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There Was a Time

2011-06-11T23:03:00.001-04:00

A sign of the times.

There was a time when you could go to the local park or playground and only have to worry about when you had to leave so your mom wouldn't use your freedom as leverage to enforce your punctuality.
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Sure, there may have been other things to worry about, like will certain people be there: the school bully, or the girl you really like, but are deathly afraid of asking out. But it never occurred to you someone, or maybe even some thing could be there. A kind of spider you couldn't see until you were entangled in their nefarious web.
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There was a time when you hadn't heard of a sex offender, or even knew what it was. They may have existed, but not with the numbers we have today. The number, apparently is so big, we have to use tax money to not only defend them in the judicial system, but we have to remind them (and others) where the electric fence is by making large signs and displaying them in prominent locations like here, at Country Park in Greensboro, NC.
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I was riding my bike through the lengthy trails one day recently, and in a clearing came upon this playground. The first thing I saw was this cube of bricks that housed the restrooms. It made me shudder to think that something sordid could have happened inside those dirty rooms--especially seeing this big sign posted on the building. (I used to ride my bike down to the local park when I was in grade school. Thankfully I still can, and still do.)

Sadly, an empty playground.

You ARE cordially invited to enjoy the grounds.

Note the sign on the sign: "If a problem is observed..." We don't really know which kind of problem they mean. If you see a broken swing, then call. If you see Aqualung, don't call the number, beat his ass. Just watch out for snot.

Anyway, I turned the corner and saw this park bench. (You know it, "Eyeing little girls with bad intent.") Well that song didn't start playing on my internal jukebox like it is now, I just hoped Mr. lung hadn't been here, and little Susie simply forgot her doll. I mean, you see this bench and you have to wonder. Did anyone call that number? As I stood there with these thoughts, I saw that there was no one around. And while this playground is in a very large tract of land, it's also next to tennis courts, the main road, and a parking lot.

I want to believe that nothing sordid and clandestine happened here. Nevertheless, my opinion was forged when I saw that sex offender sign.

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I will still bring my bike to this park, in the same manner I took it to Lynnhurst Park in South Minneapolis when I was too young to know there really were boogie men. As it goes, we can't let the ten percent spoil our fun. I only hope it is just ten percent.

Aqualung's viewpoint

Volunteering for a Purpose

2011-06-07T22:44:00.000-04:00

As I walked across the parking lot of Jamestown Middle School, I felt as if I was beginning a new job. Only this one was temporary--very temporary, and I was to be compensated afterward with a small bag of hard candy and some crudely fashioned easter grass stuff that someone pulled out of the shredder, all bound in a small cellophane bag that the lady at the desk called "a snack."
I was to begin my day in the "Media Center". When I was a middle school student, that room was called the "Library." These days a library is a dying pile of bricks, books, some computers, and some homeless people all slowly slipping away into extinction. Today, it's a bright, shiny room with more wires than books. And now, a dozen or so fellow volunteers, some not much older than the students, some so old, they thought, "library" was cutting edge, gathered in one section of the room for the proctor indoctrination process. Several of us brought whatever liquids would help us focus at 8:00 in the morning. For me, it was a tall shot of Krispy Kreme caffeine. I had already turned three donuts into mush on the drive over, so I was good to go. We were all told to read a thin book of rules and etiquette for proctoring. I scanned the thing and found the gist of it was to keep the testing as clean as possible. Well, all I was gonna do was strike an intimidating pose in the room and hope to not end up taking a pencil shower and end up looking like a number 2 porcupine. It could happen, there was a surplus of potential missiles, and the teacher had me pass one weapon out to each student. They all took one from me as I slowly walked through the classroom. But there was one student, a black girl, who refused to accept my offering. Her belligerent demeanor spoke. I had a feeling we were going to have issues with this one. We did.

