Day 17
My alarm goes of and I hit snooze. Once. Twice. Three times. I don't know why I even set the damn thing. Finally I just turn it off and lay in bed, enjoying the fact that Idon't have to be at work for another three hours. It's Saturday, the sun in shining, and I'm not working.... can it get any better?
My excitement in shortlived... probably because I waste the whole morning sleeping. I shuffle into work at 1:30 ready to address my fate. I'm immediately greeted with a smile and press release for a car seat safety check event. John's running late, so I'm on my own for the time being. I drop my stuff at the desk and head out the door. Luckily the event is right down the street at the Walmart parking lot. Unluckily it ends in about five minutes, so the only video I have is a few people standing around, eyes fixed on their watches.
I grab a quick soundbite with the guy in charge. Apparently out of the hundreds of carseats they've checked today, 70% had something wrong. Scary thought. One last car pulls in for a check and I get a few shots of the people inspecting the seat and the installation. Piece of cake. Back at the station five minutes later I'm handed some vsv's to edit that have already been shot by another photog. No, I'm not the editor. For some reason on the weekends though, titles don't really seem to matter. I guess you could call me, photog, editor, live truck operator, vsv writer extroridnare... oh, and did I mention doppler watcher and scanner listener?
Before I have a chance to touch my newest project a call comes out for a hazmat scene on the north end of town. The phone rings and our overzealous weekend anchors insist that I leave immediately. I try to explain that I have three stories to edit before 5, but they're having none of it. So I pass off the editing duties to my reporter and head out the door. I make it to the address that we heard called out and the street is empty. I glance upand down the intersection hoping to catch a glimmer of flashing lights. Nothing. So I turn the truck around and begin the trek back toward the station.
Before I can even set my camera down, the station phone rings again. Our conversation goes something like this.
Anchor: "So what did you get?"
Me: "Nothing. There was nobody there. I looked around the neighborhood a bit too. Nothing."
Anchor: "Well we know that something is going on. We heard another call for it"
Me: "Well do you have another address because nobody is at the one you gave me."
Anchor: "Did you drive down Tejon? What did you see driving down Tejon? The street we think it's on is near Tejon."
Me: "Tejon stretches the entire length of Colordao Springs. No I didn't drive down Tejon. I took the highway."
Anchor: "Well what did you see driving down Tejon."
(Banging my head against the wall...)
Me: "I didn't drive Tejon."
Anchor: "This is important. You need to get some video of this scene."
Me: "I have three other stories to do in about an hour. Why don't you figure out where exactly this scene is, and whether or not we really care, and then I'll go if it is something important."
Anchor: "I wouldn't send you if I didn't care! You need to go."
Me: "Ok, I'm leaving... call me with directions."
I sigh and head back out the door. When I finally find the hazmat scene in the alley of a street that doesn't intersect Tejon at any point, I'm told by the firemen that the hazardous material is only rain water. I shoot some video anyways and head back to the station. After the vo is edited, I call down to Pueblo to correct the script. "They aren't still testing the materials. They've confirmed that it was only rain water." I say. "Well who told you that?" "The lt. on scene. I didn' get it on tape because you told me you only wanted a vo." "Well who was he?" "I don't know. Why does it matter. He was with the fire department." "What was his name?" (Catch my drift... this conversation was obviously going nowhere.)
I hang up the phone and get back to work. Now I only have about twenty minutes to edit together all four of the stories I've been handed. Working quickly, and with the help of my reporter, I get everything done on time... then it's back out the door to start work on my actual story for the afternoon. Up north in briargate, it's now 5:45. I'm sitting at Rep. Doug Lambourns house talking about clean energy and a bill that just passed the US House of Representatives. Outside a storm is raging its way through the springs. I'm thankful that I'm not in it. While we are conducting the interview my phone begins to vibrate. Then, like clockwork, my reporters phone starts ringing as well. We both ignore the calls, not wanting to be rude to our guest who graciously agreed to meet us on a Saturday.
I'm loading the gear into the back of the truck, when I learn what the call was all about. A body has been found... hanging from a tree. Who knows how long it has been there? Who knows how it got there. All I know is that our day just got a lot more interesting. I excellerate onto the highway, driving quickly, excited for our breaking news. We make it to the scene and hop out of the truck. Immediately I am greeted with the smell of rot. I've never experienced a smell quite like it... and never want to again. If you have ever smelled a rotting body, you know just what I'm talking about. It is this stench that sits in the pit of your stomache, that you can taste on the tip of your tongue, and carries into the back of your mouth. It blows with the wind, nauseating even the most hardened police man. All I want is to hop back in the car and drive away, but the smell is there too. A police man approaches us and tell us that it is a suicide. We nod, shoot a quick few shots of video and go grab some dinner.
Then the reaming begins. Apparently our story about clean energy is out the window. The anchors want the suicide, live for the ten. My reporter starts to argue but its to no use. Things are different on the weekends. It was my understanding that the suicide policy was we don't cover it unless it is a public figure or done in a public way. In my opinion this was neither. The neighbors didn't even know about the body until we went knocking on their doors. This poor man had been hanging from a tree for almost three weeks, and nobody saw. Is that public? Interestingly enough, the neigbhor that called it in to the police didn't even know that it was a dead body. He thought that a deer had died, and was rotting in the trees behind his property.
At ten we are the only crew on scene. We stand infront of an empty dark field talking about how nobody even knew a dead body was there. And then we pack up and call it a night. Another battle lost between us and anchors. Do I think we covered the right story? No. Often times teh news business is criticized for jumping at an opportunity to cover crime and gore, even when it isn't exactly newsworthy. Do I think we did that tonight? Yes.
We often sit on our high horse and criticize the other stations for making a big deal out of something that really isn't anything at all. We laugh when they go overboard, creating fear and drama out of a story that deserves a spot in the trashcan. But tonight, we were the ones creating news... I think sometimes we are so set on telling the story the way we want it to be, that we don't open our eyes and see what it really is. We walk in we preconcieved notions of how everything will go, and refuse to change course when reality is altered. Tonight was one of those nights. Lucky for me, tomorrow is a new day.
By the way... the hazmat story never ran. Surprise, surprise.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
DAY 16
DAY 16
You can't win 'em all...
Hopefully today I won't have to climb another mountain. I eat cheerios and wear appropriate shoes just in case. I already have huge blisters on my instep from yesterday... Water, check. Cereal bar, check. Sunscreen, check. Sunglasses, check. Ok, work, here I come.
I walk through the door ready to face whatever they throw at me...secretly praying I'll be handed an easy story that involves little to no effort. My shoulder can't handle another day like yesterday. Luckily Susan is on the desk, and sympathetic to my plight. She hands me a stack of three vsv's that I'll be shooting by myself. Sweet... I can turn up my music, drive with the windows down and do things on my own time.
I stand up from the desk ready to hit the road. First stop, the local forest service office for an interview about some upcoming public meetings. Not the most interesting thing in the world, but it gets me out of the office. On a nice day like today, I have to admit I'm a bit excited about blaring some bad chick music, and doing vsv's on my own.
Before I can make it to the photog room, I notice a shadow following closely behind me. I turn to see who it is... my heart sinks. Part of me wishes I hadn't looked... just kept walking, started the car and driven away without a word exchanged between us. But no such luck. "Hi Alec... I'm guessing you're with me?" is all I can manage to mumble. I guess the chick music is out... and the serenity of driving around with nothing but the wind in my hair... that's out too.
