The View From Here

I'll be honest, I had all but given up on this thing. It had become something of a time capsule to me. A way to go back and look at the former life I used to live as a TV news photographer. Sometimes that's fun. Sometimes it isn't. Most of the time I completely forget that I cataloged my television misgivings. I digress.

These days, life is different & it's rich. The last year & a half has undoubtedly been the most personally trying time I have ever experienced in my 32 years on this planet. But it brought me to where I am now, writing this. And in just under a month, I'll be a dad. THAT. IS. CRAZY. And it's terrifying. But it's also very exciting. The only thing I can recall anticipating as much as the arrival of my son, is the day I married my wife.

It's crazy to me to go back and read these tales of claptrap and calamity I once wove. It blows my mind that people still read it from time to time. (Or according to the monthly report I get, people still read it!)

Life is certainly different than it was when I updated this thing regularly. In less than about 8 months, I'll be a college graduate for the 2nd time. I'll be a dad for the first time in less than 4 weeks! And I continue to try everyday to be a better husband and me, for all time.

Sure, there's a life I once lived behind a TV news camera that Noah will never really get to see first hand... But I left a pretty decent trail of breadcrumbs in this thing.

But truthfully, I know one thing is for certain: I've spent & continue to spend a good majority of my life behind a camera. I've seen countless events unfold through the fuzzy screen of a view finder. This sweet little boy's life won't be one of them...

I can't count how many times someone has said "That'll be the most photographed child ever!" Wrong.

Photographs of my child will be of the highest quality and composition, but they won't be the highest in volume. You see, I intend to take 3 times as many mental snapshots, as I do real ones.

After all... I want this kid to call me "Daddy" not Canon.

Creatures of Indecision

"My wife & children seem to like me quite a bit, and as long as that is true, I'm really OK." 
-Brian Williams


I know it's been 161 days since my last post but indulge me for a moment, won't you?

You would have to be living under a rock to not have heard something about this debacle that B Dubs has found himself in. I still don't entirely understand all of the discrepancies that surround his story about the helicopter attack. I know that the long and short of it has to do with his claiming one thing happened, when in actuality, a totally different thing happened. And that's where his credibility bit the bullet.

The foundation of journalism is forged in credibility, trust, accountability, & accuracy. B Dubs has obviously been a little cavalier with his account of what took place in Iraq, and in doing so, has called himself into question over a number of other major events he has covered. And, at least for the time being, he's cost himself a job.

I can't help but wonder how this would have played out in a pre social media world. Twitter & Facebook ignited a fire storm of retweeting, sharing, and so on. It literally fueled the conversation. Suddenly the nation's most beloved news man had found himself as the lead story.

Brian Williams is a guy you like. He's a guy you want to like & believe the best in. And this situation is just sad.

The saddest part for me, as a fan of B Dubs and a former news shooter, is the way it's been responded to on social media.

It's easy to become a pious deputy of the journalistic morality police from the seat of a busted rolling chair in a windowless newsroom when you're taking a break from stacking your 30 minutes of infotainment to check Twitter & catch up on the latest crap you decide to read to distract yourself  from the fact that you're really questioning your chosen career path, isn't it?

Now let me be perfectly clear, I do not believe that all news people are the same. I believe that there are many more good eggs than there are bad. That said, I don't think you'll find a more cannibalistic tribe than some select members of the news industry.

To vent your frustrations over this blowout via social media is one thing. To comment about a man who made a mistake, albeit a life altering one, as if you've never, ever screwed up in your life or your career is disgusting.

Having recently become intimately familiar with screwing up, and also knowing all too well that this very blog I write is sometimes seen as a ride on my high horse, I freely admit that I'm just as guilty as every other news schmuck who decided to cast judgment on Mr. Williams.

My point is this: if you're going to publicly shame someone in 140 characters or less, at least check your own closet for skeletons before casting the first stone.

End rant.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

I had no clue whatsoever that June 12, 2014 would be the last live shot I would ever run for Channel 9.

All I knew was that the only thing that stood between my 17-day European vacation with my wife was 4.5 hours of live hits from the government center.

What would unfold over the next three weeks would dramatically change my life... And it would be a change for the better.

I slowly found I would never be the same.

I boarded a plane to Toronto, then another to Dublin, and then another to Warsaw to meet the sweetest woman in the world.

From Warsaw we would spend the next 4 days at the BGEA Festival of Hope.

Kristy had to work, and while I was there I figured I'd offer up my services to the video team as a volunteer as they gathered interviews and b-roll.

