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Archive for the ‘Introspection’ Category

Small, simple, friendly: Newtown in December

Posted in Introspection, Journalism, Photography, Photojournalism, tagged on April 5, 2013 | 3 Comments »

Well, I thought I was okay.

Sometime between mid-January and late March, I had ceased thinking about Newtown on an hourly or daily basis. The holiday season was finally over, I got to meet my baby niece, Jeff and I were taking ballroom dance lessons and I was back in the swing of regular work.

But near the end of March, I had a dream: I was back in Newtown, and I was interviewing a florist as she was preparing spray arrangements for a child’s funeral. Suddenly, I felt my eyes burn hot with tears, and my mind went blank. I quickly turned away for a moment, then faced her again.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

Then I woke up.

Later that day, another reporter who had been in Newtown wrote a blog post in which he explained his reluctance to talk much about his experiences:

1.) I’ve been nervous that [this] just comes across as me complaining about my own personal situation.
2.) I’ve felt a certain amount of guilt for feeling so badly when there are obviously people who were directly and significantly affected by what happened far more than I can imagine.
Additionally, I’ve wanted to distance myself a little from my coverage in Newtown. It’s not a fun thing to talk about so I largely avoid it, though there are times when I’m drinking with buddies that things will slip out. 

That basically sums up my feelings.

But now I feel ready to share some of the pictures I made while in Newtown. It could be that the warmer weather and sunshine are helping me overcome the dreariness of that trip. It could be that I’m actually getting okay-er over time. Or it could be that it’s simply time to do this now.

(more…)

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One month after Newtown: A personal epilogue

Posted in Introspection, Journalism, tagged on January 15, 2013 | 1 Comment »

One month and a day ago, reporter Lauren and I drove to a part of the country neither of us had really been to before: Connecticut. We didn’t know where we were staying, we didn’t know what we would we be doing and we didn’t know anybody with whom we’d be working.

This was all we knew:

  • Our job was to help out a sister paper, The New Haven Register, by doing whatever they asked of us, in the wake of the second-worst school shooting in U.S. history.
  • One New Haven editor’s name.
  • …I think that’s about it.

We were asked to go, and we went. It was a long, dark drive to New Haven from York, and all I could think about was who, what, where, when. I didn’t think about why, or how. I didn’t dare to. I kept my focus on the road and on my job, and that’s pretty much how the next four days and five nights went.

I already wrote that, upon my return to York, I finally cried. And now I’ve had a month to think and reflect and talk to the caring editors, coworkers, friends and boyfriend that I’m so fortunate to have.

People have asked how I’m doing, and by and large, I’m okay. As I’ve already written, I was in Newtown for only four days, I never set foot inside a funeral (some reporters had to, and I can’t imagine what they might be going through), I met only one person who actually knew a victim. I’m not a parent, and I haven’t yet experienced deep personal grief or loss.

But while I’d rather not dwell on this, I won’t sugarcoat it either: Things are different now. I’m different now. How can they/I not be? When you spend time in such a small, cozy place as Newtown, where the overcast skies match the grief in the air and strangers admit they’ve been crying all day and flower- and candle-laden memorials never leave your sight, it’s hard to dismiss the thoughts and memories that linger in your mind after you leave. It actually feels wrong to do so.

• • •

I’ve so far had neither the heart nor the will to share the pictures I made there, as well as others I made before and since then. I was determined to be a human in my reporting in Newtown, and I’ve since been determined to be a human for my own sake. So, when I’m not at work, I have turned my focus to the mundane: small tasks like avoiding folding the clean laundry and large tasks like tackling a book that’s taken me more than nine years to complete.

Some day — maybe tomorrow, six months from now or whenever I’m ready — I’ll share those pictures from a month ago. In the meantime, I’m working toward normalcy.

Ten or so nights ago, I dreamed about a Newtown that I barely recognized: There were no news vans, the sun was shining and people were smiling.

Every day, I hope that dream will no longer be just a dream.

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An unexpected journey: Reporting in Newtown, Conn.

Posted in Introspection, Journalism, The York Daily Record/Sunday News, tagged on December 20, 2012 | 7 Comments »

…a time for every purpose under heaven

Last night when I came home from work, I collapsed into bed and wept.

It hadn’t been an ordinary day at work. It hadn’t been an ordinary week at work.

Reporter Lauren and I had just worked four days reporting for The New Haven Register in Connecticut after the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Arriving Friday night in New Haven and working Saturday through Tuesday in the Newtown area, we sought stories outside the big story, knocked on doors, found leads, lost leads, held back our own emotions and listened. Every day meant an exhausting stretch of shoe-leather journalism, and, always determined to come back with a story, we powered through.

Tuesday, we returned to York, where finally I could forget about work and cry for the lives lost.

…a time to gain, a time to lose

Like everyone else in the world, I started Friday, Dec. 14, normally. I got up, showered, ate breakfast. I heard about a school shooting somewhere in Connecticut, but didn’t realize how devastating it was until I was on my way to the newsroom and (at a red light) saw Jeff’s text that 27 people had been killed.

I almost cried then, but knew I had work to do. My assignments for Friday evening included a Penn State football recruit and a local teenager’s holiday light display. I had to hold it together and do my job.