We climb in and head downtown. When we get to the office I tell Alec to wait outside with the gear while I go nab our first subject. I introduce myself to our interview, and Alec as well... and that's when I'm hit with the bomb. "So, are you like a summer intern or something?" "Actually no," I respond. "Alec is just here for the summer, but I've been a photographer for ch. 5 for almost a year now." I try to change the topic back to forest service roads, embarrassed, and a bit peeved, that I've been asked again whether I'm intern. Three questions later, I've got all the sound I need. I thank our interview for his time and say it was a pleasure meeting him. That's when bomb number two drops... "I hope you enjoy the rest of your summer," he says to me while shaking my hand and looking me directly in the eye. Obviously he didn't hear me the first time... IM NOT AN INTERN!!
I smile, and look away... trying not to let my anger surface. The day is going downhill quickly. I pack the gear and head up north to Briargate. Apple is releasing the new iphone today so I get some quick exteriors of the store and grab another vsv about a gala going on later that evening. By noon I've finished everything except for the b-roll I need to get on Mt. Herman. I tell my overzealous, and annoying intern that we are heading up north... and brace myself for a long ride.
We get to where the road turns from pavement to dirt and my head is about to explode. I swear if I have to hear one more comment about trucks, off-roading, working in a mechanic shop, or minivans I'm going to kill myself. I don't care about his girlfriend who used to live in Monument, or how much he likes country music. I don't care that he grew up in the mountains, and thinks that he knows where we are going and what we are doing. I'm a normally loud person... but right now silence would be golden.
I vow to shoot my b-roll quickly and get the hell out of there... back to civilization... so when a woman pulls up as I'm finishing and tells me a I should stick around for a paraglider who is about to jump off the mountain, I all but laugh in her face. No way in hell. I'm outa here.
The drive back is one sided... meaning Alec is talking... and I'm continually nodding my head trying not to listen. Finally we make it to the station... I walk in the door to scurrying people and scanners blaring. Something big is going on... That's when I hear Mt. Herman through the fuzz and chaos. What happened on Mt. Herman I wonder? I was just there...
Then it hits me... the paraglider. Turns out the guy crashed into the side of the mountain and died... and I was right there. Had I been a bit more patient, I would have had a great story. I can't help but kick myself for not waiting... just five minutes to watch the guy jump. Why didn't I stay? Why didn't I wait?
Another photographer jumps in the SAT truck to head up north, my head hangs low. I know there was no way for me to predict what happened, but my competitive nature is killing me. I could have been there... I was there! And I still didn't get it. Luckily it's just one story, just one day... tomorrow will be new and nobody will remember what great opportunity I missed. And as I leave, I remind myself one last time, that even the best don't win em all.
You can't win 'em all...
Hopefully today I won't have to climb another mountain. I eat cheerios and wear appropriate shoes just in case. I already have huge blisters on my instep from yesterday... Water, check. Cereal bar, check. Sunscreen, check. Sunglasses, check. Ok, work, here I come.
I walk through the door ready to face whatever they throw at me...secretly praying I'll be handed an easy story that involves little to no effort. My shoulder can't handle another day like yesterday. Luckily Susan is on the desk, and sympathetic to my plight. She hands me a stack of three vsv's that I'll be shooting by myself. Sweet... I can turn up my music, drive with the windows down and do things on my own time.
I stand up from the desk ready to hit the road. First stop, the local forest service office for an interview about some upcoming public meetings. Not the most interesting thing in the world, but it gets me out of the office. On a nice day like today, I have to admit I'm a bit excited about blaring some bad chick music, and doing vsv's on my own.
Before I can make it to the photog room, I notice a shadow following closely behind me. I turn to see who it is... my heart sinks. Part of me wishes I hadn't looked... just kept walking, started the car and driven away without a word exchanged between us. But no such luck. "Hi Alec... I'm guessing you're with me?" is all I can manage to mumble. I guess the chick music is out... and the serenity of driving around with nothing but the wind in my hair... that's out too.
We climb in and head downtown. When we get to the office I tell Alec to wait outside with the gear while I go nab our first subject. I introduce myself to our interview, and Alec as well... and that's when I'm hit with the bomb. "So, are you like a summer intern or something?" "Actually no," I respond. "Alec is just here for the summer, but I've been a photographer for ch. 5 for almost a year now." I try to change the topic back to forest service roads, embarrassed, and a bit peeved, that I've been asked again whether I'm intern. Three questions later, I've got all the sound I need. I thank our interview for his time and say it was a pleasure meeting him. That's when bomb number two drops... "I hope you enjoy the rest of your summer," he says to me while shaking my hand and looking me directly in the eye. Obviously he didn't hear me the first time... IM NOT AN INTERN!!
I smile, and look away... trying not to let my anger surface. The day is going downhill quickly. I pack the gear and head up north to Briargate. Apple is releasing the new iphone today so I get some quick exteriors of the store and grab another vsv about a gala going on later that evening. By noon I've finished everything except for the b-roll I need to get on Mt. Herman. I tell my overzealous, and annoying intern that we are heading up north... and brace myself for a long ride.
We get to where the road turns from pavement to dirt and my head is about to explode. I swear if I have to hear one more comment about trucks, off-roading, working in a mechanic shop, or minivans I'm going to kill myself. I don't care about his girlfriend who used to live in Monument, or how much he likes country music. I don't care that he grew up in the mountains, and thinks that he knows where we are going and what we are doing. I'm a normally loud person... but right now silence would be golden.
I vow to shoot my b-roll quickly and get the hell out of there... back to civilization... so when a woman pulls up as I'm finishing and tells me a I should stick around for a paraglider who is about to jump off the mountain, I all but laugh in her face. No way in hell. I'm outa here.
The drive back is one sided... meaning Alec is talking... and I'm continually nodding my head trying not to listen. Finally we make it to the station... I walk in the door to scurrying people and scanners blaring. Something big is going on... That's when I hear Mt. Herman through the fuzz and chaos. What happened on Mt. Herman I wonder? I was just there...
Then it hits me... the paraglider. Turns out the guy crashed into the side of the mountain and died... and I was right there. Had I been a bit more patient, I would have had a great story. I can't help but kick myself for not waiting... just five minutes to watch the guy jump. Why didn't I stay? Why didn't I wait?
Another photographer jumps in the SAT truck to head up north, my head hangs low. I know there was no way for me to predict what happened, but my competitive nature is killing me. I could have been there... I was there! And I still didn't get it. Luckily it's just one story, just one day... tomorrow will be new and nobody will remember what great opportunity I missed. And as I leave, I remind myself one last time, that even the best don't win em all.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
DAY 15
Day 15
Monday morning... I'm sore from climbing the incline yesterday, so when I waddle into work, coffee in one hand, doughnut in the other, all I can think about is sitting down. As I'm chewing my first sweet bite, a reporter walks up from behind me, hiking clothes in hand, and says, "I hope you ready to go today. We're heading out on a hike." My jaw drops... is he serious?
Unfortunately he is serious. Before I can finish my doughnut we are in the car heading up to St. Mary's Falls. I'm told it is only a 1.6 mile uphill hike before we get to the top of the falls... easy right? Well, considering that I can barely move as it is... the thought of hiking uphill with 30 pounds of poorly balanced gear isn't very appealing. I'm definitely not dressed appropriately. I don't have food, or water. And IM SORE!!