For a couple of days I watched and took instruction and witnessed the life changing decisions that hundreds, if not thousands of people made as they decided to enter into a relationship with Christ.

The experience would forever change me.  It would give me a broader view of the world.  It would give me insight into the desperate longing that human beings have for relationship with their creator.

It would awaken a stirring in me that wanted to use my talents and gifts for more than just the daily grind of television news.

Once again, I would be reminded that I was being molded and changed for a new experience.

The next two weeks after our time in Warsaw would find my sweet wife & me traveling to Barcelona, Paris, London, Cambridge, Oxford, Orpington, back to Dublin, and then home to Charlotte.  The experiences we had and the memories we made will serve a lifetime, but what really stands out to me are the ways in which our marriage was strengthened.

We would go on to visit the beaches in Barcelona and the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

We would have coffee while walking the same sidewalks as countless artists, poets, and figures of history.

It was the most romantic two weeks of my life, and I got to spend it with my best friend.




We made a ton of memories and had our own share of bumps in the road.

The most glaringly obvious of which would be when I dislocated my shoulder while exiting the London underground while en route to second row seats to see The Mouse Trap.

Through it all, my sweet wife was by my side and encouraged and helped every step of the way.

Again, I noticed that something bigger was in charge here as we were met with strangers who carried my bags, Irishmen who offered assistance, and the general good nature of human beings stood stage front in this spectacle of ours.

Arriving back in Charlotte would find me in need of repair of my shoulder for the four years I'd spent putting it off.

I had arthroscopic surgery on July 24, 2014 to repair all the damage that my left shoulder had endured due to my neglect.

Again, the sweetest gal in the world would be by my side... Helping, lifting, bringing me food, helping me clean myself up.

The phone calls, cards, emails, text and Facebook messages flooded in.  Coworkers of my sweet wife would join forces to make sure we didn't need to prepare a meal for nearly two weeks.  The fridge was stocked to the brim.  We had gift cards for restaurants when we didn't feel like tampering with tupperware and the microwave.

I was, am, and continue to be overwhelmed with the outpouring of support from friends and family and strangers who showed us compassion.

The weeks that followed my surgery would find us with several unique opportunities.  We had time together.  We had time to just sit and be still and think and pray and ponder, and above all else, to give thanks.

And then a phone call came from an unusual number, and on the other end of the line was someone who wanted to talk to me about a job.

The weeks that followed would find me moving from having my arm immobilized, to a job interview, to starting physical therapy, and to leaving the only job related constant I've known for almost ten years... Television.

After a couple of weeks of prayer, over thinking, under thinking, pondering, getting angry, cursing, giving praise, crying, laughing, feeling worthless, feeling restored, and seeking counsel from people I feel are knowledgeable, I made the decision to leave television news.

With a minimum of six weeks of physical therapy left to gain full use of my shoulder again, I submitted my resignation to Channel 9 yesterday.  When I entered the building I was overcome with emotion.  I was anxious, fearful, and scared.

What I was met with from my managers was an outpouring of support for my decisions, and a keen understanding that someone in my position has a decision to make.  And I made it.

I accepted the job offer to join the communications team at Wingate University.  I'll be splitting my time between working social media and updating the web site, with shooting, writing, and editing stories for their campus television station.  I'll even get the task I've longed for for quite some time, mentoring.  I'll be able to talk with and guide students who want to enter TV news as a career.  I won't be standing up in front of a class, so you can all save the "Professor Etheridge" jokes that've been pouring in since this announcement.

I can only end with this: my life is not unique, and I hope my self indulgent writing has never given that implication.  I am simply a man who has surrendered to the call of my Creator, sought Him in earnest desperation, and responded to the choices I have been given.

This entire process of a European vacation, to returning home and taking leave, to surgery and continuing recovery, to finding and accepting a new job have not been by any of my own doing.  They've simply been the orchestration of a power higher than I am, that far exceeds my own understanding.  In todays day and age, it is cliche... but I can write this in honesty and tell you: To God be the glory.

There are two constants in my life that I strive to live by.  The first is that I have surrendered to a life that isn't my own.  I'm simply a vessel of reflection to the One that made me.  I try to assign all acknowledgment of good things and praise for blessings to Him.  The second is that I married way out of my league.  My wife is the most beautiful and treasured person I have the privilege of knowing.  Getting to spend life with her is proof that God loves me and wants good and great things for my life.

My cup runneth over...

"God of mercy, sweet love of mine.  I have surrendered to Your design.  May this offering stretch across the skies, and these 'hallelujahs' be multiplied." -Needtobreathe

Become Original

You may or may not have noticed, that I've basically been silent here for almost 6 months.