Then, just before I planned to leave to photograph the Penn State recruit, my editor Eileen beckoned me over into the conference room.

Could I, if called upon, go to Newtown that night to help The New Haven Register (and our parent company Digital First Media) with their coverage?

I said yes. So did Lauren. Just over an hour later, we were on the road to Connecticut.

…a time to gather stones

During the four days we worked in Connecticut — four long days that seamlessly blended together amidst the confusion, the scope, the monumental sadness of the story — Lauren and I agreed to avoid the media circus as best we could. The people of Newtown and Sandy Hook were being bombarded by camera crews and reporters, and we wanted no part of that, mostly out of respect for those people in their time of sorrow.

So we spent the first three days reporting “on the fringe,” finding stories outside of the immediate area, talking to people who knew no victims but still grieved. We found a Christmas tree farm that opened on Saturday so area families could try to return to the holiday routine and to a sense of normalcy. We found a religious gift shop owner who kept her store open not just for business but for people who needed to come in and pray with her. We found a church whose mission was outreach and whose members somehow found the time and resources to organize a teddy bear drive, alongside their half-dozen other holiday-related charity programs.

The fourth day, I had no choice but to join the media circus when I was assigned to produce video of the back-to-back funerals of James Mattioli and Jessica Rekos at St. Rose of Lima Roman Catholic Church. Two or three people who drove past the media scrum on Church Hill Road yelled at us to “leave them alone” and “go home.” Even before that, though, I felt sick to my stomach about covering funerals, and had to remind myself that, more importantly, the families and friends on the other side of so many cameras and notepads must feel worse.

The fourth day, it seemed, would be the worst day.

…a time to embrace

Then Lauren, on assignment for another story, found a hair stylist who was scheduled to cut James’s hair the day after the shooting. So after the funerals, we went to her salon, which was attached to a kids’ consignment store she also operated. We chatted with her husband about the three months of hard work he had put in to renovate the salon. Instead of interrupting her business for an interview, we waited as she gave a grown customer a haircut, even though I was under pressure to get the funeral video online quickly. We learned that she and her husband came from New York City — he from the Bronx, she from Brooklyn — so their children, now ages 20 and 24, could have a backyard.

Finally, we sat with her, and she told us, on-camera, about how she had so looked forward to seeing James on Saturday, the day after such a terrible tragedy. How he never arrived, and she thought his mother had forgotten and would reschedule. How horrified she was when she saw his name on the victim list. How, when they saw each other at James’s wake, his mother apologized for not calling to cancel the appointment.

When she was done, she gave us hugs. I think we all needed it. I did.

The fourth day ended better than it had begun: I noticed, as we left her salon, that the sun was starting to break through the clouds that had enshrouded the area since Saturday morning.

…a time to weep

I think, for the most part, I’m fairly capable of compartmentalizing emotion. I say, “I think” because I’m by no means a veteran of the industry, and who’s to say I’ve seen the worse that I’ll ever see in my career? But I’ve covered homicides, fatal car accidents, stories of loss. I’ve always maintained my professionalism, while still seeking to be a human in my reporting.

Lauren and I powered through our four days of reporting without shedding a tear, though I came close a few times. It wasn’t adrenaline. I hate to think it was desensitization.

So on Monday afternoon, as we were wrapping up reporting, I suggested that we go to the memorial near the school. None of our work had, thus far, brought us into Sandy Hook or near the school, and I felt it was important that we go pay our respects. We parked on a back road, left our cameras and notepads in the car and walked to the huge makeshift memorial site, which consisted of numerous Christmas trees drooping with ornaments and surrounded by hundreds of stuffed animals, notes and lit candles.

We did not cry. Maybe, if we had not been on deadline and had not been essentially putting off work at the time, we would have.

The tears came on Wednesday night when I was finally home again. It was then that I felt like a human again.

…a time to heal

I’ve been back in York for a full day now, and normalcy is not a thing yet. I went into work today to do some paperwork and participate in the holiday potluck and secret Santa gift exchange, but it all felt strange and foreign. Jeff and I are planning a weekend trip to Philadelphia — which had been our original plan for last weekend — and I mean to bake Christmas cookies, but it’s hard for me to focus on anything.

And yet, I was there for only four full days. I neither knew nor met any of the victims’ families. I never set foot inside a funeral service or wake, and I met only one person who personally knew a victim.

How or whether the people of Newtown and Sandy Hook will fully heal, I’m not sure. But I can say this: It is a strong, close-knit community, and even in a time of immense sorrow, the people are among the kindest, most polite I have ever met.

Many people, including the media ourselves, have noted media fatigue and even animosity toward the media. But Lauren and I encountered only one instance of animosity, which we knew not to take personally. Everyone else — and there were many whom we talked to — was so nice and helpful and friendly. We were astonished, and grateful.

…a time of peace

There’s no telling when the media frenzy will depart Newtown, but the news vans will swarm the streets again next year on the anniversary, and again, and again. The hair stylist who knew James Mattioli said she thinks many of the families will move away. There has already been talk of Newtown being defined by the tragedy, as has happened to Columbine.