When we arrive at the parking lot where we have to say goodbye to the car I climb out slowly. The sun is beating down hard and hot... even though it is only 10 am. Our excited tour guide greats us with a handshake and says we better start moving. He is the reason that we are here. Last year his brother died while climbing down off the peak above where we are headed. He has built a memorial at the site, to remind people about the dangerous terrain. I reluctantly agree to start and take the first step towards the top.
The beginning is a little steep, but my legs are fresh (well, for today at least) so I grin my teeth and bear it. After a little hill with spots of shade we reach the body of the trail and immediately stop to talk about the 100 year old signs that Mr. Murphy has rejuvanated. I like the pace we are at right now... three steps and then stop... five more, stop. At this rate we will get to the top around midnight... so I know my enjoyment in shortlived.
I've managed to aquire a camera strap for this little journey. Normally our engineers won't let us use them because they are afraid that a camera will fall. Personally I think that the chance of me dropping a camera while climbing up a mountain is infinitely greater if I don't have a strap...so I insist on taking it.
Twenty minutes into the hike, I'm glad I have it. Although I'm walking a bit funny because the strap is a little long, having my arms free to balance as we climb unstable rock and sliding sand is nice. My right shouler is starting to ache a bit from the pressure of the strap, but my mind is focused. I can make it to the top of this hill. I can make it to the top of the waterfall.
Ten more minutes pass. My eyes are focused on the ground. Each step I take is a little victory. One after another, I tell myself. Just don't stop. Keep going. Eventually we reach a spot on the trail crowded with sweaty workers pounding away at the dirt. One is on the ground fiddling with a broken chainsaw. Another is hacking away at the base of a tree stump with a an ax. Although I know that its too good to be true, a little part of me hopes we are already there.
No such luck... it's another group, friends of the peak, clearing the trail on the way up to the falls. They tell us that we are less then a quater of the way there... my heart sinks. All of a sudden failure seems like a distinct possibility. What if I can't make it to the top?
We trudge on... up inclines, over rocks, around trees. The camera starts to feel heavier and heavier. I'm constantly switching shoulders but find no relief from the aching pain. My legs weigh more as well... the steps get harder... the sun gets hotter. I hear my stomach growl and want to sit on the rock on cry... but we trudge on.
Eventually we make it to the 1 mile mark... while I'm happy that I've made it 2/3rds of the way, I know that the last part is going to be the hardest. Our guide explains to us that we are entering a series of switchbacks. They'll be hot he warns, with not much shade. But once you get past those, there is only one more hill... like that is supposed to make me feel better.
By this time I've handed the camera over to my reporter and have slung the tripod accorss my neck and shoulders. It is top heavy, so balancing it while navigating the narrow trail isn't easy... but at least the weight is resting in a different place then the camera. I walk with my head held low, partly to avoid misstepping on a rock or tree root, and partly to help create an even line to rest the tripod.
At the top of the first switchback we find shade. Panting and out of breath I call for them to wait. I need to put this down for just one minute. While we're standing our guide hands us some purified water that he has brought with him. I take it graciously and enjoy cold liquid gliding down my throat. My stomach still aches with hunger, but at least my throat isn't dry.
Before I know it we are on our way again. I barely hearing the conversation between Mr. Murphy and my reporter because I'm so focused on just taking the next step. One after another I eventually reach the top. I'd like to kick my shoes off and soak them in the cold water streaming down the mountain, but now is when the real work starts.
Almsot immediately it is made clear to me that we are in a hurry. I grab some quick shots of the rock steps he has created that lead the way up the cliff. I snap the camera around and catch Mr. Murphy balancing his way accross the log bridges that he has laid accross various sections of the water. There are signs marking the spot where his brother fell and died only one short year ago. I take some shots of those as well. Within minutes I've put a microphone on our subject and he is telling us the story of this memorial... a labor of love he calls it. After the death of his brother he came here to mourn. Day after day he would sit on the rocks, wondering why he wasn't there to help his brother... blaming himself for the death of his sibling. Eventually, he decided to do something. So he created a memorial to honor the life of a person that he loved dearly, and to remind climbers of the dangerous cliff that lies above them.
The waterfall is breathtaking. It looks over the city of Colorado Springs, reminding me of how close we really are to city life. It is humbling to see what Mr. Murphy has created up here... two miles above civilized society. I could barely make the walk to the top, let alone with the tools and gear necessary to create such an oasis. He has done it countless times... because when you lose someone that you love, a little hike is the least you can do.
Here is a copy of the story that aired. Let me know what you think. The video is at the bottom of the story...
http://www.koaa.com/aaaa_top_stories/x528751962/A-brothers-love-hiking-death-memorial-aimed-at-saving-lives
Monday morning... I'm sore from climbing the incline yesterday, so when I waddle into work, coffee in one hand, doughnut in the other, all I can think about is sitting down. As I'm chewing my first sweet bite, a reporter walks up from behind me, hiking clothes in hand, and says, "I hope you ready to go today. We're heading out on a hike." My jaw drops... is he serious?
Unfortunately he is serious. Before I can finish my doughnut we are in the car heading up to St. Mary's Falls. I'm told it is only a 1.6 mile uphill hike before we get to the top of the falls... easy right? Well, considering that I can barely move as it is... the thought of hiking uphill with 30 pounds of poorly balanced gear isn't very appealing. I'm definitely not dressed appropriately. I don't have food, or water. And IM SORE!!
When we arrive at the parking lot where we have to say goodbye to the car I climb out slowly. The sun is beating down hard and hot... even though it is only 10 am. Our excited tour guide greats us with a handshake and says we better start moving. He is the reason that we are here. Last year his brother died while climbing down off the peak above where we are headed. He has built a memorial at the site, to remind people about the dangerous terrain. I reluctantly agree to start and take the first step towards the top.
The beginning is a little steep, but my legs are fresh (well, for today at least) so I grin my teeth and bear it. After a little hill with spots of shade we reach the body of the trail and immediately stop to talk about the 100 year old signs that Mr. Murphy has rejuvanated. I like the pace we are at right now... three steps and then stop... five more, stop. At this rate we will get to the top around midnight... so I know my enjoyment in shortlived.
I've managed to aquire a camera strap for this little journey. Normally our engineers won't let us use them because they are afraid that a camera will fall. Personally I think that the chance of me dropping a camera while climbing up a mountain is infinitely greater if I don't have a strap...so I insist on taking it.
Twenty minutes into the hike, I'm glad I have it. Although I'm walking a bit funny because the strap is a little long, having my arms free to balance as we climb unstable rock and sliding sand is nice. My right shouler is starting to ache a bit from the pressure of the strap, but my mind is focused. I can make it to the top of this hill. I can make it to the top of the waterfall.
Ten more minutes pass. My eyes are focused on the ground. Each step I take is a little victory. One after another, I tell myself. Just don't stop. Keep going. Eventually we reach a spot on the trail crowded with sweaty workers pounding away at the dirt. One is on the ground fiddling with a broken chainsaw. Another is hacking away at the base of a tree stump with a an ax. Although I know that its too good to be true, a little part of me hopes we are already there.
No such luck... it's another group, friends of the peak, clearing the trail on the way up to the falls. They tell us that we are less then a quater of the way there... my heart sinks. All of a sudden failure seems like a distinct possibility. What if I can't make it to the top?
We trudge on... up inclines, over rocks, around trees. The camera starts to feel heavier and heavier. I'm constantly switching shoulders but find no relief from the aching pain. My legs weigh more as well... the steps get harder... the sun gets hotter. I hear my stomach growl and want to sit on the rock on cry... but we trudge on.
