What's on Those Caraway Tapes? Let's Guess.

High road: Now, now, let's be fair. Just because Msryrr...Mauor...(damn fingers won't type all of a sudden)...MAYOR Dwaine Caraway doesn't want anyone to hear what's on the audio tapes from a police call to his home on January 2, that doesn't necessarily mean the tapes contain anything bad.

You know what we're talking about—the thing in which Caraway called the chief of police, who sent officers to Caraway's house, who reported a domestic disturbance involving Caraway and his wife, state Representative Barbara Mallory Caraway. Only the mairor...mahot...MAYOR said nuh-uh, it wasn't a domestic disturbance but a fight between two pals named Archie and Arthur, who disagreed over a Cowboys game. Only later Caraway said that it really wasn't the Double A boys—who may or may not exist—but a domestic thing involving his wife and breakfast meats or something, only he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Yeah, that thing.

Well, as you probably know, a bunch of nosy reporter types asked the city for copies of any recordings the cops had from the call, which the city refused to release at first for fear of violating the Caraways' privacy. (Nothing to see here folks. Move along.) The Texas Attorney General's Office disagreed and told the city last week to release the audio, so Caraway—just a couple of weeks after assuming the job of mayor—sued the attorney general and the city. Tuesday he won a 14-day temporary restraining order blocking any recording's release until Associate Judge Teresa Snelson hashes out whether a police incident involving a sitting city council member, a state legislator, the police chief and one big whopper of a lie is really a matter of public interest. Let's all hope that Judge Snelson possesses the wisdom of Solomon—or at least a mackerel—to answer that tricky question.

But please, until her decision is reached, let's do right by the may...Caraway...and not engage in any rank speculation about what might be on the recording. The sounds of crockery breaking? The comic squall of a hurled cat? A blubbering, hysterical male? Arthur and Archie calmly debating the merits of the nickel defense?

Yes, we know, the mind boggles. But the fact is we can't say with any certainty at this point what the record contains, so it would be entirely unethical to make book, for example, offering 2-5 odds that the tape captured someone getting called a bitch and/or motherfucker. That would be wrong, wrong, wrong.

If, however, you're offering even money, put Buzz down for a tenner.

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Patrick Williams is editor-in-chief of the Dallas Observer.
Contact: Patrick Williams

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