It saddens me. Newtown is a lovely place. People in both directions of traffic will stop to let you make a left turn out of a driveway. There are no Walmarts, very few fast food restaurants and a lot of mom-and-pop shops. Everybody knows each other, and if they didn’t know you at first, they’ll at least remember your face and smile next time they see you.

Lauren and I have talked about going back to Newtown again sometime — not as media, but as people, just to say hi to those who greeted us so warmly and talked to us so candidly and treated us so warmly. It’s just a terrible shame that we encountered this wonderful community only by way of a horrific, senseless act of violence.

Another reporter with whom Lauren and I worked said it best:

We all are affected very deeply by this, we care very much for those it touched, and we truly wish that this all never happened.

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Some thoughts

Posted in Introspection, Journalism on September 11, 2011 | 3 Comments »

Ten years ago, my world suddenly became bigger.

I was in the eighth grade at a prep school that maxed out at middle school. Finding and getting into the right high school, and keeping up my grades so I wouldn’t get kicked out of the National Junior Honor Society, were my priorities as of Sept. 10, 2001.

The next day, Sept. 11, was yearbook picture day. As eighth grade students — the graduating class, the oldest students in the school — we could wear casual formalwear for our yearbook photos, in lieu of the everyday uniforms. So that morning, I chose a purple dress that I’d worn a few months ago for a friend’s Bar Mitzvah.

The lights were off in our first-period science class as we worked on some activity about genetics. Suddenly, my homeroom teacher walked into the room and, without a word to our science teacher, turned on the TV. The first tower was on fire. News commentators weren’t sure whether a plane really had flown right into the building. We didn’t know what was happening, but we knew it was important.

Then we had our photos taken. We returned to our second-period English class just in time to watch the second plane hit.

In the days and weeks to come, my world expanded. By Sept. 10, 2001, I’d already known for three years that I wanted to be a journalist, but I’d never known much more than that. After Sept. 11, I began watching more news broadcasts, reading more news magazines, poring over the sections of the newspaper that weren’t the comics, consuming online news. The world became a bigger place, much more complex than I’d previously imagined. I started questioning whether I really wanted to be a journalist, whether I had the fortitude to produce stories in any situation, whether I could even comprehend the world enough to be able to do the job.

Looking back, it seems silly that a 13-year-old girl would be so sheltered and scared and uncertain, especially since her life was never in immediate danger of harm or upheaval. But that’s what happened after Sept. 11.

I taped an American flag on my bedroom window.

Our yearbook photos had to be retaken. We never saw the proofs from that original session. I was mid-blink in my photo from the second session.

One Sunday that October, I was reading a book in bed when my mother came in to tell me we invaded Afghanistan.

I asked one of my best friends at school if she was of Iranian or Iraqi descent. (As if it mattered.)

My rabbi’s sermons gradually became more political. I started questioning what he was saying, then began tuning him out, then stopped going to that synagogue three years later.

Today, the world continues to grow, from my perspective, yet shrink. Everything became confusing, messy, incomprehensible, on Sept. 11, 2001. Now, 10 years after I suddenly doubted myself and everything that was happening around me, I’ve made it. I’m a journalist. I’ve gradually grown to understand and to put pieces together, but the world will never make complete sense to me.

But that’s okay. I think, in this post-9/11 age, that’s the norm. For decades, a common question was, “Where were you when JFK died?” Now, it’s “Where were you when 9/11 happened?”

I was wearing a purple dress, in my eighth grade science class, and completely oblivious to the world outside.

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Dad Day

Posted in Introspection on June 19, 2011 | Leave a Comment »

Today is Father’s Day. Like the past four or five Father’s Days (and Mother’s Days), I’m at least a thousand miles away from my dad. Thank goodness for phones, right?

Three years ago, in 2008, I was the editor of Philmont Scout Ranch‘s internal staff newsletter. It was a weekly production with a skeleton staff, but I was and am proud of how we recruited other staff throughout the camp to write weekly columns, encouraged and published submissions and injected our own voices into the newsletter.

In the final full issue, I summed up three of my favorite memories from what proved to be my last summer at the ranch. One of those memories is of my dad’s and my hike up Wheeler Peak — New Mexico’s tallest peak, at 13,161 feet above sea level.

Click on the image above to download/view the full issue of The PhilNews. This reflection was published on pg. 15.

There’s a lot I could write about my dad. After all, we’ve known each other for 23 and a half years. But I’ll let the text of this reflection — copied out below — say it all.

Clouds are brewing overhead, but it’s a cool, windswept day near the treeline of Wheeler Peak. My dad has been having trouble since before we reached Williams Lake, and has had to stop after every 10 feet of gained altitude. Even though my friends have gone on ahead and I’d love to reach the top in record time, I remain with my father, making him drink water and eat energy-loaded dried fruit and encouraging him.

My dad and I have never been very close. We didn’t really start getting along until after I graduated from high school. And I’ve never been one prone to give words of comfort. I’d like to think I’m a motherly figure of sorts — I love cooking for and helping out friends and family — but encouragement is not my strongest suit. I’m really struggling with trying to keep my father from collapsing altogether, in body and in spirit.

