Bromance

Disclaimer: this has nothing to do with television news.

This is my blog, and I can write about whatever the heck I want to.  Today I'm writing about my good friend Chase Shumate.

I met Chase randomly at Port City during a small group mixer, shortly before I got engaged to Kristy.

This mighty (tiny) man of God and I have shared more laughs, tears, heartfelt talks, craft beers, grilled hamburgers, cornhole games, time on the beach, bar stools, tattoo chairs, and general good times than the stars in the sky.



All of this bravado for Chase isn't for naught, or meant to find him a date, (Although ladies, he is single.  Good job, health benefits, he cooks and cleans too.) Enough of that...

This is because few people know the helpless abandonment I feel when I'm left to my own devices. Kristy is gone this week, and I don't do well alone... At all.  I begin to question life decisions.  I begin to question my place in this world. I begin to ponder my purpose and wonder if what I'm doing with my life has meaning.  I begin to wonder if my past and my sin has caught up with me and if God has forgotten about me.  I get scared. 

Kristy is in Thailand covering Franklin Graham's festival.  She's covering events and stories and telling the story of God's redemptive love for his sons and daughters.  What did I do today? I shot a story on sweepstakes parlors being shutdown in Charlotte.  (Pause and think about that for a moment.)

Now, marriage isn't about comparing yourself to your spouse.  A high profile job with travel isn't any more "holy" than a tv news camera guy who pushes glass for a living.  I understand both of these points.  It doesn't make it any easier when she's gone.  The root of my desire to have my wife near me is simply this, I am not complete without her.  I don't care if that makes you sick to your stomach or not, or if you think it's mushy and over the top.  I am openly unapologetic about my love for my wife and the grace God showed me when He saw fit to marry us.

Often times, seeing the impact her work has can make me feel like mine is insignificant.  I think it's fair to say that as a man, alot of my pride is tied to the work I do.  Pushing glass in a smokey sweepstakes parlor while your wife is on the other side of the planet witnessing people make life changing decisions and entering into a relationship with God, can be a little jarring to the system and really make you question your line of work.

But the truth is this: I love my job.  I love meeting new people everyday.  I love being a camera jockey.  I love working at a job that lets me get out of the building every day. 

Enter my friend Chase... We were talking tonight about all of this self pity, introspection, etc, etc and he says to me: "Dustin, don't ever feel inadequate because of Kristy's job. You have to support her. You reach many people through her. You help her be successful. That's not something to overlook.  You supporting her is your job. You are "behind the scenes" just as you are in your camera job."

And then he sends me this picture. It took a few moments for all of that to sink in, but when it did, there weren't enough tissues in this apartment to mop up my tears and snot.




So, where does all of this leave me? I'm glad you asked.  If you've managed to make it this far into this rant, you've certainly realized #1, how therapeutic just writing this down has been. And #2, I am truly a man blessed beyond my wildest dreams.

At the end of the day, I have a job I truly love, a smoking hot wife who will undoubtedly bring me cool trinkets from Thailand (hint, hint), and a very good friend like Chase Shumate to present a little perspective into my life when I'm feeling sorry for myself.

Now, isn't there something on fire that I need to go shoot?

Daywalker

In  the world of television news, the highly coveted "dayside" shift of Monday - Friday, 9:30-6:30, is to a news photographer... what the sirens were to Odysseus.  It's a cruel temptress that always seems just out of reach....

Well, not for this guy!  Today was my first Monday as a daywalker.  My new shift has finally kicked in.  I started my day by avoiding papercuts while sifting through this weekends' police reports, shot a quick vosot, and then loaded up into the chopper to head to a scene... but not before I snapped the uber popular "chopper selfie".

We headed out to Lincoln County and helped the sheriff's department locate a car that'd been sunken to the bottom of a fishing pond.

Chopper 9 pilot Andy Holt and myself then landed the bird in a nearby clearing behind a church.  The locals came out of the woodwork to catch a glimpse of the black beauty known as Chopper 9.

That's when I met my new friend Charlie.  "Hey camera guy! You wanna borrow my 4wheeler?"

Yes Charlie, I do.  You bet your sweet camouflage GAP hoodie wearing tail I do.  TAKE ME TO THE POND!

And off we went.  Our ground crew was already on scene and I really wish I'd snapped a pic of the other news crews as I arrived with my new chauffeur.

Charlie then dropped me off a few feet from the skids of the chopper and we spent the better part of a couple hours hovering over this pond while crews pulled the sunken vehicle out.  On the way back to Charlotte we hovered over a coal power plant that's closing soon, and then landed on the city pad.

I found my first day as a daywalker ending with me editing an anchor package on airline mergers, and then I had a moment I won't soon forget.

Earlier this year, anchor Blair Miller and myself began working on a story called "Racing For Newtown".

