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