Eventually we make it to the 1 mile mark... while I'm happy that I've made it 2/3rds of the way, I know that the last part is going to be the hardest. Our guide explains to us that we are entering a series of switchbacks. They'll be hot he warns, with not much shade. But once you get past those, there is only one more hill... like that is supposed to make me feel better.
By this time I've handed the camera over to my reporter and have slung the tripod accorss my neck and shoulders. It is top heavy, so balancing it while navigating the narrow trail isn't easy... but at least the weight is resting in a different place then the camera. I walk with my head held low, partly to avoid misstepping on a rock or tree root, and partly to help create an even line to rest the tripod.
At the top of the first switchback we find shade. Panting and out of breath I call for them to wait. I need to put this down for just one minute. While we're standing our guide hands us some purified water that he has brought with him. I take it graciously and enjoy cold liquid gliding down my throat. My stomach still aches with hunger, but at least my throat isn't dry.
Before I know it we are on our way again. I barely hearing the conversation between Mr. Murphy and my reporter because I'm so focused on just taking the next step. One after another I eventually reach the top. I'd like to kick my shoes off and soak them in the cold water streaming down the mountain, but now is when the real work starts.
Almsot immediately it is made clear to me that we are in a hurry. I grab some quick shots of the rock steps he has created that lead the way up the cliff. I snap the camera around and catch Mr. Murphy balancing his way accross the log bridges that he has laid accross various sections of the water. There are signs marking the spot where his brother fell and died only one short year ago. I take some shots of those as well. Within minutes I've put a microphone on our subject and he is telling us the story of this memorial... a labor of love he calls it. After the death of his brother he came here to mourn. Day after day he would sit on the rocks, wondering why he wasn't there to help his brother... blaming himself for the death of his sibling. Eventually, he decided to do something. So he created a memorial to honor the life of a person that he loved dearly, and to remind climbers of the dangerous cliff that lies above them.
The waterfall is breathtaking. It looks over the city of Colorado Springs, reminding me of how close we really are to city life. It is humbling to see what Mr. Murphy has created up here... two miles above civilized society. I could barely make the walk to the top, let alone with the tools and gear necessary to create such an oasis. He has done it countless times... because when you lose someone that you love, a little hike is the least you can do.
Here is a copy of the story that aired. Let me know what you think. The video is at the bottom of the story...
http://www.koaa.com/aaaa_top_stories/x528751962/A-brothers-love-hiking-death-memorial-aimed-at-saving-lives
Sunday, June 7, 2009
DAY 14
Day 14
Sunday morning... 9 am... not a thing going on. We sit in the newsroom paroozing the web hoping to come up with something that could pass as newsworthy. These are the days when you pray for breaking news (early enough in the day so that you can actually make a good story out of it). The whole city is either sleeping, or at church until at least 10... so we sit and wait. I'm normally one of those people sleeping on a Sunday morning... most of the time I don't work until nightside. But today is different. We are running a rather lengthy investigative story in the 10 pm, so they moved a nightside reporter to dayside. Being the newbie photog- I also got moved.. yay me. As my reporter starts trying to enterprise a story out of any and all of her contacts... I load the car, make a coffee run, and shoot a little prayer up to the big guy in the sky... breaking news, breaking news... It's just me God, wishing for breaking news...
10:30 rolls around and I hear a call come accross the scanner for a possible structure fire in Security. Most of these things are just food on the stove, so I don't get too excited. Sometimes I feel a bit guilty... for wishing for breaking news... afterall, what breaking news is good news? Don't get me wrong, I don't want bad things to happen to good people (or any people for that matter). I don't want someone to get shot, or a house to burn to the ground. I realize that with every fatal motorcycle accident a mother has to lose her child. I don't like death, destruction, or doom and gloom... but I do love a good news story. So if someone has to die, or a house has to burn down, it might as well be while Im at work... if I don't already have another story, that would be an added bonus :-)
Five minutes after the first fire call, we hear "working structure fire", and I've got my cue to leave. Within seconds I'm out the door, speeding down the highway, anxious to see what's really happening. Of course, by the time we get to the house the fire is out, hoses are being drained, and the trucks are being packed up. It was a grease fire that spread... no real damage... no loss of life, limb, or property.... no story for me. A bit dissapointed, I hop back in the Xtera and trek back toward the station.
I don't have much time to wallow... before I can walk in the door my reporter calls with news of a bear in a house on the westside of town. Sweet! She joins me for the ride and we head west toward the Cheyenne Canyon neighborhood.
For someone not from Colorado Springs, or another wildland-urban interface area, a bear in a house might seem like big news. Here, at the foothills of the front range, bear sightings are an everyday occurance. Through spring and summer the bears wake up from hibernation and come down from the mountains searching for food. Lucky homeowners who've accidently left their trash out or a bird feeder accessible will come within feet of these hungry black bears... and have a nice mess to clean up when they are done. What makes this particular story fun and interesting is that today's bear decided the trash wasn't enough, and entered the kitchen of a house through a slightly cracked window to steal a steak marinating on the counter. The furry thief in today's adventure is only a year and a half old, and by the time we arrive on the scene he is sleeping peacefully thanks to a DOW tranqualizer.
I look at the little guy, weighing no more then fifty pounds, and can't help but think how cute he is. His oversized paws are tied with rope, and his ears are tagged with bright yellow cards. If you have to walk in on a bear eating your dinner, it might as well be this little guy. The department of wild life is finishing up some treatment on him when we walk up. After they are done, they will load him into a truck and cart him 100 miles up the mountain... hoping he doesn't find his way back. At 1.5 years of life, this fuzzy animal already has one strike against him. One more, and the DOW will have to euthanize him. In my opinion, his chances aren't so good.
It is a policy that a lot of people don't agree with... myself included. Afterall, the bears were here first. This is their natural habitat, not ours. When we moved in, we did so with the knowledge that we would have to share our surroundings with them. Who are we to decide we no longer want them here? I understand where the government is coming from... we do need to protect people. Bears that get too comfortable with humans can be a problem. Bears are predators, and need to be feared to a certain degree... but in my mind, unless a bear has killed a small child, or brutally torn apart a jogger, they've done nothing wrong. Why kill a bear for eating trash? We don't even kill sex offenders who molest and sexualy assault innocent people. We don't kill murders. Why kill bears?
As the DOW pickup pulls away, the slumbering bear lying in the bed of the truck, I shoot one more prayer up to that big guy in the sky... don't let him find his way back, please.
Here is a link to the story, give me your thoughts...
http://managekoaa.worldnow.com/global/video/flash/popupplayer.asp?ClipID1=3840889&h1=Bear%20breaks%20into%20home&vt1=v&at1=News&d1=121134&LaunchPageAdTag=News&fvCatNo=&backgroundImageURL=&activePane=info&rnd=95644325
10:30 rolls around and I hear a call come accross the scanner for a possible structure fire in Security. Most of these things are just food on the stove, so I don't get too excited. Sometimes I feel a bit guilty... for wishing for breaking news... afterall, what breaking news is good news? Don't get me wrong, I don't want bad things to happen to good people (or any people for that matter). I don't want someone to get shot, or a house to burn to the ground. I realize that with every fatal motorcycle accident a mother has to lose her child. I don't like death, destruction, or doom and gloom... but I do love a good news story. So if someone has to die, or a house has to burn down, it might as well be while Im at work... if I don't already have another story, that would be an added bonus :-)
Five minutes after the first fire call, we hear "working structure fire", and I've got my cue to leave. Within seconds I'm out the door, speeding down the highway, anxious to see what's really happening. Of course, by the time we get to the house the fire is out, hoses are being drained, and the trucks are being packed up. It was a grease fire that spread... no real damage... no loss of life, limb, or property.... no story for me. A bit dissapointed, I hop back in the Xtera and trek back toward the station.