We were recently awarded 1st Place in Sports Reporting by the Radio Television Digital News Association of the Carolinas.  It's my first award as a photog in Charlotte.

Blair was kind enough to pause for a moment before the 5 oclock news to snap a picture of the plaque with me.



So I'll end with this: if the fruit of over 2 years of laboring odd shifts and working erratic hours means life on the other side is like this... I can handle that.  I'm beyond grateful and thankful to finally be on a shift that allows me to see my wife at night, have weekends free to visit family, and hopefully, become a little more even tempered. 

Gender-NeutralHood of the Traveling Glass

In the 'tog eat 'tog world of TV news, we often tend to forget who our real allies often are: THE COMPETITION.  Now... if reading that suddenly makes you want to squeal like a dog trying to pass a peach kernel, move on along.... Nothing to see here.

If you really get what I'm talking about, then read on.




How many of us have bum rushed and gangnam styled an interview?  Who has lent another photog some batteries when theirs die?  Anyone ever let another shooter borrow a bnc connector?  Ever asked the other guy if he's done with his big gulp because you need an acceptable place to displace some urine?  I bet everyone has seen an OMB struggling to get a stand up out of the way and offered to shoot it for them.  We've all held someone else's mic during an interview.  We've all shared some juicy info at a crime scene.  We've all told each other the exact location to get the money shot, & for better or worse, regardless who signs our paychecks, we watch out for each other.

This isn't a man's world, and it isn't a woman's world.  It's a gender neutral world of creative minds that often go under appreciated.  Not everyone eats, sleeps, and breathes news, but I will admit this:  I'm often guilty of visiting the competing stations websites at the end of a long day to see how they did the same story I did.  It provides unspoken insight into the photog that shot it.  Was it NAT heavy?  Did they use alot of foreground?  Was there a method to it, or was it thrown together?  It might seem contrite, but knowing just exactly who is standing next to you in the scrum is essential.  So take the time and introduce yourself.  Tell them your name and your background.  You might be surprised with the outcome... there's some pretty cool people out there that push glass for a living. 

Heck, some of my best friends work at my professional competitors. 

JPaul Rising...

Every once in a while, someone in our business gets wise and crafts an exit strategy. 

Few people do it with the grace and class that my fellow photographer, and dare I say good friend, Jason Paul.

Known affectionately around the newsroom as "JPaul", he's quite literally been the back bone of countless breaking news events, special projects shoots, discussions about the prowess of Apple Products, and more importantly... talks about life.


Jason Paul and I share a special bond, because whether or not he'll admit it, that guy was beyond excited that I got hired at our shop.  I was his way out.  I took over the weekend mornings for him.  I've since moved on to a different shift and passed that torch to another unfortunate soul.  I digress...

The point of all this bravado is this:  Jason Paul is getting out.... And he's leaving on the highest note he can: As a special projects go to guy, with a Monday through Friday 9 to 6 schedule.  He's leaving with his head held high.  He's taking his talents a few short blocks down Tryon Street to the Charlotte Chamber.... A place I'm certain he'll thrive in.  I'm also certain he'll bore some poor soul to death explaining why Apple is, was, and always be the superior technology to Windows, Android, Linux, plain old paper and pencil, and anything else that Apple has an edge on in the field of tech gadgets.

All joking aside, JPaul is one of those rare people we get the privilege of working with on occasion.  One of those people that makes you better at your job, because of who they are, and how they work.  One of those people that no matter how frustrated they might be on any given day, you'd never know it.  Dude knows how to bite his lip and press on for the greater good.... A lesson and work ethic he's imparted on me in the last several months.

Hat's off JPaul... We'll miss you.

A Plague of Biblical Proportions

In what can only be described as an obvious sign from the universe that the Charlotte airport won't submit to an Airport Authority without a fight, the cosmos launched a full scale attack today.

And the hits just kept on coming...


Charlotte-Douglas International saw a swarm of bees ground a plane, a fire on a moving sidewalk, and a small gaggle of coyotes playing hopscotch along one of the runways... All within about 6 hours of one another. 

If this isn't a bad omen for the Airport Authority, I don't know what is... But I can tell you this:  if tomorrow it starts raining frogs, your friendly neighborhood cameraman is heading for the hills.  Ain't nobody got time for this.

Best Week Ever

This week actually wasn't the best week ever... That's where the irony kicks in, ya dig?

So with that disclaimer out there, you shouldn't read any further into this post with a serious mindset.  The claptrap I encountered this week was just too good not to share.

I suppose it all started about 25 miles outside of the fair city of Charlotte, along a small country road.  In a single wide trailer surrounded by caution tape... my best week ever began to take shape.

Now believe you me, I've been to my fair share of meth labs, but never... ever... ever, ever, ever, ever in a million years did I expect to be pulled away from babysitting a city bus stop to then being sent to the home of RANDY TRAVIS' BROTHER.