As I walked from the media center with my slip of paper scratched with the room number and name of the teacher, I flashed back to my elementary school years--not because the school was old, Jamestown Middle looked to be no older than a toddler, it was perhaps merely because I was in a school for tweens. Funny how our brains work. The concept and size of a school locker was still the same. I liked the ones that went all the way to the floor, so you didn't have to share the same space with someone who smelled like West Virginia roadkill. The room indexing didn't make sense. I was to go to room 807. "OK, let's see, eighth floor..." No. There were only two floors in this thing. Go down this hall, take a left, through the double doors, then take another left and it should be down there somewhere. Found it. Ms. Miller's room. Only she's not Ms. Miller anymore, she's Mrs. Kelly, or something. Didn't matter. I was only going to be in there for 3 or 4 hours, right? Wrong. Miss "I have a better pencil than you," made sure we were ALL there as long as possible.
There were 20 students, half of them boys. There were a few hispanics, a few asians, even fewer whites, and most were black. Then there was poor, strung-out Ms. Miller--desperate for another adult to occupy her little undisciplined cubicle. It was obvious that too many years in the public school system put the zap on her. On any other day I imagine the precocious hispanic boy in the back would be running the operation. Today, he showed restraint. Until he finished a four hour exam in two and a half.
This was the math part of the exam, and the test books came in four colors. I guessed it was four different versions of the test--another way to discourage one form of cheating. I passed those out, then I distributed the pencils and very fancy calculators which had apparently all been scrutinized by the district's computer geek to ensure there were no formulas or small wizards within.
Four students, one near each wall of the room turned his or her desk toward the wall. I thought this was to help them focus. Maybe it was, but all four were among the last seven students who did not finish in the allotted time. Our friend with her own pencil stopped with 3 questions remaining, and plenty of time to finish, but instead she stared, put her head down, and fidgeted for about an hour. Turns out, her boyfriend was sitting in front of her and may have been distracting her with visions of teen pregnancy and all the fun that goes with it. They both timed out and had to finish another day.

In the end, I was happy to have helped out. I got an education, but I will not do it again.
I could tell who was going to have a purpose and who was going to be shaking the fry bin for years to come. Then again, that is a necessary and tasty purpose.

What Goes Around...

2011-03-25T15:20:00.000-04:00

I guess it's inevitable. We're all gonna get sick. I just didn't think it would happen to me right as I'm heading into vacation. I had been doing everything right, like washing my hands--a lot, using hand sanitizer, and excercising regularly. And for the entire season of Winter, I watched every person at work take sick days.
Now I possess a sinus infection, and I'm about to wage war on it with amoxicillin, fluticasone and musinex.
Sunday morning I will be confined to three planes, sharing the cabin air with dozens of strangers. I hope to have won my battle by then. I would hate to spread this misery.

An Injustice

2011-03-24T00:28:00.000-04:00

It was a day in which people who didn't want to be on TV were on, and people who DID want to be on weren't. Couple that with a lack of communication, and you have a frustrating day.

I was to do a story with a reporter on electronic devices that can help parents of teenagers have a little control over how their inexperienced drivers travel. We started at the local state-run driver's license office, where we immediately found a mother and her daughter just arriving to get a driver's test. Mom reluctantly agreed to talk with us on camera, though the whole time we were in there, and she was not "on camera," I could hear her saying very softly to her kid how she really didn't want to do this. To which her daughter replied, "You're the one who agreed to do it." After our interview, mom insisted that we find someone else who would sound better, but we tried to assure her that she did just fine, and that it only felt worse than in reality.

While mom was being interviewed, her daughter and a surly DMV guy exited the building. I had to make a move if I wanted the video of the girl driving. I left the camera recording, and gestured to the reporter to keep going. I caught up with the two just as they were about to pull out of the parking lot. I asked the tester if he would mind if I stuck a mini cameral on the dash to get some footage. In more words than this, he said yes. He would mind.

We gathered our requisite "official" sound from AAA, then headed back to put it all together. Not once during the course of this newsgathering process did I ever hear where I was to be able to get some good video to help tell the story. Several hours earlier, an email was sent to several people which included a link to a web site that would have good video I could use in the story. No one told me about it. It didn't make it into the story. Another story which I was happy with the fact that the public doesn't know they were looking at my work. Only the reporter's name is associated with the story. I still was left feeling cheated out of the ability to put my best work out there. I love what I do, and I want everything I do to be the best it can be, but I can't when there are days like this.

No sooner did we get back to the station, I got a call from the desk telling me to drive 40 minutes south to check on a "bad" car wreck. There was plenty of time for me to do that, and I made it back by 8pm.
The "bad" car wreck involved three cars, snarled traffic for an hour, but no one had serious injuries. I took a couple of stills and sent them back for the web guys, called in the info, and shot video and two interviews. NONE of it made air or the website. What a waste of time, money, and effort.