I don't have much time to wallow... before I can walk in the door my reporter calls with news of a bear in a house on the westside of town. Sweet! She joins me for the ride and we head west toward the Cheyenne Canyon neighborhood.
For someone not from Colorado Springs, or another wildland-urban interface area, a bear in a house might seem like big news. Here, at the foothills of the front range, bear sightings are an everyday occurance. Through spring and summer the bears wake up from hibernation and come down from the mountains searching for food. Lucky homeowners who've accidently left their trash out or a bird feeder accessible will come within feet of these hungry black bears... and have a nice mess to clean up when they are done. What makes this particular story fun and interesting is that today's bear decided the trash wasn't enough, and entered the kitchen of a house through a slightly cracked window to steal a steak marinating on the counter. The furry thief in today's adventure is only a year and a half old, and by the time we arrive on the scene he is sleeping peacefully thanks to a DOW tranqualizer.
I look at the little guy, weighing no more then fifty pounds, and can't help but think how cute he is. His oversized paws are tied with rope, and his ears are tagged with bright yellow cards. If you have to walk in on a bear eating your dinner, it might as well be this little guy. The department of wild life is finishing up some treatment on him when we walk up. After they are done, they will load him into a truck and cart him 100 miles up the mountain... hoping he doesn't find his way back. At 1.5 years of life, this fuzzy animal already has one strike against him. One more, and the DOW will have to euthanize him. In my opinion, his chances aren't so good.
It is a policy that a lot of people don't agree with... myself included. Afterall, the bears were here first. This is their natural habitat, not ours. When we moved in, we did so with the knowledge that we would have to share our surroundings with them. Who are we to decide we no longer want them here? I understand where the government is coming from... we do need to protect people. Bears that get too comfortable with humans can be a problem. Bears are predators, and need to be feared to a certain degree... but in my mind, unless a bear has killed a small child, or brutally torn apart a jogger, they've done nothing wrong. Why kill a bear for eating trash? We don't even kill sex offenders who molest and sexualy assault innocent people. We don't kill murders. Why kill bears?
As the DOW pickup pulls away, the slumbering bear lying in the bed of the truck, I shoot one more prayer up to that big guy in the sky... don't let him find his way back, please.
Here is a link to the story, give me your thoughts...
http://managekoaa.worldnow.com/global/video/flash/popupplayer.asp?ClipID1=3840889&h1=Bear%20breaks%20into%20home&vt1=v&at1=News&d1=121134&LaunchPageAdTag=News&fvCatNo=&backgroundImageURL=&activePane=info&rnd=95644325
Friday, June 5, 2009
DAY 13
Day 13
Every photogs worst nightmare: file tape.
File tape to a photog is like telling a director to produce a genius film using only video from scenes he has saved from past movies. While a reporter creates a story with his words, photographers create stories with our images. Our art is in our ability to weave a tale through the lens of our camera- showing people what we see- transporting them there with pictures and natural sound. A piece full of file video is like a novel that has already been written... been there... done that.
I understand that there are times when file video is necessary. For example, during a high profile trial, file video of the crime scene is a crucial piece of the story. Viewers need a visual reminder of why they should care about that particular trial. But that is where the purpose of file video ends. After context, it is our jobs as photographers to show the viewer something new and interesting... something they haven't seen before.
Today I am responsible for a story comprised entirely of bad weather file video. It is warm and sunny out. The breeze is blowing only slightly, creating an enjoyable, balmy, morning. So why on earth are we doing an entire piece on bad weather? Your guess is as good as mine. Afterall, we aren't adding anything new, or showing the viewer anythbing that they've never seen before... heck- they've already seen this flooding video four times this weekend!
I feel a bit disposable today... part of what makes me a valuable asset to this news team (well, most of what makes me a valuable asset to this news team) is my ability to turn events into a seemless array of pictures... pictures that tell a compelling story. Not everyone can do that :-) But a monkey could look up a tape number, import it into the editing system, make a few chops and edits to it, and call it a day. I feel as worthless as a chimp.
Luckily, I'm sore from a rough day at karate yesterday, so I'm not complaining- at least not yet...
It's now noon... the complaining can start.
Part of the problem is where I am... worse then finding file at just any station, is finding file at KOAA. Here at channel five, we can shoot and write, we can make any live shot happen, and we shine during breaking news... but when it comes to archiving video-- we certainly don't walk the walk. It sometimes seems to me that our archiving system has not evolved since the middle ages. Not only is the system completely worthless, but us meager photogs are given the task of archiving our own stories at the end of every night. Now this may not sound like such a difficult task- and it really isn't- but when you are out shooting all day, and then get back fifteen minutes after your shift is over and still have to get gas, archiving video is the last thing that you want to deal with.
What ends up happening is that we save a bunch of stories, planning to log them the next day, or day after that.... but after one week, you've lost your chance. The system can no longer be updated... and any video that isn't already logged is gone forever. Although the story may still pop up during a search, there will not be an accompanying tape where the video should have been saved.
As I sit with my list of Colorado Springs weather disasters, I want to pull my hair out. Sure, I can find stories about lightning... but none of them were saved! It gets old going story after story for over a half an hour and having nothing to show from it. I almost wish that it was storming so I could just set up a camera and record it myself. After much searching I find the lighting and set my sights on a tornado that hit manitou springs in 1979. I wasn't even born then...where the hell am I supposed to find this video!
When I get a chance to glance at the clock I realize that it is already 3:30. I need to start editing so that I'll make my live shot. I've found three pkgs and a few shorter stories. Hopefully I can piece something together. Luckily the flood video is still in the system, so I edit it nicely with the reporter track. I'm not so fortunate with the lightning video. I have about four shots that last little more then one second each... the same goes for the tornado video. So, I take a big chunk, hit edit, and lay it all into the timeline. Not much I can do...
By five oclock, I've shot one interview, and spent about four hours searching for video somebody else had already shot. I've been a bit useless, but oh well. Tomorrow is a new day, and I'm sure I'll be busy enough...
Every photogs worst nightmare: file tape.
File tape to a photog is like telling a director to produce a genius film using only video from scenes he has saved from past movies. While a reporter creates a story with his words, photographers create stories with our images. Our art is in our ability to weave a tale through the lens of our camera- showing people what we see- transporting them there with pictures and natural sound. A piece full of file video is like a novel that has already been written... been there... done that.
I understand that there are times when file video is necessary. For example, during a high profile trial, file video of the crime scene is a crucial piece of the story. Viewers need a visual reminder of why they should care about that particular trial. But that is where the purpose of file video ends. After context, it is our jobs as photographers to show the viewer something new and interesting... something they haven't seen before.
Today I am responsible for a story comprised entirely of bad weather file video. It is warm and sunny out. The breeze is blowing only slightly, creating an enjoyable, balmy, morning. So why on earth are we doing an entire piece on bad weather? Your guess is as good as mine. Afterall, we aren't adding anything new, or showing the viewer anythbing that they've never seen before... heck- they've already seen this flooding video four times this weekend!