No snarky, biting or cynical quips of insight into the depraved mind of a man who commits television for a living. 

No insistent reassurances that what we're doing for a paycheck directly affects the cosmos.

No signs of remorse for acts carried out when one pushes glass for a living.

Nothing...

When I started this thing almost two years ago, I had no idea what type of monster I was creating - both in this blog, and in myself.

I didn't honestly think anyone would legitimately read about the crap that goes through my head while I'm at work.  I didn't imagine anyone would become upset if I ever stopped.

And I did stop...  I took a writing hiatus after my last post at Christmas.  Whether or not it was a conscious decision to stop writing remains to be revealed, even to me.  But I knew that with the coming New Year, the amount of time over the holidays I'd worked, and the crippling self introspection I tend to have, it was time to take a hiatus.

I had quite honestly become obsessed with news, and more over, with being a news photographer.  I let my job become my identity.  I became fixated on getting my story right and doing it my way.  I'd stay up late to watch the 10 & 11.  I'd catch the A block on the weekends... and this eventually ruined the facets of this job that I love so dearly.  

A week after I posted my last blog back in December, a series of events unfolded as I sat quietly in the back seat of an SUV while it wandered through the winding roads of Pennsylvania Dutch Country.  My entire perception of our profession was flipped on its head.  If you want the rest of the story, find me and ask me in person... (In the business, we call that a stealth tease!)

And in the coming weeks and months, I would begin to rediscover myself, both professionally and personally.  Sure, I'm a news photographer... but that does not define me. 

I'm a lot of things.  I'm a husband, a son, a brother, an uncle, and an aspiring amateur chef.  I've worked production on a nationally televised teen soap opera.  I used to be a lumberjack.  My first job was waiting tables.  I look just like my dad did when he was my age.  I didn't have a bank account until I got married.  I've only been clean shaven 4 times in 10 years. 

If that laundry list seems gratuitous, I assure you that writing it was more for my benefit than yours.  The moral of the story is this, kids: it's easy to become entrenched in this business and let it consume you. But it will only do so, if you allow it to.

C.S. Lewis said, "Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it."

And I think that is what I've been doing the last 6 months or so.  Slowly becoming original.  Not writing about work.  Not becoming entrenched in it.  Not allowing my occupation to determine my level of happiness.  

It's a job, and alot of times it can be a damn fun one to have.  But it's not everything.  It's simply the machine that allows you to do everything else that makes you happy.

God Rest Ye Merry Cameramen

"God Rest Ye Merry Cameramen"

God Rest Ye Merry Cameramen,
control the nosy fray,
Remember that the desk is calling,
pick up with no delay.
Crank the generators power,
the talent's gone astray.
O, the trappings of staying employed,
staying employed,
O, the trappings of staying employed.


In markets small and medium,
your photog dream was born,
Now it's Christmas & you're working,
but don't become forlorn.
At least the station isn't cheap,
In logos you're adorned.
O, the trappings of staying employed,
staying employed,
O, the trappings of staying employed.

From God our Heavenly Father,
A blessed natpak came,
Just remember to make your slot,
there's no one else to blame.
Don't let your video be blue,
or when it airs you're the same.
O, the trappings of staying employed,
staying employed,
O, the trappings of staying employed.



Merry Christmas! -de

Arts & Crafts (A Pep Talk of Sorts)

We've all been there.  You've got a boring assignment.  You've got a video poor story.  You've got to fill almost two minutes of television with something. 

We (news photographers) all run into restrictions to our daily deadline, every day.  So how do you reconcile making slot while fulfilling your need to create something artsy and tasteful?  Assuming you haven't resigned yourself to just mailing it in, bouncing some RF around your coverage area, and making sure your interview subjects don't look like smurfs... This is a question that plagues you on a day to day basis, or maybe at least once a week.  (Let's be honest, we all also have those days when all we want to do is catch a lunch break and make sure we make slot. I get it... but in my opinion, if you're doing this job because you love it and not just for the paycheck, there's still that itch to be creative. :::GASP:::)

Find a character, pin a lav on them, find some nats, make a quick sequence, put it on TV, and in doing so, stick it to the man...  Find your little victory for the day.

There is no reason that those of who desire to be creative in our craft should resign ourselves to simply slapping it together to make air.  I get it, believe me... I GET it.  Some days, many days, most days, there is no alternative.  But that alone should be fuel to the fire of your creativity.