We’re out of the treeline and almost to the snowbank that separates the skreefield from the rest of the slope, when my dad has to stop again.

“You’re doing great, Dad,” I say, and we pound fists.

“You’re a good girl, Christine,” he says. I’m a little startled at his use of my full name — it’s something he does only when in earnest.

“I try,” I say, trying to keep it lighthearted.

“No — you are,” he says, and I suddenly remember all the times he’s told my brothers and me, “Do not try; do.”

“You’re a good daughter,” he then says.

My dad never made it to the top. He finally stopped after we crossed the snowbank, and told me to go on ahead. But it means so much to me that he tried so hard.

Happy Dad Day, Dad. I’ll see you in a few weeks.

(On an egalitarian note, I wish I’d written up something about/for my mom. Next year, Mom. Next year.)

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A shortened strawberry season, and my (lack of?) photographic style

Posted in Introspection, Journalism, Pennsylvania, Photography, Photojournalism, The York Daily Record/Sunday News, York on June 9, 2011 | 2 Comments »

The recent heat that’s swept across the Mid-Atlantic isn’t just making everybody wonder why summer is in such a hurry — it’s also shortened the strawberry season.

Last week, I went to Brown’s Orchards & Farm Market to photograph people picking in their strawberry fields. This is what was published on the front page:

© 2011 by The York Daily Record/Sunday News. Carol Brown of New Freedom picks strawberries at Brown's Orchards & Farm Market as her youngest son Mitchell, 8, searches for more berries on Thursday, June 2, 2011. The Browns -- no relation to the orchard -- moved from Arizona last week and had not been able to take their children berry-picking until now. The recent hot weather has shortened strawberry season, according to workers at Brown's Orchards & Farm Market in Loganville. Fresh strawberries are available for sale in the market, and the farm's strawberry fields have been open to pickers all week.

And this is the photo that was my personal favorite/runner-up but that I knew was too weird/messy/weird to run:

© 2011 by The York Daily Record/Sunday News. Mitchell Brown, 8, far right, gets to his feet after sampling a strawberry as his older siblings and parents pick berries on Thursday, June 2, 2011, at Brown's Orchards & Farm Market in Loganville.

I’ve lately been asking friends and fellow photographers how they would characterize my style or vision or whatever as a photographer. Some have noted a difference in how I shoot/edit for work versus how I shoot/edit for myself. Others have said that I’m not afraid to get close to people — that is, physically close to people, with a wide lens on my camera.

I honestly don’t know what my style or vision is. I’m either too young or too inexperienced to know, or maybe I just haven’t cared enough to recognize and cultivate it. Or, maybe my photographic style is that I have no style. Who knows? I don’t. I just like making pictures. I do think, though, that my personal attachment to the second photo does say something about me as a photographer. I’m just not sure what.

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Shelby

Posted in Introspection, Mizzou on June 2, 2011 | 1 Comment »

Oct. 15, 2009: I came home to find my roommates Shelby, left, and Chelsea dancing the Thriller. Typical.

Shelby, my college dormmate of one year and roommate of two years, passed away on Saturday.

Shelby was the quiet type who, when you walked to class with her and another friend, was the one who listened. You wouldn’t get to know her very well unless you happened to spend a lot of time with her. If you did know her fairly well, you’d know that she was a natural writer and editor, had a huge soft spot for babies and weirdly cute animals and had lofty expectations of the man she’d one day marry. But even if you barely knew her, you’d know that she cheered for the Ravens, was a Pepsi-loving vegetarian and was one of the nicest people you’d ever meet.

Together, we walked to and suffered through journalism classes, celebrated our 21st (and 22nd) birthdays in style and watched the Kentucky Derby three years in a row. We experienced not-unusual roommate tension, but we nevertheless bonded as we despaired over frustrating assignments, screamed at our football team when it lost and stayed up late watching bad television.

Our paths drifted after I graduated in May 2010 and as Shelby completed her degree in the following fall semester. But we met again in Columbia over lunch, and then at karaoke night at a favorite watering hole, when I visited town during that fall semester. On her birthday last month, I promised her and myself that once I was more settled in my new full-time job in York, we’d meet again over lunch. This lunch meeting would have happened this week or next.

Instead, earlier today, I attended Shelby’s service outside of Baltimore. For the first time in almost a week, I now have a sense of closure, and I can only hope the same of Shelby’s family and other friends.

From the program.

Rest in peace, Shelby. We miss you so much.

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The last day

Posted in Internships/Careers, Introspection, Journalism, Pennsylvania, Photography, Photojournalism, The York Daily Record/Sunday News, The York Dispatch, York on May 12, 2011 | 2 Comments »

Today’s my last day as a photo intern at The York Dispatch.

Not gonna lie - I'm going to miss the Dispatch newsroom's downtown location.

Tomorrow, on Friday the 13th, I start as a photojournalist at the newsroom across town — The York Daily Record/Sunday News.

As I wrote in my cover letter, I really think I’ve grown as a photographer since I’ve come to York, and I hope that growth continues. I’m excited to start growing some roots here in Pennsylvania and to learn and contribute at the Record. And I’m grateful to the editors and staff at the Dispatch for offering me the opportunity to come here in the first place and for enabling my growth.