I feel a bit disposable today... part of what makes me a valuable asset to this news team (well, most of what makes me a valuable asset to this news team) is my ability to turn events into a seemless array of pictures... pictures that tell a compelling story. Not everyone can do that :-) But a monkey could look up a tape number, import it into the editing system, make a few chops and edits to it, and call it a day. I feel as worthless as a chimp.
Luckily, I'm sore from a rough day at karate yesterday, so I'm not complaining- at least not yet...
It's now noon... the complaining can start.
Part of the problem is where I am... worse then finding file at just any station, is finding file at KOAA. Here at channel five, we can shoot and write, we can make any live shot happen, and we shine during breaking news... but when it comes to archiving video-- we certainly don't walk the walk. It sometimes seems to me that our archiving system has not evolved since the middle ages. Not only is the system completely worthless, but us meager photogs are given the task of archiving our own stories at the end of every night. Now this may not sound like such a difficult task- and it really isn't- but when you are out shooting all day, and then get back fifteen minutes after your shift is over and still have to get gas, archiving video is the last thing that you want to deal with.
What ends up happening is that we save a bunch of stories, planning to log them the next day, or day after that.... but after one week, you've lost your chance. The system can no longer be updated... and any video that isn't already logged is gone forever. Although the story may still pop up during a search, there will not be an accompanying tape where the video should have been saved.
As I sit with my list of Colorado Springs weather disasters, I want to pull my hair out. Sure, I can find stories about lightning... but none of them were saved! It gets old going story after story for over a half an hour and having nothing to show from it. I almost wish that it was storming so I could just set up a camera and record it myself. After much searching I find the lighting and set my sights on a tornado that hit manitou springs in 1979. I wasn't even born then...where the hell am I supposed to find this video!
When I get a chance to glance at the clock I realize that it is already 3:30. I need to start editing so that I'll make my live shot. I've found three pkgs and a few shorter stories. Hopefully I can piece something together. Luckily the flood video is still in the system, so I edit it nicely with the reporter track. I'm not so fortunate with the lightning video. I have about four shots that last little more then one second each... the same goes for the tornado video. So, I take a big chunk, hit edit, and lay it all into the timeline. Not much I can do...
By five oclock, I've shot one interview, and spent about four hours searching for video somebody else had already shot. I've been a bit useless, but oh well. Tomorrow is a new day, and I'm sure I'll be busy enough...
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
DAY 12
DAY 12
It's Memorial Day. Happy Memorial Day to me. Guess how I'm going to celebrate this wonderful holiday??? Ding Ding Ding!!! You've got it... I'm going to work!!
For the low man on the todem pole holidays in the news business are just another day of the week. The only thing that separates them from any other day of the week is that there are less people to give you a headache... and of course you are expected to do more (because there are less people to help!). Working memorial day doesn't really bother me. I didn't have any plans and it is cloudy and rainy again anyways. It is Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and even the 4th of July that get to me. Those are the times when you want to be out celebrating... not sitting in an empty newsroom trying to come up with something that could pass for a newsworthy story. Those are the days when I really question whether or not this job is worth it. Those are the days when I remind myself that not only do I get paid less then I did before I had a college degree, but I also have to work on the only days of the year when my whole family is back in Chicago. Because of this job I missed Christmas Eve with my Grandmother who is in her nineties, my little sisters graduation from highschool, thanksgiving with my aunts and uncles, and seeing my five year old sister open her Christmas present from me.
There are certain moments that we live for. Times in our life that only come once... so you better be there to enjoy them or live with the regret of missing out. Sometimes I feel like this job sits me on the sidelines... or won't even let me into the stadium. Isn't the point of working so that we can make money to live... not so that our whole life can pass us by without us even knowing... because we were too busy working...
Anyways...
Luckily Memorial Day isn't one of those holiday's where people sleep in, and then sit around their house all day doing nothing (like Christmas). On Memorial Day people get out... so we aren't exactly stretching for stories this morning. Air Force Academy graduation is this week and I'm the lucky photog that is sent up north to cover the awards parade. Rarely am I on time... so when I show up at the gate at 9 am, coffee in hand, ready for a long day of standing around watching Cadets march in the distance, you can imagine my disdain for ABC who is late... well not really late... we wait till 9:40 and finally give up on them and leave.
Military events are miserable... first of all, while everyone else is wandering around the academy completely unattended, we are attached to the hip of a public affairs person like a dog on a leash. Stand here. Don't walk here. If you need to move ask first. You can point your camera this way, but not that way. What questions are you asking? The list goes on and on and on. I think I failed out of puppy training school cause I just want to tell them to shove it and go where I please. Secondly, military events are painfully long, and enormously boring...
The awards parade goes a little something like this... crowd sits down in the stand and waits... for about an hour and a half. The cadets line up all the way on the other side of the field... if you have a great pair of binoculars you might be able to see them. Not your cadet of course... since they are all dressed alike... Then the pomp and circumstance begins. They march.... and march... and march... and march. First to the east. Then to the North. Sometimes they turn around and wave a flag. Finally they stop (keep in mind they are still so far away that you can hardly see them). We stand. We sit. They march. And it goes on... and on... and on... and on. Finally the thunderbirds fly over in perfect formation. The roar is so loud that the ground shakes beneath me, but I still barely get the shot. In a millisecond they are gone and I'm standing there wondering why I wasn't ready! Two hours later I'm leaving the Acadeamy, sunburned... with a lot of wide shots.
I get back to the station, happy that it's not raining. I'd rather be burned then sopping wet. One more story to go, a little news barbeque and I'm off... not a bad memorial day.
One pm rolls around and I'm off to Evergreen cemetary for historical war ceremony commemorating soldiers of the past. As I roll up the sky turns an ugly gray shade and threatens to spit rain. I'm in a hurry to get back to the barbeque anyways, so I vow to shoot quickly and get out before it pours. Just in case, I throw my raincoat over the camera... it never hurts to be prepared. Before I can even switch the power on... bang... rain. Great. Just my luck. I get a few shots and head back to my car before it really starts to come down. On my way out flags lined up on the graves of fallen soldiers catches my eye. They whip around in the wind, delicate flowers barely surviving the pelting water.
The car is so warm, so dry... but it isn't everyday that you see a sight like this one. Suddenly making it back to the bbq doesn't seem quite so important. On the other end of the field I spot two young girls... roses in hand, placing new flowers on graves where the old ones have been washed away. Their clothes are drenched, but they don't seem to notice the rain. I get out and walk over to them... interrupting whatever peace is in the air. I ask why they are out here... whether the rain could ever deter them. One of the girls looks up at me and says, "never... we are out here every year... the rain would never stop us. They gave their life for us... the least we can do is give a flower to them." With that she bent down and dropped the rose in her hand. Without looking back she walked away... and I was left standing in the rain, soaking wet...
It isn't the bbq's or the camping that makes memorial day special. It is the people who have made the ultimate sacrifice... given their life so that we can celebrate and enjoy the rain and parades and getting paid to work on a holiday.
It's Memorial Day. Happy Memorial Day to me. Guess how I'm going to celebrate this wonderful holiday??? Ding Ding Ding!!! You've got it... I'm going to work!!