Not This Time

2010-12-29T14:22:00.000-05:00

Post Office branch at Eastchester, High Point

The late comedian, George Carlin, noted on human behavior: the closer a person is to you, the nicer they are. The bubble-headed bleach blonde anchor on TV is an IDIOT!! That guy in the car who just cut you off is an asshole! The person standing next to you in line is a dick.
Well, not this time. We've all been here: you are waiting for someone to vacate a parking spot (in this case, the only available parking spot), your turn signal is on for a weak insurance policy, hoping people who come by looking for the spot you have your eyes on will see that you have been waiting for it before they showed up, and would move along. Not this time. While the person is backing out of the premium, a lady, who looked to be in her fifties came up from the other direction, and put her turn signal on. "HA!" I thought. "You obviously don't see me siting here communicating my next move. Or, you are in a provocative mood. Or both. " When the departing car gave enough room for me to take charge, I did. It was not because I felt mean or selfish, it was because of principal. I was there BEFORE her. And besides, I didn't budget the time for having to troll this little parking lot. Who would?
When I got out of my Ford Windstar, I looked over to see what she ended up doing. You can see what she did with her car. She not only blocked me in, but the two cars to the right. I waited for her to walk over. When she did, I told her what a selfish thing she had just done. She said she was there first. I corrected her and she walked away like, "what are you going to do about it?" Right. What am I going to do about it. I wanted to reach in to her partly opened window and liberate her poodle who commiserated with me about her self-centered owner. I instead snapped a couple of pictures of what some people are capable of doing. Now I didn't care if I was a little late for work. It was worth it to me to see how all this was going to play out. I didn't want to run my errand because I didn't know what else she was willing to do to make herself feel better about what had just happened. I was also sporting a couple of Fox8 logos, so I was confined to civil behavior. For if I was not representing, she would have heard from me, George.

Dirty Laundry

2010-12-29T01:21:00.000-05:00

This was my view for what seemed like most of the day. Another day trolling for a story. I've been complaining a bit (yesterday) about how difficult it is to come up with a decent story people might be interested in. Here's another day. For news stories, the last week of December has to be the driest week of the year. It seems most people are away from work either ordering a cold, fruity drink from Diego, the Caribbean bartender, or a hot, Irish drink from Lance, the bartender in the ski chalet. You either have to make something up, or you end up covering somebody's misfortune.So now, instead of doing a story on politicians mock-slicing a colorful ribbon to show off their political negotiating prowess, or doing a story on politicians bickering in the council chambers, or a story on--you get the picture. I don't want to be held responsible for your blindness after you stab out your mind's eye from these horrible descriptions.
So, while the news tree is mostly covered in snow these days, Chad Tucker and I actually had a decent story to flesh out. A guy who got hit by a car a month ago and his mother were willing to talk to us about his ordeal. Problem was, at some point that day, his health went bad to some degree, and he had to be taken back to the hospital by ambulance. We found out this fact at 5pm. At the time we were in Stanleyville, an annexed neighborhood of Winston-Salem. We were then put on another story about someone who was involved in a single car crash and died. This person also happened to be pregnant. (Jeeze, I know!) This had just happened, but it was about an hour south by High Rock Lake. So we blazed another trail.

When we got to the scene--a very dark, two-lane rural road--all we could see was vehicle stains and cat litter on the road. Clearly, this was a desperate attempt to get some more dirty laundry. A single vehicle fatal crash on a two lane rural road does not take long to clean up, and we were an hour away.
Now, we head 45 minutes northeast to get something on a guy who was hit by a car while carrying groceries on I-40. (I know, right? And when it rains, it pours. I also could hear the line in that Don Henley song "get the widow on the set, we need dirty laundry.")
We ended up just getting some video to show how bad the accident had affected traffic, then moved over to Kernersville to do a "quick package" on gas prices. The angle here is that a former oil company executive was quoted as saying something like "everyone should get ready to pay $5 a gallon by the end of next year. Apparently this little factoid is making some drivers so angry, they are weaving off the road striking people and trees. I'm kidding!

So at 9:00 we find a place to go live, Chad starts logging, and I pull cable and set up the shot. Yeah, this shot here, AND the live shot. I start editing at 9:30, feed at 9:50, and ten minutes later do that TV thing we do.
"I make my living on the evening news. Just give me something, something I can use..."