I’m fairly behind in blogging some Dispatch assignments — the past week has been a flurry of assignments and projects — but even as I begin working at the Record, I’ll be sure to get caught up and take care of the backlog.

Funnily enough, it’s been a year almost to the day since I graduated from college and began a new chapter in my life. Today, that chapter closes; tomorrow, a new one opens. I’m feeling some trepidation, but more than anything, I’m excited and ready to take on this challenge and opportunity.

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I love being a newspaper photographer because…

Posted in Introspection, Journalism, Pennsylvania, Photography, Photojournalism, The York Dispatch, York on February 2, 2011 | 1 Comment »

There are different types of news photographers. Magazines, agencies, wires, newspapers, NGOs and other outlets have specific needs, and many news photographers dabble in more than one of these fields. Many others remain within only one.

So when people find out that I like newspaper photography and want/hope to be a newspaper staff photographer, they either laugh because newspapers are dying, give me sympathetic looks because newspapers are dying or advise me to pursue other interests because newspapers are dying.

Well, I happen to love newspaper photography. Even when I’m told to go out into the city, wander around and find people who are parking in curbside spots marked with chairs.

Like this:

© 2011 by The York Dispatch. chair marks the spot for a York City resident on the 900th block of East Philadelphia Street on Tuesday, Feb. 1, 2011. Some York City residents, after shoveling snow out of their street parking spots, will "reserve" their spots with chairs, trash cans and even cans of paint to ensure no one else parks there, even though this is illegal by city ordinance. No monetary fines or citations have ever been issued, but if residents don't remove their items from street parking spots, the city will confiscate those items.

And this:

© 2011 by The York Dispatch. Marina Vazquez, of York City, tends to her child in the front passenger seat while temporarily parking and waiting for her husband to get some paperwork from a resident on the 700th block of West Princess Street on Tuesday, Feb. 1, 2011. The red chair on the sidewalk formerly "reserved" the space occupied by the Vazquez' car. At least a dozen street parking spots on West Princess Street were "reserved" by chairs, trash cans or cans of paint.

I love being a newspaper photographer because I can get to know the community. I can tell people I’m from the local paper and they’ll (usually) accept me. I love being a newspaper photographer because every day is different — except when it snows every day.

Being a newspaper photographer can be frustrating on slow news days or, alternately, when you’re still in the newsroom five hours past your shift. It’s not as glamorous as other news photography jobs. The paper may not be flying me (or anyone) out to Egypt or sending me to the Super Bowl — but dammit, I want to stick with newspapers for as long as I can.

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This week

Posted in Introspection, Photography on December 17, 2010 | Leave a Comment »

It’s been kind of a rough week. Inexplicably, “I’ll Fly Away” (as sung by Alison Krauss and Gillian Welch) is playing over and over in my head.

Hence, these pigeons at sunset, on the top level of the Virginia Avenue Parking Garage in Columbia, Mo., on Nov. 19.

Life this week, in brief:

  • I ordered a dry-aged prime rib roast for our Christmas Eve dinner. I’ve never prepared a big chunk of meat before, much less ordered one, so I’m reading up on the subject and accepting any/all advice.
  • All my Christmas shopping is done — and the wrapping, too!
  • Except, we are to shop for gifts for ourselves (to be “from” my parents and grandparents) because…
  • …My dad is now undergoing chemotherapy treatment for cancer, which has him and my mom pretty preoccupied.
  • This also means I’ve been assuming more responsibilities in the house, to help out my parents.
  • Finally, I’m also trying to nail down my housing situation in York, Pa. I’m supposed to start my six-month internship in almost three weeks, so this is pretty crucial. I hope to get that wrapped up by early next week.

Next week, the holiday baking starts in earnest, my brother and sister-in-law arrive from Hawaii and I should really start packing for my upcoming move.

And breathe. Breathing is important.

(I also created my about.me profile/splash page. Check it out!)

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Thank you, #pcf10

Posted in 2010 Poynter College Fellowship, Internships/Careers, Introspection, Journalism, Photojournalism, Travel on May 30, 2010 | Leave a Comment »

The 2010 Poynter College Fellows disbanded more than 48 hours ago, and already I miss everybody.

That said, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, when I arrived in St. Petersburg a little more than two weeks ago.

Our official group photo.

  • I had driven almost 20 hours from Missouri to St. Petersburg, Fla. (with help from my parents, who drove down with me).
  • I also missed my own graduation ceremony to arrive at the Fellowship on time.
  • I had just completed a very rigorous final semester of college, during which I also had a part-time job and worked editing shifts at the paper.
  • I had just packed, moved and cleaned my apartment in almost exactly 24 hours, with help from Jeff and my roommate Shelby.
  • I was/am on the brink of beginning a summer photo internship at The Atlanta Journal-Constitution in early June.
  • And — I will admit — I felt a little burned out on journalism.

In the trip from Missouri to Florida, I spent the majority of my waking hours wondering what the hell I was doing. Why couldn’t I have just taken a break during the three weeks between graduation and my internship? Why couldn’t I have actually walked in my graduation ceremony and mugged for the camera with my fellow graduates? Why did I want to apply for a fellowship that would mean an intensive two weeks of even more journalism after my intensive four-year collegiate experience?