That's right! While the elder brother, real name Randy Traywick, is battling only God knows what, his little brother David Traywick is busy playing Breaking Bad: The Home Edition in some little shanty on the outskirts of Union Co.

And from the looks of the place, ol' Randy hasn't been too keen on sharing the wealth.  Maybe the lack of relationship is what has lead David to the cruel mistress know as methamphetamine? Who knows?! But I'm told that about 6 months ago he did set himself on fire whilst destroying some refuse of a spent meth lab. Top THAT.


While it was indeed the highlight of my best week ever, the above incident was not the only one.  Later the same day I would be encircled by a large group of bums while filling up my news vehicle who wanted to know "the scoop on the Trayvon Martin case."  Now, I'm a news man, but you couldn't pay me enough to comment on that topic with the company that welcomed me to pump #7 at the North Tryon St 7Eleven.  I know better.

My best week ever got even better when my reporter and I were assigned to a story concerning gangs.  Usually there's no video, and no sound, and honestly... there wasn't.  BUT!!! We did make our way through the seedy ghettos of Stanly County and met multiple rehabilitated residents who claimed to "know of" a gang, or who had "maybe seen a gang".  One guy even claimed to be "half and half", stating he was half Blood and half Crip.  I'm not sure how that works but clearly the Devil & God are raging inside this poor kid.  Let's all remember him in our prayers tonight.  (No, seriously... If you're the praying type, which I am, then do it. If not, then don't.  Either way it couldn't hurt... right?) We wrapped our day with the story on gangs, shortly after meeting a young man who had melted every incisor in his mouth, presumably by smoking some form of narcotic from a light bulb, and who was shaking uncontrollably.  He had to bail on our interview because he needed to fetch his "medicine".

My best week ever ended with visiting a couple of sink holes, before being sent up in the helicopter to shoot a dead body that had been found on the train tracks of a small Gaston County town, ala Stand By Me. I then landed in Charlotte and was sent via live truck to the exact spot I'd been hovering 1300 ft over just an hour before.  It was a sad story, the teenager had been struck by a train and killed.  The kicker is this: the kid was 100% deaf in one ear, only had 30% hearing in the other, and he was wearing ear buds and listening to music when the train hit him.  At the risk of sounding cold and contrite, you can't make this stuff up.

And honestly, these are the things you can expect when you tell the world what happens while they're at work.  Buy the ticket, take the ride.  Put in your work day and when the work is done, call it quits and take it to the shed.  It doesn't have to follow you home, it only happens to do so if you let it.

BEST. WEEK. EVER. (not)

Phrankenstein

"Hey! You there! With the signs, and the fliers, and the 5 people you've organized for this protest! Let's get this show on the road! I'm working a split shift today and my lunch is on the horizon just as soon as you spout a little propaganda and rhetoric in my direction!"

Those were the last thoughts to pass through my head just before the corner of a news vehicle lift gate passed through the starboard side of my skull.

Without even thinking, I'd gathered the elements I needed for a quick vosot and was putting my gear back into unit 60.  I reached to close the rear lift gate of the small SUV and shut it with the force necessary to ensure its proper closure.  What I had forgotten, was to step out from under the lift gate before attempting said closure.  And then it happened.

The lift gate connected with my head, I reached up, and my hand was immediately covered in blood.  In the distance, a gaggle of my brethren glass pushers were continuing to hear the grievances of some city workers who were attending this rally.  I was the first one to split and attempt an exit.

I simultaneously applied pressure with a paper towel, called my desk and my chief to alert them of the situation, called my wife, and drove myself to the hospital ER.

The latter of which I would catch a little flack for from the missus, but the government center is only about a mile from the closest hospital, so I drove myself.

Four hours later I was sporting a new fashion accessory, staples... 5 of them to be exact.  The doctor was probably the most redeeming element of this experience.  He was attentive, explained everything that he was going to do before he did it, and even seemed remorseful for making this grown man cry as he stapled my scalp shut.

My smoking hot wife was by my side throughout the entire process, and even took to social media to exploit my misfortune.  "That's very frankenstein-esque!" she would say shortly after McDreamy had finished riddling my head with some new hardware.

She would remind me later that she's now been to the ER with me 6 times, in 4 years, in 4 cities, in 2 different states. 

I guess it's safe to say at this point that I'm what you might call accident prone.  I just prefer to call it unlucky and believe that God has a special place in his heart for news photographers - specifically this one.  This isn't my first rodeo with ol' Form 19 - Workers Compensation Claim.  Remember the great dog bite debacle of 2010?

Either way, this is a heartfelt thank you to every single person who facebooked, tweeted, texted, sent a messenger pigeon, etc to check on me.  I do appreciate it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to take a sponge shower and avoid getting my staples wet.  And if you don't know what a sponge shower is.... then I suggest you watch this.