i like to tell stories

5:21:14 PM – 5:24:10 PM | 2 minutes, 56 seconds

Los Angeles | The End of Summer | September 23, 2009

I asked her for a few seconds of her time and thankfully she agreed.

A friend of a friend asked me to do this for them (her) on the promise of a plane ride, a car ride and a bed. I accepted. It was the 10th wedding I have photographed in 20 years and only the second in which I accepted anything in return – rides, beds and maybe a meal. Everything else… that’s always on me.

In the one day, three hours, fifty-nine minutes and twenty-seven seconds I stared at them, (her), I made 2,228 photographs for an average of one photograph every 45 seconds.

When the portrait session was over, I made an image of her over my shoulder with my face in the frame. The only people left in the room were the bride, the groom and the best man. When the best man saw me do this he took my camera from me and pushed me into the above portrait. He said something like, “C’mon, you know you want a portrait of yourself with the bride.”

He knows me well. I did… and I never would of asked.

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He stood between this tree and those buildings in the City of the Violet Crown.

In Kentucky in 1994 on the way to yet another wedding, I jumped and jumped and jumped into the sky over and over again into a pool we all paid $0.25 each to swim in. Someone I was there with photographed me there against that sky.

Maybe a year later, I remember visiting him with his girl. It was late and I was about to leave their room to sleep. He looked over at his girl and asked, “Should I give it to him now?” She replied simply, “Yes.” He pulled this painting out of the closet and handed it to me.

That day in Kentucky, out in the sun and up in that sky, I got the worst sunburn of my life. The color of my back far surpassed the red of any hot hot bright bright red red sun.

Now I have no idea how to even bowl correctly nor do I want it. I went some growing up and enjoyed it enough during my brief 3 years in Texas close to family in the 80’s. Then it faded.

In college, (fall 1994, same time as the Promise Lane story and then again in summer 1997 after leaving and returning), when the color print processor was having troubles, I hit the alley. I went in the morning before the leagues and then later the same day after. So much so the owner/operator just shook his head at me and started comping me shoes and games. I would be put on one end of the alley and just left alone, throwing the ball, throwing the ball and throwing the ball.

When traveling on assignment bowling is a great way to kill the time in between not otherwise filled with details. One can always find an alley if one looks. I have been to 43 of the lower 48 states. I have bowled in at least 25-30.

In 1999, after a real deep love had left just days prior and I dropped communication with many of my friends, I was in West Virginia on an assignment for a major news magazine on one of the most emotional subjects I ever had the privilege to witness. I had just left the home and had 3 hours before I needed to get to the airport to go to the next heart wrenching home in Indiana. I was driving over a bridge when I saw a sign right next to the bridge that simply said BOWL and had an arrow pointing straight down. I found the alley, almost under the bridge I had just been on and went in. I was alone in the place except for 3 people on the lane 2 lanes over. Two older women and one old man, the kind of old man you know is smarter then you and hope to be someday. They were all laughing and having a nice time. I started bowling. Throwing the ball, throwing the ball and throwing the ball. I noticed I was around 100 by the 5th frame and that they had stopped bowling. When I looked over, the old man was looking at me, “You alright son?” he asked. I smiled, said “Yes” and looked at my feet, I felt awful I ruined their bowling moment. I got to frame 10 and left.

A year later I accepted an invitation to go bowling here in NYC. I had a broken foot and was on crutches, the people who invited me didn’t know this until I showed up. I still bowled.

A year after that on September 10, 2001, I was out till about 3am, bowling. I slept through most of the events that morning of the 11th until I heard my answering machine playing out loud a friends voice of long ago asking me through her tears, “Are you okay, are you okay?”

I remember standing in a Banana Republic® and getting really stressed out over a shirt, it was so silly but nonetheless, there I was.

So I got linen pants and nice new simple black T. Done.

So, not only was I shot by the white house photographer, about 10 film crews from the news channels shot the photo shoot as it was the only time the senator was in public that day. So I think it went on TV, not sure.

Then, back in NYC that night, I got to be in the art directors office during layout for my cover. It was almost midnight and I had changed into nicer black designer jeans and a button down by a fancy designer. It was one of the biggest moments of my career watching like a fly on the wall, really really really great in fact.

As I stood there, staring at what was to be my cover of TIME surrounded by all the big decision makers, the DOP standing next to me was looking through the contact sheets of the white house photographer that shot my shoot.

The DOP looked at me, looked me over, head to toe, and said, “You changed clothes.”

No judgments or comments, just those three words, I had no idea what the DOP had meant.

Later that night, almost 1am or so, the PE called to tell me they switched it, I didn’t get my cover because the senator – not an exact quote but close – “Wasn’t recognizable enough as a person, readers wouldn’t know the face” – they put the president on the cover as they needed a sales boost that week.

I think if I had worn a suit, I would of gotten my cover?

I made two images that day. A large lit formal portrait that was to be the cover and some tight fast close ups in the less then 5 minutes I had total. The lit image wasn’t used and the close up was used double page in TIME.

The close up used was the first image I made. In fact, it had been the clip test (remember those? Lights + E-6 + Hasselblad + 5 minute shoot + 1 Polaroid = bad ass). Well, after having the clip in my pocket, waiting for the balance to be rushed for 2 hours, I realized that was the best shot. I pulled I it out of my pocket, dusted it off, threw it into the selects and then there it was, 2 pages in TIME.

Or… Wear Dri-FIT as to not sweat in your eyes in your 5 minutes in a hot conference room to photograph the richest man in the world. (Just be sure you recently bleached your hair to match a girls).