2010-12-28T00:00:00.000-05:00

As the reporter said, "Weather stories suck when there's no weather." Now, despite the photo (by Mike Taylor) showing plenty of weather, she made that comment a couple of hours into the search for the story. It was the first weekday after the biggest snowfall the area has seen, and the housecats thought Katie Nordeen and I could turn another two-story, two live shots for the day. It would have been the third time within two weeks. Two angles on a day of bad weather. This time they wanted one on road conditions and how the city of Greensboro was handling them, and the second one was to be on what does a homeowner do when their 80 foot trees are supporting the heft of wet snow. But it was not to be today. Why? The interstates, state roads, and primary roads in the county were dry from some outstanding work by the NCDOT and the city of Greensboro, and all that was left was some residential streets. But for the most part, they were very driveable. And the tree story? After driving around several Greensboro neighborhoods, the best we could find were a few branches that had snapped and fallen into yards, damaging nothing. It looked a lot like the photo above. We could barely find any people outside. Fortunately we have a smart guy at the helm in Kevin Daniels, fresh off a vacation in the Carribbean. We told him how the original story ideas were melting away, and he made the right call. The decision? Cut the tree story, change the road story into a VOSOT, and the reporter package is now about the people at the Piedmont Triad International airport who have been inconvenienced by the snow.

The best part of that is that the story was already shot by colleague, Stewart Pittman, who also was just off a Christmas break, but not as fresh off his vacation as Kevin Daniels. Stewart was called in to do on-camera live shots for the morning show on three hours of sleep. Poor guy. I can only imagine the dizzying stupor he must have been in gathering that stuff. Nevertheless, we got the producers what they needed, and we felt better for not having to slam so much together, and surely Stewart felt better going home well before he expected.

A Taste of Home

2010-12-26T18:40:00.000-05:00

I grew up in Minneapolis and St. Paul, and 21 times I rode the earth around the sun from up there. And while tilted away from our star, the climate was mean. Temperatures that would make you shatter like a poorly hung glass Christmas ornament if you got struck by the door getting on the transit bus. When you are annually surrounded by that kind of atmosphere, you not only get used to it, but you can actually enjoy it. At least the snow anyway. It is a way of life after all. Most Winter games and other activities were created in the North Star State. After living in the South the last 16 years, I have been spoiled when it comes to Winters. In my former life, sub-zero temperatures were expected, and, while cursed at, they were dealt with.

Here, we don't get that. The coldest it seems to get is in the single digits--with the harshest winds slapping you in the face. What we also don't get down here is a decent snowfall. Even the heartiest Minnesotan would call a four-inch snowfall decent. And while most Minnesotans know how to navigate through their version of Winter, many North Carolinians do not. You could say "can you blame them? Most have little to no experience driving on snow and ice-slicked roads." That may be the case, but I think a lot of drivers either don't have common sense, or don't use it when it comes to navigating a ton and a half of steel over a slick roadway. Most of what I've seen has occurred on the state highways and interstates. I can't say how people behave on the narrower roads with lower speed limits, as I haven't really been on those roads. But, while driving the roads that have speed limits of 55 and above, I've seen many drivers traveling over the posted speed limit--some as much as ten mph over! These people have no imagination. Other things I've seen that grind my gears is people who drive in this kind of weather when it is approaching dusk and they don't have any lights on, nor do they use any turn signals when changing lanes, and they tailgate. People like that will drive that way until they are involved in a crash, and maybe then they will change their behaviors to more safer ones.
Good thing North Carolina doesn't see Minnesota weather very often. Or is it?

Living The Dream

2010-07-11T23:16:00.000-04:00

In coming up with a name for this blog post, I thought "As Good As It Gets?"might be appropriate, but I thought that was too pessimistic. "Living The Dream" is more fitting as it has been a dream of mine to perform music for people for a long time.

This Fourth of July I played percussion with the Greensboro Concert Band at Grimsley High School in which we played for more than two hours, including music to accompany a wonderful fireworks show. During this performance, I was thinking about what it was I was doing, how the person I most admire is doing the same thing, although on a different level, and the feelings those thoughts gave me.