But 24 hours into the fellowship, I knew why.

From bottom, clockwise: Megan, Charlotte, Isaac, me, Jaclyn and Nezile. Photo by Eli Francovich.

The fellowship brought together 32 young journalists from vastly different backgrounds, with vastly different experiences and with vastly different perspectives — and I couldn’t have asked for a better group. I would be lying if I said I didn’t learn something from every single person there. There was no cutthroat competitiveness or need to do better than everybody else.

(more…)

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XXII: Where the wind comes sweeping down the plain

Posted in Introspection, Photography, Travel on April 21, 2010 | Leave a Comment »

Okay — nobody’s perfect. Including me.

Portra 400VC, 120mm.

These two frames were supposed to show the flat Oklahoman landscape from the view of the road, but I severely underexposed the first frame and then bracketed in the wrong direction for the second. Oops. But these are the only frames I exposed incorrectly during the entire trip, so I’m fine with that.

It was not uncommon to see how distinct the irrigation lines are. Portra 400VC, 120mm.

On the second day of our roadtrip to Santa Fe, Jeff and I were out of Oklahoma by probably 11:30ish a.m. CST. Crossing the border meant we gained an hour and lost about 10 miles per hour in the speed limit. Ya lose one, ya gain one.

On US-412, leaving Oklahoma. Portra 400VC, 120mm.

(more…)

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Summer in the city: Columbia University and the Brooklyn Bridge

Posted in Introspection, New York (City), Photography, Travel on February 10, 2010 | Leave a Comment »

90ish days of summer

After our encounter with Edwardo Alvarado in the Times Square station, Jeff and I had a pretty chill time on our way to and at Columbia University.

The typical college kid thing -- you know, playing Frisbee in front of Butler Library.

Why leave lower Manhattan and make such a big detour to Columbia if our next stop was the Brooklyn Bridge? Well, we still had time to kill, and I remembered enjoying my time on campus when I was there for the Columbia for the Columbia Scholastic Press Association‘s Gold Circle Awards with five other staffers of my high school newspaper.

Low Library, back in March 2004 when my high school newspaper adviser took six of us staffers to New York City. This photo was taken with a really crappy disposable film camera.

That was a really great trip. I had joined the newspaper staff at the beginning of the schoolyear and loved it more than anything. It was also my first out-of-town trip without my parents, which was liberating and wonderful. It’s no exaggeration to say that I felt a lot better and more confident about myself after spending a week in New York City with some of my favorite people.

Now, of course, I’m a bit out of touch with them. A few months ago, I e-mailed everyone on the trip to see how they were doing, but no one has replied. I’m wondering, especially because each of us were particularly passionate and eventually became editors on the paper, if anyone else in the group is still pursuing journalism as I am.

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Why I’m thankful: More lessons from the courtroom

Posted in Introspection, Jeff City/The Missourian, Journalism, Missouri, Mizzou, Photography, Photojournalism on November 25, 2009 | 7 Comments »

Introduction

As perhaps thousands of people now know, my conflict (for lack of a better word) with the Boone County Courthouse didn’t end a month ago.

If anything, these people know that:

  • the judge rejected my written apology and offered a second opportunity to send another apology,
  • I declined that second opportunity and did not send another apology; and
  • the judge declared a 30-day ban for me to enter the Boone County Courthouse effective Dec. 15 unless I filed a request for a hearing.

What the vast majority of those people do not know is this: I never declined that second opportunity. Additionally, the 30-day ban has — as of yesterday around 10:45 a.m. — been lifted.

In this entry, I will attempt the following:

  • explain how it was that I’d never declined that second opportunity,
  • divulge all relevant details, including associated court documents and e-mails,
  • discuss the importance of reporters’ getting ALL sides of a story and
  • express my gratitude to the many who helped me and supported me through this tough time.

This account will be told chronologically. As was the case with my first account pertaining to this incident, it will be long. But so many people have read my account about how I made my mistake and tried to atone for it, and I can only hope that at least half that many will read this follow-up.

How it happened

As was published first in a Columbia Daily Tribune article and then picked up by the Associated Press, I received a statement from the court on Friday, Nov. 20. This statement came almost a full month after the Missourian director of photography, the photo editor who edited with me on that assignment and I sent letters of apology to the judge.

Click on the image to view/download the full-resolution PDF file.

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How everything came together: Missouri defeats Kansas State 38-12

Posted in Introspection, Jeff City/The Missourian, Journalism, Missouri, Mizzou, Photography, Photojournalism, Sports on November 15, 2009 | 1 Comment »

Somehow, Missouri got it together and knocked the socks off of Kansas State yesterday, when the Tigers pulled off a 38-12 victory in Manhattan, Kan. This was a victory completely unexpected by almost everyone I talked to before leaving for the “Little Apple” to photograph the game.

A player (yet to be identified) embraces Missouri junior tailback Derrick Washington (No. 24) after Washington ran a 13-yard touchdown in the fourth quarter.