For the low man on the todem pole holidays in the news business are just another day of the week. The only thing that separates them from any other day of the week is that there are less people to give you a headache... and of course you are expected to do more (because there are less people to help!). Working memorial day doesn't really bother me. I didn't have any plans and it is cloudy and rainy again anyways. It is Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and even the 4th of July that get to me. Those are the times when you want to be out celebrating... not sitting in an empty newsroom trying to come up with something that could pass for a newsworthy story. Those are the days when I really question whether or not this job is worth it. Those are the days when I remind myself that not only do I get paid less then I did before I had a college degree, but I also have to work on the only days of the year when my whole family is back in Chicago. Because of this job I missed Christmas Eve with my Grandmother who is in her nineties, my little sisters graduation from highschool, thanksgiving with my aunts and uncles, and seeing my five year old sister open her Christmas present from me.
There are certain moments that we live for. Times in our life that only come once... so you better be there to enjoy them or live with the regret of missing out. Sometimes I feel like this job sits me on the sidelines... or won't even let me into the stadium. Isn't the point of working so that we can make money to live... not so that our whole life can pass us by without us even knowing... because we were too busy working...
Anyways...
Luckily Memorial Day isn't one of those holiday's where people sleep in, and then sit around their house all day doing nothing (like Christmas). On Memorial Day people get out... so we aren't exactly stretching for stories this morning. Air Force Academy graduation is this week and I'm the lucky photog that is sent up north to cover the awards parade. Rarely am I on time... so when I show up at the gate at 9 am, coffee in hand, ready for a long day of standing around watching Cadets march in the distance, you can imagine my disdain for ABC who is late... well not really late... we wait till 9:40 and finally give up on them and leave.
Military events are miserable... first of all, while everyone else is wandering around the academy completely unattended, we are attached to the hip of a public affairs person like a dog on a leash. Stand here. Don't walk here. If you need to move ask first. You can point your camera this way, but not that way. What questions are you asking? The list goes on and on and on. I think I failed out of puppy training school cause I just want to tell them to shove it and go where I please. Secondly, military events are painfully long, and enormously boring...
The awards parade goes a little something like this... crowd sits down in the stand and waits... for about an hour and a half. The cadets line up all the way on the other side of the field... if you have a great pair of binoculars you might be able to see them. Not your cadet of course... since they are all dressed alike... Then the pomp and circumstance begins. They march.... and march... and march... and march. First to the east. Then to the North. Sometimes they turn around and wave a flag. Finally they stop (keep in mind they are still so far away that you can hardly see them). We stand. We sit. They march. And it goes on... and on... and on... and on. Finally the thunderbirds fly over in perfect formation. The roar is so loud that the ground shakes beneath me, but I still barely get the shot. In a millisecond they are gone and I'm standing there wondering why I wasn't ready! Two hours later I'm leaving the Acadeamy, sunburned... with a lot of wide shots.
I get back to the station, happy that it's not raining. I'd rather be burned then sopping wet. One more story to go, a little news barbeque and I'm off... not a bad memorial day.
One pm rolls around and I'm off to Evergreen cemetary for historical war ceremony commemorating soldiers of the past. As I roll up the sky turns an ugly gray shade and threatens to spit rain. I'm in a hurry to get back to the barbeque anyways, so I vow to shoot quickly and get out before it pours. Just in case, I throw my raincoat over the camera... it never hurts to be prepared. Before I can even switch the power on... bang... rain. Great. Just my luck. I get a few shots and head back to my car before it really starts to come down. On my way out flags lined up on the graves of fallen soldiers catches my eye. They whip around in the wind, delicate flowers barely surviving the pelting water.
The car is so warm, so dry... but it isn't everyday that you see a sight like this one. Suddenly making it back to the bbq doesn't seem quite so important. On the other end of the field I spot two young girls... roses in hand, placing new flowers on graves where the old ones have been washed away. Their clothes are drenched, but they don't seem to notice the rain. I get out and walk over to them... interrupting whatever peace is in the air. I ask why they are out here... whether the rain could ever deter them. One of the girls looks up at me and says, "never... we are out here every year... the rain would never stop us. They gave their life for us... the least we can do is give a flower to them." With that she bent down and dropped the rose in her hand. Without looking back she walked away... and I was left standing in the rain, soaking wet...
It isn't the bbq's or the camping that makes memorial day special. It is the people who have made the ultimate sacrifice... given their life so that we can celebrate and enjoy the rain and parades and getting paid to work on a holiday.
DAY 11
Day 11
I don't need my alarm clock this morning, the thunder takes care of waking me up (not too gently I might add). It is windy and rainy, and as I open my blinds the sky lights up and BANG, the apartment shakes. My eyes adjust to the light, and I quickly realize it is pouring outside. Everything is wet.. and I only have two hours before my futon adventure is scheduled to begin. Last week was moving day. Today is "furnishing my apartment with used furniture I've found on craigslist" day. I've already enlisted my old roommate Rachael and friend John to help with the process. Being Sunday, I don't have to be at work until 1:30... so as long as the rain stops in the near future... everything should be fine.
12:30 rolls around and there is no sign of blue skies. The parking lot of my apartment complex is now flooded. I feel like I'm in a monsoon. Since Rachael and John work the rest of the week, today is futon day, whether it is raining or not... I better find a tarp. At 1 pm the three of us pull up to a garage apartment about ten blocks from my house. The weather is so bad it took us fifteen minutes to get there. I have thirty minutes before I have to be at work... and lucky for me I have a shoot at two pm. I quickly call the station to see if we can push our story back an hour. No go... it's a memorial dedication for fallen police officer Jared Jensen. Officer Jensen was killed 2 years ago while making a felony arrest... today an Eagle Scout is dedicating a garden in his honor.
I guess that means we have to move this futon quickly. We wrap the mattress in the tarp and John starts hauling it down the stairs. I run to open the door for him when SQUISH... I step in a big puddle of muddy water. My entire foot as well as half my leg is completely soaked. No time to worry about it now, I only have twenty minutes to load the rest of this, get it back to my apartment, carry it up three flights of stairs, and make it to work... We take apart the frame, stuff it in the back of my truck and climb into our cars to start the treck back to my apartment. As soon as I turn the car on I notice a glimmer of sun. No more torrential downpour... this has to be a joke.
Lucky for us it starts pouring again before we make it back. I don't have time to move everything so Rachael and John volunteer to take care of the rest and I head off to work... not exactly in the best mood.
By the time I get to work it is 1:45 and I'm drenched. From head to toe, there isn't a dry spot on my body. I'm cold, and bitter... what a perfect way to start the day. How many more hours till I can go home? Jeanette hops in the car and we head up north to St. Patrick's church. I'd like to speed so that we don't miss the entire ceremony, but the rain is falling so hard I can't see the road five feet in front of me. Brown water is rushing down the hill at the bottom of the station. Cars are wading through, hoping just to make it accross the intersection. We finally make it to the highway, but that too feels more like a parking lot then a major roadway. Bumper to bumper... perfect.
One thing that you quickly learn as a news photographer is how to get places quickly. Knowing shortcuts, speed traps, times of day to avoid certain roads helps, but nothing beats going 90 down the highway on the way to breaking news! Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating driving at speeds unsafe for road condisitons, or driving above the posted speed limit for that matter... Ok, well maybe I am, but only if it is for really good breaking news :-) This story unfortunately doesn't fit into that category... but I'm not against making exceptions...
Lucky for Jeanette (and myself I guess) I don't crash... and we make it to the church in less then twenty minutes. Time to get to work. We sneak in the back quietly and I snap my camera on the tripod and start shooting. There are about 75 people present for the dedication, all listening intently to Jared's brother tell a story about a camping trip they took together when they were younger. Apparently Jared used to think that he was the outdoorsy type... that is until he forgot his sleeping bag, socks and underwear on an overnight adventure into the woods. As I'm standing there I scan the crowd, and see not only the faces of his loved ones and friends, but also boyscouts and parishoners who did not know him.