When you're pulling almost 50 hours a week chasing fires, wrecks, and real estate... default yourself to embrace that one interview and b-roll opportunity that allows you to do what is that you know you were put on this earth to do... MAKE TV.  When it comes together, it's a beautiful thing.  When it falls apart, it'll bug you for a day or two, but trust me... you'll get over it.

Just remember a few things: 1) A good craftsman, never ever blames his/her tools.  Don't suggest a technical debacle because you double punched or forgot to white balance.  Embrace your errors, own them, learn from them, and move on.  2)  You're only as good as your last story.  Shoot a banging story on Monday and catch a burner on Thursday?  They won't remember your memorable moments from the beginning of the week, they'll only glance at your oversights.  It happens, you're an adult and people screw up.  You don't have a biblical plague on your hands.  Move on.  And 3) You're ALSO as good as your last story.  You know it and the boss knows it.  Otherwise, you wouldn't have been given the assignment, and you were likely given it for a reason.  Celebrating your accomplishments is not bragging because, and I'm quoting a good friend here... "It ain't braggin' if it's the truth."

When you have a questionable day in television news, remember that you are doing a job that few get to and that many people in this warped world covet.  If a banker screws up, there's typically a wave of repercussion.  If a food worker screws up, people get sick and sue the restaurant.  If a lawyer fails to make his argument effectively, people go to jail.  We get the chance to right our wrongs from day to day. 

It's not rocket science, it's only live television.  What could possibly go wrong?

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.

Credit Hours...

At the risk of unemployment, I humbly submit for you dear reader, my assessment of indentured mentorship.

You see, there's a common plague sweeping newsrooms across the nation.  From market 250 to market 1... The summer intern.

They're everywhere...


Like a fresh crop of corn, like a new born breed of cattle, like silent daffodils dancing in the wind, like fawns learning to take their first steps... Every summer promises a new breed of young professionals with aspirations to be the next Diane Sawyer or Tom Brokaw.

It's here and now that I draw a line in the sand and take a page from the Lenslinger Institute and declare that we make a solemn vow to teach them exactly what a life in the news biz is all about.

Don't expect to be home on time.  Don't expect platitudes from your superiors.  Don't expect the glitz and glam of being "on camera".  Don't expect free meals everywhere you go... (That'll come, just learn to pick and choose and pitch the right stories.)

Do expect unlimited access to city officials, criminals, murderers, rapists, prostitutes, looky loos, the common "everyman", celebrities, not so celebrities, athletes, white trash, brown trash, green trash, blue trash, smelly trash, people who will make you smile with a simple sound bite, and above all... the adrenaline rush of it all.

News isn't about praise.  Take this job in search of it and you'll burn out quick. REAL QUICK.  But hang on for the long run... Put up with the pointless live shot at 11:15pm when you're an hour from home and dayside the next day, deal with the live truck giving you fits of computer rage because it's acting silly and won't transmit audio, anticipate a reel failing during a gubernatorial election, and maybe... just maybe... you'll find satisfaction in that one story you did during the week that makes it all worth while.

All the cable pulling.  All the setting up of lights.  All the anticipation of someone saying "Hey guy, nice job on last night's live shot".  It won't come...

We, tv news photographers, we do this job for ourselves and for the better of the station.  It's thankless. But at the end of the day, when the guy who signs the checks from carpet land passes you in the hall on the way to break room and pauses to acknowledge what you did that day, it's a feeling you will never forget.  If the GM knows who you are because of something you've shot and not because of how drunk you got at the holiday party, you're doing something right.

With all of this said phellow photog, I encourage you to muster some sense of humility and patience, and remember those people that gave you a break when you were attempting to enter this wicked world that we work in called "TV News".  For me, it was a seasoned vet in Wilmington who'd been laid off at our competition and took a job at our station just to provide health insurance to his kids.  You can't snub that kind of commitment, it's the very fiber of our being.

It's also found in mentors like Richard Adkins & Stewart Pittman. Seemingly old dudes who were reinvigorated for their craft by a young shooter with a passion for NAT sound usage, (yours truly).

So, in conclusion, as frustrating as it might be... work with that intern that shows promise.  Show them the way.  Teach them.  Nurture them.  Mold them.  Be honest with them.  Give them the details of the ups and downs.  Show them the way.

If not for yourself, then for the next generation.  We all know that news doesn't stop.  It's always happening, and we're just here for a season to tell the stories of the people we cover.  Don't take that responsibility lightly... But always remember to have a hell of alot of fun doing it....

Didelphiphobia...

I've encountered a lot of things while doing my job that the average person would find scary, terrifying, unnerving, and even grotesque.