But I’m not here to ponder, consider or explain how or why the Tigers secured their victory.

Senior Leslie Horn reaches out to senior linebacker Sean Weatherspoon after Missouri defeated Kansas State 38-12 at the Billy Snyder Family Stadium in Manhattan, Kan.

Rather, this entry’s title refers to the facts that:

All this means that, now that I know the game and know I can get the action, I can and should focus on working different angles and getting shots unlike what editors, fans and readers expect to see from a football game.

But as it is for now, I’ve got a few action shots from the game I’d like to share with you.

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Lessons from the courtroom: A photography faux pas

Posted in Introspection, Jeff City/The Missourian, Journalism, Missouri, Mizzou, Photography, Photojournalism on October 23, 2009 | 30 Comments »

  • UPDATE (10:38 a.m., Nov. 25, 2009) — By my general reckoning, at least thousands of people know there’s more to this story, as of this past Friday. Various editors, journalism school faculty and I have since worked to remedy the situation. Now that we’ve tied up our loose ends, I believe now is the time to clarify exactly what happened — at least on my part. Please read my blog entry for the second (and final) component to this incident.

“Hello, this is Chris.”

“Hi Chris, this is Josh. You need to tell me the truth about what happened in court yesterday. And don’t lie to me, because lying isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

That’s how, via a phone call today at 9:13 a.m., I found out I was in trouble.

Here’s why:

Yesterday, I spent almost six hours in the Boone County Courthouse as the pool photographer for the fourth day of William Clinch’s first-degree murder trial. Armed with a 300mm lens, a 70-200mm and a 17-35mm, I knew the following before I entered the courtroom at 12:45 p.m.:

  • Do not photograph the jury.
  • Do what the judge tells me to do. Do not anger or even mildly irritate the judge.
  • Be respectful and quiet. This means not firing off more than three frames at a time.
  • Do not photograph the jury.

I photographed the jury.

That is why:

  • the Missourian reporter was kicked out of the courtroom this morning,
  • the photo director (Josh, above) called me,
  • I had to explain exactly what happened to several editors,
  • I could have been put in jail for contempt of court,
  • I spent the next hour tearfully worrying and wondering what would happen next,
  • I wrote a letter of apology to the judge,
  • I ended up on A1 of The Columbia Daily Tribune and
  • I am writing this blog post.

More specifically, I am writing this blog post to clarify exactly what happened. I believe in transparency, and I believe that other journalism students and journalists can learn from my mistakes.

Therefore, I am laying out everything that happened. This is the truth and is consistent with my letter of apology and my explanation to various Missourian editors and colleagues. And the truth is long, so this blog post is long. But I hope you’ll keep reading.

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Neither rain nor wind nor cold: Shooting my best football game yet

Posted in Introspection, Jeff City/The Missourian, Journalism, Missouri, Mizzou, Photography, Photojournalism, Sports on October 10, 2009 | 10 Comments »

Missouri lost to Nebraska, 27-12.

Where to start?

It was cold, rainy and windy.

Missouri sophomore quarterback Blaine Gabbert runs the ball against Nebraska junior safety Eric Hagg during the first play of the game.

Missouri sophomore quarterback Blaine Gabbert runs the ball against Nebraska junior safety Eric Hagg during the first play of the game.

Tons of sloppy play.

Nebraska freshman running back Rex Burkhead fumbles a punt from Missouri senior punter Jake Harry IV during the second quarter.

Nebraska freshman running back Rex Burkhead fumbles a punt from Missouri senior punter Jake Harry IV during the second quarter.

We lost.

Missouri freshman Morgan Stephens covers her eyes during the last play of the game against Nebraska.

Missouri freshman Morgan Stephens covers her eyes during the last play of the game against Nebraska.

And I shot a lot, learned a lot and tried not to worry a lot.

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Why this country needs more places like Eastern Market

Posted in Food, Introspection, Journalism, Photography, Washington, D.C. on September 14, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

90ish days of summer

After much agony, introspection and discussion, I am finally at peace with the fact that there are some things I just can’t understand at this point in my life.

Nothing heavy-handed here, folks. I’m just talking about a public fresh-food market. But that comes later in this entry.

On June 28, Jeff and I met my brother’s fiancee and one of the other bridesmaids at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. After we wandered around the largest Roman Catholic church in North America, we hopped on the Metro and explored Eastern Market, which had just reopened for the first time in more than two years.

But first, here’s the basilica, which is a short walk from the Brookland-Catholic University Metro stop on the red line.

The exterior of the basilica. Quite impressive.

The exterior of the basilica. Quite impressive.

Religious architecture has always bewildered me, but it sure is pretty.

I was surprised about access within the building. Jeff and I just walked right in and ambled around. I had the feeling that as long as we didn’t disrupt any of the ongoing services in a few of the sanctuaries or enter any private offices, we had free reign of the place. It was a Sunday, for goodness’ sake, and we were wandering the upper church and clicking our DSLRs.

blah

View from the altar. I would be more descriptive, but religious architecture terminology is beyond me.

After taking a few photos, we went to Eastern Market, which is D.C.’s oldest and longest-running public fresh-food market. And here’s where I’m afraid I might get a lot of flak: I’m honestly not entirely sure what draws people there. (Forgive the superfluous use of adverbs.)

