4th of July

I've been thinking about someone I never got to meet...can't help but think about him around the 4th of July. 

...The newsroom burst to life with the frantic buzz that means one thing: breaking news. 

"Double team it!" shouted our news director. "Go live at 5:00!"

Speeding out of the station, we raced to the scene where several National Guard soldiers were missing - swept away in a creek.

We had only a few facts: a training drill. turbulent waters. a capsized boat. divers searching. 

My job was to get details to feed our more seasoned reporter who would give viewers live updates throughout the broadcast.

With air time about to hit, the lead reporter shoved the mic into my hand. 

"You take it," she said, "You're better at this."  

Even though I didn't have as much live shot experience, I think growing up as a military brat helped wire me for the intensity of breaking news - calm, clear-headed in chaos - stuff they can't teach you in journalism school.

"Divers search for four National Guard soldiers after their boat capsized..."

I don't remember my exact words to open the newscast but I still see the vivid contrasts of that summer day: brilliant sun rays piercing murky water. lush trees casting shadows over brittle grass. life/death. colliding.

"Guardsman who drowned was Sioux City sergeant," read the headlines. 

Divers had been able to save all but one of the soldiers. I still think of him around the 4th of July.  I'm sorry I didn't pray for you that day. Thank you for your sacrifice.

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Climb Again

You taught me how to climb, to swing, to kick a football when I was a child. In a way those are the greatest gifts anyone's given me.

I seemed born with an instinct to climb. As a baby, I'd try to escape over the confines of my crib. Eventually you decided to teach me a way to scale the bars safely so I wouldn't fall on my head.

Soon I wanted to climb trees, especially a three-story giant in our yard. We were content swinging from the lower branches but you knew it was only a matter of time before we'd try to go higher. 

"Stay close to the trunk," you warned, "The branches are stronger there." 

As a struggling teen, that towering tree became my refuge.

I was about 11 the first time you let me go rock climbing and rappelling with the Army recruits. I loved going with you on those ROTC trips. 

We'd never had an accident until Starved Rock. falling. slamming into the rocks. You tried to hide your fear but I saw it in the way your eyes never left me whenever I put on a harness after that.

I've lost my footing a little over the years...fear. falls. failures. But I'm ready to climb again, Dad. Thank you for teaching me. Happy Father's Day.

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The Tunnel's End

Another one of my photos is running in the LA Times! I recently shot this picture under the Santa Monica pier.

I was trying to get a photo of the pier's iconic ferris wheel at sunset but the angle wasn't working so I decided to take a shortcut to the other side before the sun slipped away. There's a path that runs under the dock but I've always avoided going that way; it's dark, wet and smells like urine.

I was determined to get a photo for a photography project though so I entered the tunnel. Near the end, I saw light streaming through the pillars. At first I kept walking toward the beach but I was drawn to turn back and take in the message: Though shadows linger, there is light at the end of the tunnel.

In that moment, the light piercing the dark passage, it didn't seem like a cliché.

The photo above, "Where the sun never shines," can be seen in the LA Times Southern California Moments photo gallery

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