Since it's release in January, 1976, Peter Frampton's best-selling album, (and the best-selling album of the year) "Frampton Comes Alive" was the catalyst in getting my dream started. When I heard that live album--especially the track, "Do You Feel Like We Do", I was hooked. Not only did I love the band's ability to rock, but they way the band connected to the audience was electric and powerfully magical for me. Every time I listened to that track, I would pick up more details of the performance and want to be on that stage with the band. Specifically, I wanted to be the drummer, keeping the steady pulse for the rest of the band to color the performance.

Through the years, I kept alive that drive to perform, but Frampton would not be the guide. A few years later, in 1980, I was listening to the radio (as I did a lot.) I heard "Tom Sawyer" by Rush, and was hooked on a new band. Peter Frampton and his band gave me the spark, but it would be drummer and lyricist, Neil Peart (pronounced, Peert), and his band who would guide me from that point on.

Everyone has someone they greatly admire, and may even like to live vicariously through. Neil Peart is that person for me. In the late 1990's, when he made an instructional drum video, he addressed those who wish to live in the limelight as a rock star, saying not to try and shoot right for the top, rather, begin by performing at the local level. I thought that was good, and if I got good enough, and got the courage to believe I could make a living at it, it would eventually work.

I have been performing at the local level since I heard Frampton's live performance and was moved to play the drums. I have performed with concert bands, orchestras, and jazz groups for the last 33 years, and I am having a blast. Ever since hearing "Do You Feel Like We Do", I have wanted to be on stage playing the drums, and entertaining the audience. Since I lacked the confidence of having the ability, and the courage to save enough money, go out, buy a set of drums, and become good enough to be in a rock band, I settled for performing at the local level, with music that has more wide appeal than my taste in rock music.

So during the performance of the fourth of July celebration, I thought about how I had set up all these percussion instruments, played them, and was getting a charge out of it, I also thought about how wonderful it was to have my idol doing the same thing at his level. He is currently on tour with his band. Still doing what they love for more than 36 years! Those warm feelings gave me a charge to make sure I was playing my best and to get the greatest satisfaction out of doing it. It didn't matter to me that I wasn't in a rock band, I was living the dream.

A Blustery Blurr

2010-02-10T22:50:00.000-05:00

We'll see what tomorrow brings. Yeah, right. Thank you sir, may I have another!?

I knew there would be a lot of wind, but I didn't expect so much to happen. All weather outlets told us the wind would knock over trees that had been weakened by all the water that has fallen thus far. What we got was a lot more. This pine tree fell in Lucille Piggott's Greensboro backyard, but it did not hit her house! A couple of small Dogwoods, a Pink Azalea, and her gas grill got taken out. Lucky Lucille.

This steeple on Centenary Methodist Church in Greensboro got pushed over, but didn't come down.

The sign at the Downtown Greensboro Hardee's took a hit too.

I also spent time at the PTI airport where many flights in and out of GSO were cancelled.

This sign, one of many hanging along the road outside the airport terminal advertising an upcoming skating competition got slashed by the sheer of the winds.

On my way back to the station I saw this set of traffic lights swinging in the wind at Hwy 68 and Thorndike Road. Some drivers were not sure how to handle that. A dangerous situation on a major intersection.

Then it was off to Guilford College for some basketball. The #1 3A school last year hosted the Mennonite Royals. The only team that can beat the Quakers. And tonight they did it again in a big way, by about 30 points.

So, yet another action-packed swing shift is over. I'm exhausted. For the first five hours of my shift I did not stop. I had a break for refueling me and my news assault vehicle, then it was on again.