I've seen countless dead bodies, violent car wrecks, used needles, bullet casings, bloody clothing, gun shot victims, stabbing victims, boat accident victims, maimed limbs, teeth on a sidewalk, prostitutes in their "element", public official meltdowns, and I've even been attacked by a dog while shooting a story. (I subsequently had to endure the entire series of rabies vaccines that followed said dog attack, but that's a story for another day.)

Nothing, and I mean NOTHING could have prepared me for the chance encounter I had this past Sunday - one that will forever be burned into my cerebral regions until the day I die.  While covering a fatal car accident, the frames of video between flashing lights and caution tape began to blur and I was growing weary.

My reporter and I had wrapped our live shot for 10 and were awaiting the 11 o'clock hit, when I sat down on a piece of curb in a vacant parking lot in one of Charlotte's fancier suburbs.  As I waxed poetic about my day on the phone to my smokin' hot wife, I heard a rustle in the leaves about 5 feet from me.  The soft glow of my gel covered omni lights caught the object in question just right - it's beady eyes shined like two freshly minted Lincoln head pennies in the beams of my 3 point lighting... It was hairy, it was ugly, and it looked like a 30 pound football with legs... It was a possum, and it hissed at me... loudly.

(Not the actual possum, but you get the idea)

What happened next is still a blur, and is quickly becoming the crux of an urban legend that's been retold in my neck of the woods, but all I remember is screaming like a 13 year old girl who'd just been dumped, running back towards my live truck - the longest 30 yards of my life - tripping over an extension cord, & having my reporter & my wife simultaneously request the cause of all my dismay.



Upon gathering my faculties, catching my breath, explaining myself to them both, and then checking my underwear, I paused and had a brief laugh at the whole incident.  But rest assured dear reader... This photographer will never, ever, ever ever ever ever ever, turn his back on a dimly lit church parking lot in Charlotte suburbia again.  You can bet good money on that.

And thank God I got those rabies vaccines when I did...

The Cart Before The Horse...

Source: mediabistro.com

See that handsome news man with the perfectly quaffed side part?  That's none other than Scott Pelley.  He's the evening anchor for CBS's nightly newscast.

Pelley has enjoyed a decorated career in journalism, interviewed multiple US presidents, traveled the world, and was even named one of TV news most sexiest men of 2010.  (They obviously overlooked my submission.)

Source: facebook.com

In September of last year he even traveled to the fair city of Charlotte and shared a urinal with some of my fellow queen city photographers over at the competition, before taking a break to address the local folks and impart a little wisdom.




Pelley was recently awarded the prestigious Fred Friendly First Amendment Award for "having shown courage and forthrightness in preserving the rights set forth in the First Amendment."  Now, to bring you up to speed on congressional history, the first amendment ensures among many other things... the freedom of the press.

And in what appeared to an obvious demonstration as to why he was the perfect candidate for the award this year, Pelley addressed his peers and delivered an empowering acceptance speech in which he called for greater oversight when delivering the news to the public.  He even owned up to his misgivings during the early moments of the Sandy Hook tragedy.

Pelley then took aim at social media, acknowledging the significance of instant information but encouraging journalists near and far to be cautious before tweeting out speculation: "Twitter, Facebook and Reddit: that’s not journalism. That’s gossip. Journalism was invented as an antidote to gossip."

The most poignant dagger he tossed concerning accuracy seemed to be aimed not only at national news outlets, but local news crews across the nation: "How does it serve the public if we’re first? You know what first is all about? It’s vanity. It’s self-conceit. No one’s sitting at home watching 5 TV monitors saying, ‘Oh they were first!’ That’s a game that we play in our control rooms. Maybe a touch of humility would serve us better."

And I think he hit the nail on the head.... You can decide for yourself.  

The entire speech is here: http://youtu.be/SokmB30Rmao

Breaking Down the 4th Wall

The term "the fourth wall" was made popular in the days of public theater.  A major character would break away from the action of the play to address the audience in an effort to add some comedic relief, helpful insight, or desperate introspection about an upcoming scene.

Modern day examples of this include, but aren't limited to Ferris in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off", Zac Morris in "Saved By The Bell", JD Dorian in "Scrubs", & Francis Underwood in "House of Cards".

Hopefully these examples put into perspective what exactly it is that I'm talking about.  If not, Google them... they're worth a Google or two.

In the niche of television that I've carved out for myself, the argument could be made that we (tv news crews) break the fourth wall on a daily basis.  We introduce our stories and we tag them out.  We speak directly to the viewer.  We have complete and total control over the amount of information and emotion we inflect into our stories.  Television news performs more as a Greek Chorus than we'd often like to admit.

