, “How are the wife and kids?”