Opening weekend at Eastern Market. Photo by Jeff.

Opening weekend at Eastern Market. Photo by Jeff.

I don’t mean to come off as a non-native/bright-eyed intern who comes to town and tries to ingratiate herself with the locals (or, worse yet, poke fun at them). Nor do I want to seem like a blissful ignoramus whose mantra is “I don’t get it.” Rather, I relish learning, trying to understand and passing on knowledge and information. That’s just what I aim to do as a (photo)journalist.

But sometimes, I just don’t understand things as completely as I’d like.

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Coffee with U.S. Sen. Claire McCaskill

Posted in Introspection, Jeff City/The Missourian, Journalism, Missouri, Mizzou, Photography, Photojournalism, Politics, Washington, D.C. on August 30, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

90ish days of summer

On June 25, 2009, Jeff and I had coffee with Claire.

L-R: me, Sen. McCaskill and Jeff. This photo was taken by an official Senate photographer and e-mailed to me from Sen. McCaskills office.

L-R: me, Sen. McCaskill and Jeff. This photo was taken by an official Senate photographer and e-mailed to me from Sen. McCaskill's office. Jeff does not look this awkward in real life... generally.

U.S. Sen. Claire McCaskill, D-Mo., has 9 a.m. coffee with constituents every Thursday while the Senate is in session. Upon learning of this weekly meeting via Twitter and finding out that I would generally have Thursdays off during my internship at washingtonpost.com, I knew that Jeff and I had to visit with Sen. McCaskill at some point.

So we did.

Some slight exaggeration may be involved here, but I partially credit Sen. McCaskill for embroiling me into Missouri politics and, what the heck, political reporting in general.

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washingtonpost.com, or How I Learned to Keep Editing and Love the Internship

Posted in Internships/Careers, Introspection, Journalism, Photography, Photojournalism, Washington, D.C., washingtonpost.com on August 14, 2009 | 2 Comments »

90ish days of summer

Today was my last day as a photo intern at washingtonpost.com.

wapo.com

Today, I fielded photo requests and built photo galleries, edited and submitted some photos I took for a real estate project, turned in my security badge and Metro card… and that’s that.

That’s the end of these 90ish days of summer and my first journalism internship.

This is my pouty face. In this photo by Jeff, I am pouting for probably no reason whatsoever at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival. Right now, Im not pouting so much as Im sad this summer and internship are over.

This is my pouty face. In this photo by Jeff, I am pouting for probably no reason whatsoever at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival. Right now, I'm not pouting so much as I'm sad this summer and internship are over.

As I’ve blogged before, much of what I involved prepping photos for on-line use — to accompany articles and WaPo blogs — and building the many photo galleries. In addition, I worked on a few longer-term projects and shot two assignments.

But the vast majority of the internship was definitely sitting in front of a Mac and a PC and doing a lot of editing. Which is something I’m used to, having been the photo editor of The Maneater student newspaper, but that doesn’t mean I learned nothing this summer.

What I learned:

  • As my fellow intern Channing put it, being an intern means you’re there to do what you’re told — which means you do what other people don’t want to do. I hadn’t been on the absolute bottom rung of the ladder in a long time, but being there was a good experience. I quickly realized that that’s just how real life works and that my experiences at The Maneater, Philmont Scout Ranch and The Columbia Missourian aren’t exactly  reflective of that kind of corporate reality. (That said, the photo editors at washingtonpost.com are so friendly and helpful.)
  • Being an intern also means you should have a fast learning curve.
  • Multitasking is key. I’d like to think I was already good at working on three or four to-do items simultaneously, but fielding photo requests, editing photos, building galleries and researching for projects definitely put a more extreme spin on the art of multitasking.
  • Correcting white balance in Photoshop used to be the photo editing task I hated the most — and I’d always thought that having a background in color film printing gave me an edge on speedy, accurate color-correction. But after having to correct white balance, constantly and every day, I am so much more confident at this task. And I don’t dread it as much.

In short, I’m happy with how my summer internship turned out, although I do hope that, in future endeavors, I’ll spend more time behind a camera than in front of a computer. But whatever happens, I’m grateful and glad I had the opportunity to intern at washingtonpost.com.

On Monday, Jeff and I are returning to Columbia, where I’ll begin my last year as a photojournalism major at MU. This semester, I’ll be a staff photographer for The Columbia Missourian, as well as taking two linguistics classes (that I’ve wanted since sophomore year) and working on a long-term investigative/reporting project with broadcast student Theo Keith. (More details on that in a future blog post!)

It’s going to be busy, and you can expect a lot more regular updates to this blog than have happened this summer.

With that, I formally conclude this 90ish days of summer series.

Although, true to form, I still have a ton of photos to edit. Jeff and I have seen and done a lot in the past two months, and I simply haven’t had the time yet to edit all the photos. Among those takes are…

In the next few weeks, I’ll be editing and blogging these photos. The 90ish days of summer title will headline those entries, but apart from these backlogged posts, the series is officially concluded.

And now, for a weekend of packing and editing!

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