And as Uncle Ben once told Peter Parker in the movie Spiderman: "With great power, comes great responsibility."

It's my opinion that we often take for-granted the gravity our work carries.  I know I'm guilty of it.  

We rush into peoples lives at their most trying moments.  We ask them questions they don't want to answer. We ask them to recount, recall, and regurgitate horrific and painful moments when it's obvious they'd rather not.  We ask for a recent picture of their dearly departed and then whisk away in a live truck to some vacant parking lot to hurriedly arrange all the content we've just gathered.  We slap it together on a timeline, edit it together, feed it into the station, and begin pulling cable for the next live shot we're scheduled to have.

Often times it borders on exploitation, and unfortunately that seems to be business as usual on most days.  Usually, business is good.

The morality, the integrity, and more importantly, the humanity that we as journalists have, comes into play on a daily basis.  What we choose to do in those gut check moments, can make or break a story.  It can mean getting the interview we need.  I'd be lying if I sat here and claimed to have never been party to an outfit that bullied someone into talking on camera when it's obvious to anyone in a 3 mile radius, they'd rather not.

I started having those gut check moments.  I started asking myself questions like "What are we doing here?", "Why is this relevant?", "Why does this matter?", "Who cares, other than these people?", "Is this wrong? Is it right?"

I've covered alot of things in my short career.  I've told alot of stories.  I've seen police officers peal back crimson stained white sheets to reveal a fresh corpse for a mother so she can identify her dead.  I've followed the first lady around for 3 days in the September heat.  I've watched grown men weep on the steps of the World War II memorial.  I've seen paraplegics water ski.  I've followed Marines through a series of tolerance training.  I've put my lens 3 feet from John Edwards smiling mug as he walked into court to face federal charges.

I've offered kind words and platitudes to victims of great loss, and revelers of great success and joyous occasion.  

Nothing I've ever covered could've prepared me for the chance encounter I had with a lady named Ruth Stikeleather on Wednesday March 27, 2013.  

My reporter and I were assigned to take over a story from dayside and advance it for nightside.  The long and short of it was this: an 88 year old man had gone missing the day before when he left home to meet a former tenant of one of his rental properties, to give him some assistance with his broken down car.  That man's name was Lindsey Stikeleather.  His bride of 69 years was the lady I previously mentioned, Ruth.

We arrived at their house, and they welcomed us in.  One of our crews had been there earlier in the day, so when they saw our van pull up, they treated us like royalty.  We were invited in, given full access to pictures, the home, family members, got an interview with his daughter, and we met Ruth.  

She took my hand, looked me right in the eye and said "If he doesn't come home, I don't know what I'll do."  Call it a woman's intuition or what you will, but I'm almost certain poor Ruth already knew her husband's fate.  She didn't say "I hope he's ok", or "I know he's going to come walking in any minute."  She simply wanted him to be home.  (We would find out less than 18 hours later, Bobby Jackson, a man who was a former tenant of the Stikeleather's, had murdered Lindsey when he'd come to assist him with some automobile trouble.)

After I'd finished shooting and before we left, I saw Ruth sitting in their living room.  With dozens of family members around, she seemed to be alone, in her own little world almost... just sitting.  I sat my camera, tripod, and my gear bag down by the door and wandered over to where she was seated and knelt down.

"What is it young man?" she asked me.  "Mrs. Stikeleather", I said, "I don't have the right words to say to you, and I don't even know if it's appropriate or not for me to even say this, but I'm sorry you and your family are going through this.  For what it's worth ma'am, my wife and I will have you in our prayers tonight.  I hope they find Lindsey and he comes home where you want him."  The little old lady leaned down and hugged me, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and said "bless you child... bless you, and thank you."  As I exited that house and walked back to my live truck, I paused for a moment and said a silent prayer at the foot of their driveway for Ruth, Lindsey, and their entire family.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've teared up while performing the duties of my job, and this is at the top of the list.

Did I do the right thing? Maybe. Maybe not. I'd broken the fourth wall.  I put the camera down, stepped out of being a photographer, and stepped into being a human. 

Now please understand, I'm not writing of this instance to boast, or gloat, and I don't want to come off as arrogant.  I'm not pious and I'm not a holy roller.  I've been known to utter just as many four letter words while setting up a live shot, as I did when saying that prayer to myself at their house that day.