As I scan, I can't help but wonder who would be at my funeral if I died. Would this many people still care about it two years later? Would someone that I never met want to dedicate a memorial garden in my honor? Jared's family sits in the front row, tears still streaming down his mothers cheeks. Some get up to share stories about times over the past few years when they were sure that Jared was looking down on them. Others just listen quietly, absorbing the moment for what it is. I stand in the back, disconnected from the crowd. My mind drifts far away from the overcrowded church multi-purpose room to friendships I've cultivated and lives that I've touched.
If I was to die tomorrow, and look down on my life from heaven, would I have regrets about the choices I've made? Would I wish that I had pursued a different career, or lived in a different city? Would I wish that I called my older sister more often, or tagged along on more family camping trips? As much as I'd like to be able to say no to all these questions, that would probably be a lie. There are things that I would change, if I knew tomorrow would be my last day on earth. For starters, I'd probably call my mother... even if it is elevn oclock at night.
As I stand contemplating the fullness of my own life, I notice a smile forming on my face. I didn't know Jared Jensen. I wasn't in the news business when he was killed. I wasn't even in Colorado. But still, I can't help but feel as if his death, and his continuing legacy, have some impact on me as well. Maybe I'm at this dedication today, because in his death, Jared is teaching me to live.
The rain stops and the sun comes out. Sitting on a bench in his memorial garden, I look up at Pikes Peak and know there is something greater then me out there. I'm by no means religious, but still, I can't help but feel moved by the greatness of the mountains, and the heat of the sun on my face. Walking to the car I make a promise to myself... to live for today, for this moment, this reality. It may not be perfect, but it doesn't have to be. It wasn't meant to be. It was meant to be life... as real, and tough and challenging (and sometimes soaking wet) as life is. We get into the car and start to pull away... BOOM- the rain starts pouring. I shake my head and think "Thank you Jared, thank you."
I don't need my alarm clock this morning, the thunder takes care of waking me up (not too gently I might add). It is windy and rainy, and as I open my blinds the sky lights up and BANG, the apartment shakes. My eyes adjust to the light, and I quickly realize it is pouring outside. Everything is wet.. and I only have two hours before my futon adventure is scheduled to begin. Last week was moving day. Today is "furnishing my apartment with used furniture I've found on craigslist" day. I've already enlisted my old roommate Rachael and friend John to help with the process. Being Sunday, I don't have to be at work until 1:30... so as long as the rain stops in the near future... everything should be fine.
12:30 rolls around and there is no sign of blue skies. The parking lot of my apartment complex is now flooded. I feel like I'm in a monsoon. Since Rachael and John work the rest of the week, today is futon day, whether it is raining or not... I better find a tarp. At 1 pm the three of us pull up to a garage apartment about ten blocks from my house. The weather is so bad it took us fifteen minutes to get there. I have thirty minutes before I have to be at work... and lucky for me I have a shoot at two pm. I quickly call the station to see if we can push our story back an hour. No go... it's a memorial dedication for fallen police officer Jared Jensen. Officer Jensen was killed 2 years ago while making a felony arrest... today an Eagle Scout is dedicating a garden in his honor.
I guess that means we have to move this futon quickly. We wrap the mattress in the tarp and John starts hauling it down the stairs. I run to open the door for him when SQUISH... I step in a big puddle of muddy water. My entire foot as well as half my leg is completely soaked. No time to worry about it now, I only have twenty minutes to load the rest of this, get it back to my apartment, carry it up three flights of stairs, and make it to work... We take apart the frame, stuff it in the back of my truck and climb into our cars to start the treck back to my apartment. As soon as I turn the car on I notice a glimmer of sun. No more torrential downpour... this has to be a joke.
Lucky for us it starts pouring again before we make it back. I don't have time to move everything so Rachael and John volunteer to take care of the rest and I head off to work... not exactly in the best mood.
By the time I get to work it is 1:45 and I'm drenched. From head to toe, there isn't a dry spot on my body. I'm cold, and bitter... what a perfect way to start the day. How many more hours till I can go home? Jeanette hops in the car and we head up north to St. Patrick's church. I'd like to speed so that we don't miss the entire ceremony, but the rain is falling so hard I can't see the road five feet in front of me. Brown water is rushing down the hill at the bottom of the station. Cars are wading through, hoping just to make it accross the intersection. We finally make it to the highway, but that too feels more like a parking lot then a major roadway. Bumper to bumper... perfect.
One thing that you quickly learn as a news photographer is how to get places quickly. Knowing shortcuts, speed traps, times of day to avoid certain roads helps, but nothing beats going 90 down the highway on the way to breaking news! Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating driving at speeds unsafe for road condisitons, or driving above the posted speed limit for that matter... Ok, well maybe I am, but only if it is for really good breaking news :-) This story unfortunately doesn't fit into that category... but I'm not against making exceptions...
Lucky for Jeanette (and myself I guess) I don't crash... and we make it to the church in less then twenty minutes. Time to get to work. We sneak in the back quietly and I snap my camera on the tripod and start shooting. There are about 75 people present for the dedication, all listening intently to Jared's brother tell a story about a camping trip they took together when they were younger. Apparently Jared used to think that he was the outdoorsy type... that is until he forgot his sleeping bag, socks and underwear on an overnight adventure into the woods. As I'm standing there I scan the crowd, and see not only the faces of his loved ones and friends, but also boyscouts and parishoners who did not know him.
As I scan, I can't help but wonder who would be at my funeral if I died. Would this many people still care about it two years later? Would someone that I never met want to dedicate a memorial garden in my honor? Jared's family sits in the front row, tears still streaming down his mothers cheeks. Some get up to share stories about times over the past few years when they were sure that Jared was looking down on them. Others just listen quietly, absorbing the moment for what it is. I stand in the back, disconnected from the crowd. My mind drifts far away from the overcrowded church multi-purpose room to friendships I've cultivated and lives that I've touched.
If I was to die tomorrow, and look down on my life from heaven, would I have regrets about the choices I've made? Would I wish that I had pursued a different career, or lived in a different city? Would I wish that I called my older sister more often, or tagged along on more family camping trips? As much as I'd like to be able to say no to all these questions, that would probably be a lie. There are things that I would change, if I knew tomorrow would be my last day on earth. For starters, I'd probably call my mother... even if it is elevn oclock at night.
As I stand contemplating the fullness of my own life, I notice a smile forming on my face. I didn't know Jared Jensen. I wasn't in the news business when he was killed. I wasn't even in Colorado. But still, I can't help but feel as if his death, and his continuing legacy, have some impact on me as well. Maybe I'm at this dedication today, because in his death, Jared is teaching me to live.
The rain stops and the sun comes out. Sitting on a bench in his memorial garden, I look up at Pikes Peak and know there is something greater then me out there. I'm by no means religious, but still, I can't help but feel moved by the greatness of the mountains, and the heat of the sun on my face. Walking to the car I make a promise to myself... to live for today, for this moment, this reality. It may not be perfect, but it doesn't have to be. It wasn't meant to be. It was meant to be life... as real, and tough and challenging (and sometimes soaking wet) as life is. We get into the car and start to pull away... BOOM- the rain starts pouring. I shake my head and think "Thank you Jared, thank you."
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