Copyright Austin Daily Herald
This past weekend I was thinking about the past. At first glance, that’s nothing new. I have forever and always been interested in the past from the American Revolution, the Renaissance, ancient Rome, Greece to Nordic history and much more. On second glance, however, this opening statement had to do with my career past and more than a few nuggets well within the drifting time lines of my life. And I’ve had some good ones. Moments that stick with me and Moments that were engaging, entertaining and memorable. I’ve covered good times. I’ve covered bad times. I’ve covered moments whose significance doesn’t become important until much later in life. I had the opportunity to photograph and cover President Barack Obama, talk backstage and photograph Kenny Rogers, climb windtowers, dangle out of helicopters, and cover Big 10 college softball. These opportunities have often left me feeling fortunate about what I’ve been able to be a part of, especially when it comes to photography. I wasn’t initially going to be taking pictures as part of my career, but early on while still working in Huron, South Dakota, I became enamored with the idea and when my friend and photographer at the time, Brent McCown, moved on to paper in Nebraska, I requested and was permitted to switch over, with the caveat that I still write sports from time to time. Don’t really see the downside. What made this move particularly exciting was that it was at the forefront of digital photography technology and the first camera I was able to wield was a monster of a machine handed down by our then parent company — the Omaha World Herald. It was a blast learning the ins and outs of the new technology, which opened up a whole new world of photography. Eventually, I was able to help our paper order our first new digital camera, complete with the new fangled screen on the back that actually lets you look at your photos in real time. A real game changer and something that helped solidify my love of the career. A career that led me to you folks and something that I was able to heighten through a whole new level of experiences. However, things change. It’s inevitable we also have to adapt to it and the sad reality is that since inheriting the position of editor, my time behind the lens has dwindled somewhat, replaced by new responsibilities that take me in new directions. The reality is I simply do not have the time like I once did to truly dedicate to longer shoots. Often, with the increased work load, I’m forced to get the pictures we need and move on to the next thing. I would be lying to you if I didn’t lament this change somewhat, because it was something I truly enjoyed the challenge of. Composing an image to reflect what I was seeing was a major part of why I continued in the field in the first place. But, as I’ve said. Things change. The future moves on and we’re forced to move on with it. However, it was this thinking — aside from keeping me up at night — that returned me once again to the past and an appreciation for what I’ve been able to experience. Back in Huron, working as just your humble, quirky photographer, I had plenty of nights of shooting basketball games. It’s no different here of course, but as I was drifting along time’s currents a particular thought kind of came out of nowhere. It was a moment of time that I was referring to early. Those things that you don’t know will stay with you. One of our schools was James Valley Christian, located in Huron. I had been there hundreds of times photographing games and whatever else the school was hosting and really there was nothing particularly noteworthy about this game. A girls game if memory serves me right. I was waiting for the game to start when this young boy of about eight or so, sitting next to me, started paying more attention to my camera — as many kids did. I said “hi” and he said “hi” back and then asked about the camera, specifically if it was heavy. I explained that it could be and then asked if he wanted to hold it. The look on his face was clear that he wanted to, but was unsure whether he should. Pulling the strap off my neck and draping it round his, I told him to grab the body and under the lens, though I was sure hold thebulk of the camera. He was dutifully impressed, but became uncomfortable holding it. Afraid maybe he would drop it most likely, but he was clearly still impressed. A couple of weeks passed and I was back at the school, not really thinking about the exchange until I saw him in the stands talking to his mom and pointing at me. I didn’t know her particularly well, but we were acquainted enough where she finally agreed to something, because he came running at a dead sprint to say “hi.” The game I was there to photograph at the time was about to begin and we were kind of in a tough spot, but I invited him to stand with me for the anthem before he went scurrying back. Not long after, a third game arose and my assistant was back. Talkative beyond measure of the other experiences, the boy was a clicking typewriter of commentary, telling me about his day and asking questions galore of some pregame stuff. The game began and he went running back, but returned a little later and said he could sit with me with instructions from mom that I’m okay with it and that he doesn’t bother me. Why not? It was a unique perspective underneath the basket and he was just about the most well-behaved little boy I’ve ever been around. During breaks I let him cradle the camera in his lap for me and then got distracted as I helped him take a fewphotos himself. But things change. The school’s principal came over to us several games later and somewhat apologetically said the lad couldn’t sit with me anymore, worried that he might get stepped on or run over. I talked to the boy throughout that season, and to this day wonder sometimes what became of him. These were the moments, I realized later, that helped contribute to a worthy career in photography. Not necessarily the act of taking pictures, but rather what the opportunities opened up. Heck, maybe he’s got his own assistant these days.