I just simply want it to serve as an example of leveraging what you do as a vocation, for impact.  Whether you're a Christian or not in this instance is irrelevant.  Offering a prayer for them was my method of choice in attempting to console this family in a moment of great distress.

The people we meet and interview are usually also our viewers.  They're real people, with real issues, and real problems, and real lives.  They bleed red and cry clear.  

It is my opinion that sometimes, turning the camera off, putting the reporter note book down, and talking to our "characters", can only make the story better.  It'll make it more personal.  You'll feel  a greater sense of ownership and responsibility to do the story justice.  You'll probably be better at your job as a result.

I know that meeting my wife changed and quite literally saved my life.  I think that's why this story hit me as hard as it did.  This poor woman would've been married to her husband, her great love, 70 years next month.  That milestone was taken from her.  That family was robbed of that celebration.

The least I could do was try my very best to not let the story of who her husband was, end up as 90 seconds of television, and then forgotten.  And I can only hope Ruth Stikeleather knows that she left as great of an impact on this photographer, as her husband so clearly left of the community he lived and served in.

Do yourself and your craft a favor today... Break the 4th wall down. You might be surprised with the outcome.

Peer Accountability...

At the risk of sounding smug, contrite, or any other myriad of adjectives that could be construed to make me sound like I'm tooting my own horn, I'm going to just put it out there: I challenge you to find any other profession more fraternal than that of a television news photographer.

For better or for worse, it is a family, and it has all of the characters:  the whiner, the complainer, the over zealous, the humble genius, the not so humble genius, the snitch, the rookie, the veteran, the young, the old, those waiting to be lead out to the pasture, the brothers and the sisters, in between them all... you have the simple, understood camaraderie that exists between any person charged with making television news for a living.

It can be seen in the candid pictures that news photographers often take with one another.

Like when your fellow glass pusher was nearly mowed down on live tv by a speeding vehicle that was more interested in the RF being transmitted on the side of the road, than with keeping within the boundries of the passenger lane on South Blvd.

Rest assured, your fellow lenslinger will be there to remind you to wear your safety vest the next time you're live near a busy intersection... And he just might make an awkward face in the background of the aforementioned picture.


The subtext all the while, being something like this: "Hey man, I saw your live shot last night. Close call.  Glad you're ok! Remember, if something in fact does happen to you, your wife will collect no life insurance if you aren't wearing this..."

And even that sentiment has further subtext... It's our passive way of acknowledging that one of our own almost became part of the general claptrap we cover.  It's a slightly sarcastic, passive and poignant way of acknowledging your brethren news maker encountered a real pill of circumstances while working.

It's quietly saying "I hope you're alright..." in the middle of the ready room, without actually muttering the words.

 For those slightly older members of my occupational breed, this type of interaction might take place as you quietly recall the glory days of tape to tape editing while you paddle down a central North Carolina rural river.



Either way, it doesn't matter as long as one thing is happening: you're having a conversation. 

Hazards of the TV news job aren't always limited to a run away sedan whose driver is attempting to text their ETA to the bar while driving...

What the general public probably doesn't realize is this: this job can take it's toll on a human being and their lives just like any other.  It isn't all glitz and glamor and shiny lights and fancy cams and "OH MY GOD! YOU'RE THAT MAN/WOMAN ON TV!!!"

Now, again... Not to equate my chosen profession to those that serve the public and save lives, but merely to serve as an example... When police officers and fire men encounter traumatic events at work, there is typically a network of counselors and advocates in place to discuss what they've seen and how it's affected them.  When EMTs have someone flat line on them before they can reach the hospital, an on sight counselor is typically at arms length to discuss the repercussions this might have on their work performance.  Call all of these networks "internal affairs", "trauma advocates", or what you will, they're there.

TV news crews don't have this.  We have our peers, our wives and husbands, and looming quietly over our heads... our next deadline.

What has infamously become known in our business as the "dead baby knock" is an act in which a news crew is expected to visit the home of someone you've never met, knock on their door, and in 3 minutes or less, convince them to go on camera and gush about the most recent tragedy they've experienced.  We've typically lifted their name and address from a police or incident report, and often show up unannounced.

Ever pressed a camera into the face of a fresh widow?  Ever back lit a mother whose estranged husband is accused of ramming her daughter's head into a 2 inch sheet of dry wall?  Ever had a homicide detective tell you "it's ok to get your shots here, just don't step on the evidence or the body."

Ever bent down to tie your shoe and notice a fresh, bullet ridden corpse just 6 feet from where you're kneeling?

News photographers don't have support groups.  They don't have on sight counselors to discuss with them how the events of the story they covered the night before might have kept them up for hours once they got home.  They don't have someone official around to ask, "Are you ok?".

