In the early 1990s one day I was hastily assigned by a Macomb Daily editor to head out to a Roseville home where police and an ambulance crew were on the scene and Jack Kevorkian was reportedly inside.While a crowd of reporters gathered outside, Dr. Death and his small contingent of assistants and lawyers were apparently plotting how to deal with the media circus on the sidewalk.
They suddenly poured out the front door, sending the media scurrying. For some reason the Kevorkian crew had parked about 50 yards down the street, so they started running toward their getaway car. Soon, the TV and radio reporters gave up but I continued to chase the doctor down the street while trying to shout out a few basic questions.
He didn’t answer but when he hopped into the front passenger seat of the car, before slamming the door shut, he turned to me and sternly said:
“Does your mother know what you do for a living?”
