"Go home, please, go home, all of you." The man standing in front of me in the lobby of my hotel was not in the slightest bit aggressive, but he was very clear. "It's unbearable. What do you all want? I know four or five of the families who lost kids and it's too much for them, with all the media here. What do you all want?" Most of the rest of the lobby - and much of the hotel - was taken up by notebook-wielding, fleece-wearing, camera-toting journalists. But that's just the start. The village of Sandy Hook, the centre of which is little more than a crossroads, has been transformed.
A changed town
It seems like a nice place - a classic little New England village, with white wooden houses and good-looking shops. But it is difficult to know what it is actually like because, early on Saturday, it had been transformed into a set, a backdrop for the vast swarm of journalists that had descended on the place. The main street, Church Hill Road, that leads towards Sandy Hook Elementary school, was grinding with bumper-to-bumper cars that it is difficult to imagine are there every - or any - day. In the small car park in front of the Methodist church, satellite trucks belted out noise and exhaust fumes; up and down the street cameramen roamed, filming the traffic, filming the shops, filming each other.
At the bottom of Church Hill Road, where the hill begins to climb up toward the firehouse and the school, there were more satellite trucks and live positions for television correspondents. On Saturday a few shops had pinned notices to their doors, and one or two lampposts had messages of sorrow and condolence. Today, a shrine of candles and teddy bears and messages attracts a steady flow of visitors, many filmed and interviewed by the omnipresent camera crews. Up by the firehouse, by the sign for Sandy Hill Elementary School ("Visitors Welcome"), there are more TV live positions. In the overflow area are dozens and dozens and dozens more satellite vans.
Media footprint