We have our families, whom we generally try to spare from the sorted details of our latest encounter with doom and gloom, and we have each other.  We have those quiet two or three minutes while we're loading a light kit or a tripod into a live truck.  We have a quick exchange while we're moving our camera from an SUV to the cargo area of a satellite vehicle. 

We have those little sarcastic quips that no one else would understand, and if they over heard, would probably consider us to be callous, cold, and unfeeling.  And that just isn't true.

Ask any news photographer you know... The majority of us go home every night and hug our loved ones a little tighter, reflect quietly on the strangers who became familiar during the day, and prepare to do it all over again the next day.

And we do it all knowing that it's a thankless, often unrewarding duty.  And we look out for our own.  And many of us couldn't imagine ourselves doing anything different.

We create emotional moments, 90 seconds at a time.  Hours of work, for 90 seconds, and then it's forgotten. 

What could you do in 90 seconds?

My Father's Eyes

When I lived in Wilmington, NC my wife and I were members of, and regular volunteers at Port City Community Church.

The main pastor Mike Ashcraft, used to tell us on a regular basis, that the biggest problem facing our city, our state, our country, and the next generation was the plight of fatherless children.

Children... boys and girls growing up without their father's present in the most formidable years, to teach the rights and wrongs of being contributing members of society.  This plight knows no prejudice.  It doesn't see skin color, economic circumstances, or even fear of responsibility.

When you do what I do for a living, you meet children all too often who have lost their father to either death or incarceration or sheer flight from responsibility.  Two days ago I was charged with covering a vigil for a man murdered in the neighborhood he was born and raised in.  I interviewed his pregnant girlfriend who openly discussed how she was on the phone with him the moment he was shot.  She heard his final breath and dieing scream for help.

Moments later I would meet the little beauty you see pictured above.  While unaware of her relationship to the late man pictured on her t shirt, the expression on her face as she read over the words scribed on that sign she is holding, simply captivated me.  

I cannot tell you how many of these vigils I've shot in my career.  I can't tell you how many hours I've recorded of family members mourning over the loss of a loved one.  I can't tell you how many widows I've interviewed.  I can't tell you how many fatherless children I've met.

What I can tell you is this, I'm one of the lucky ones.  From the moment I entered this world, my father has always been my biggest champion.

He gave me his name.  He made sure I always had a roof over my head and a warm bed to sleep in.  He made sure we always had food in the fridge.  He taught me how to shave.  He taught me about forgiveness.  He taught me how to accept God's grace and live by it.

He taught me to admit my mistakes and own up to them.  He taught me that the unconditional love of a good woman is hard to find, and something to truly cherish and never take for-granted.  He bought me my first car and my first camera.  He taught me how to be a man.

In the late 70's he met my mother.  A struggling single mom who could barely afford the bare necessities for my older brother.  He would go on to buy him shoes and clothes before he even looked at an engagement ring for my mom.

In his own selfless ways, he displayed compassion and generosity that I believe resides in me.



He made a 7 year old boy his son and married my mother on July 14, 1979.  He has always maintained that even though they aren't blood, Buck is his son as much as I am.

Growing up, the oldest of 3, in rural southeastern North Carolina on the shores of Lake Waccamaw, he began working at the age of 12 at a local grocery store.  He would take food in lieu of a paycheck so that his family would have food for the week to eat.  I carry this lesson of hard work in my heart and go back to it anytime I think I've had a tough day on the job.  He taught me that a strong work ethic pays off and that people do notice it.

My father and I haven't always had the most perfect relationship.  It got pretty rocky in my early  twenties, and we even went a while without speaking.

Through the grace of God, and an insistent mother whom I am quite thankful for, we got our relationship back and it has been better than ever.




I still seek my father's counsel on tough decisions, financial advice, how to handle rough situations at work, and oftentimes I just call him up to shoot the breeze.

Realizing your parents are real people with their own real world problems was one of the toughest pills I've ever swallowed, and also one of the most rewarding.  I've seen my father navigate just about every high and low a lifetime can see, and I've witnessed him come out a better husband, father, and friend on the other side.  I've seen him beat cancer.  I've seen his heart grow.

I know that there is hope for this next generation because in a world plagued by the lack of fathers, role models, and heroes I am truly one of the very lucky ones.  My story of redemption and reconnection with my own father is a true testament to that.

Superman doesn't always wear a cape.  Sometimes he wears a weathered Willie Nelson t shirt and has a beard.  Sometimes he looks just like you do.