Spin the Wheel

2010-02-10T22:14:00.000-05:00

Tuesdays and Wednesdays my shift is called "Swing Photographer". The term is supposed to mean instead of a morning, day or night shift, you come in an hour before the night shift, and leave an hour early. Also, you never know what kind of day you will have,what kind of variety of stories you will do, or who you will meet. That pretty much goes for any other day in which I team up with a reporter. But on those days, while you still don't know what you'll do, where you'll go, or who you'll meet, you will generally end up doing one story for the day. On "swing" days, you do multiple stories.
Tuesdays and Wednesdays my shift is called "Swing Photographer". The term is supposed to mean instead of a morning, day or night shift, you come in an hour before the night shift, and leave an hour early. Also, you never know what kind of day you will have,what kind of variety of stories you will do, or who you will meet. That pretty much goes for any other day in which I team up with a reporter. But on those days, while you still don't know what you'll do, where you'll go, or who you'll meet, you will generally end up doing one story for the day. On "swing" days, you do multiple stories.
Today, I had five stories, and what a variety. It began with shooting a story with Cindy Farmer about how you can get fit at home using some things you may already have, like stairs or a weight like Cindy's using here. This story involved minimal set up on my part. I go in with Cindy, put a wireless mic on Mark, the fitness trainer, and off we go. No special lighting, not even the tripod I brought in. I just needed to find creative ways to shoot the thing. This story will air in a few days.
After I got back to the station, it was on to something completely different: they needed some exterior shots of the Allen Jay School on Allen Jay Road, next to Allen Jay conveniece store. Mr. Jay was a Quaker minister, an evangelist, and an outstanding educator, according to the school's web site. But, as it is, the Guilford School District has other plans for the mothballed building. So it was, about a minute's worth of shots, and about 20 seconds of air time.
I brought that back to the station so it could run in the 6pm show. Then it was off to Davidson County for two things: a pot hole and a commissioners meeting. WOO-HOO! Can you feel the sarcasm? This whole pot hole patrol is a community service franchise, but being early in the game, it needs some tweaking. We have people call or email us to let us know where there are any alignment shifting craters in the road. The details are, as we like to say, sketchy. For example, the one I was in search of was to be found on Swicegood Road near Hwy 150. Keep in mind I'm searching after 6pm and in the rain. You think it would be as easy as driving on the road and you'd run over it. Well every pot hole I've seen isn't much of a hole. My standard has been set in my home state of Minnesota, where the pot holes can swallow compact cars. So running over a pot hole in North Carolina barely registered. Before I found the offending cavity, I noticed the Northbound lane had all the flaws, the other side looked as if no one had driven South since Winter began. I figured this hub cap sized divot had to be the star as it was the only one of dozens that didn't have any of that gooey asphalt filling. You know, the kind that resembles Rice Krispy marshmallow treat batter. Since Swicegood Road is one of those rural two lane things, there was no place to park except someone's driveway. So I backed into one that opened straight to my target. My headlights were spotting my subject just right, and fortunately every time I set up a shot, a Northbound car would come by and hit the hole. That made for a quick exit out of that driveway.
Then it was on to Lexington proper where the Davidson County Commissioners were meeting. I would be there to find out what kind of carrot the board was to dangle in front of an anonymous company that was looking to expand. The economic development board spokesman told the board how valuable it would be to have this company in their county. The extra income and jobs it would create. Only one person spoke up during public expression, and what he said was so full of numbers and inside information, that he may have been the only person to understand what he was saying. He was the board watchdog. Every board has one.
I got back to the station with the last two items around 8:15 and opened up my lunchbox to have dinner. Shortly after that, I was called out to see what I could get on a fatal accident that happened on I-40 near Winston-Salem. In the photo, a State Highway Patrolman inspects under the hood of the truck involved. It is policy after an accident to give the vehicle a physical and inspect the driver's log book to see when and how often he drives. The accident happened an hour earlier, but sometimes these things take awhile to clean up. It was at the junction of I-40 and Highway 311. Somehow an 18-wheeler struck and killed a pedestrian. Seems like an unlikely place for a pedestrian, but since the investigating State Trooper was in the process of informing the victim's family, I could not get any other information about the accident. And, for the record, while I'm in the business of trying to be the first to report something, I do not ever want to be the first person to broadcast to a victim's family that one of their own has been killed.

Quite a mixed bag of stories. We'll see what tomorrow brings as I "swing" again.

Fire and Ice

2010-02-06T16:21:00.000-05:00

It's not often we do a story in an area in which you feel your life is in danger. The most common for me has been on coastal North Carolina during hurricanes. The previous scare was last year covering a shooting in a New Bern, NC project neighborhood--at night. Last night was different. All day the Piedmont received a coating of ice and snow. And the day before, Sheeka Strickland and I did a story with John Carter, a tree specialist who told us it would be the pine trees that would succumb first to the weight of the wintry mix. He was right. And there are a lot of pine trees in Rockingham county. All along Highway 65, 704, Ellisboro Road and Ayersville Road fresh firewood, softened by many days of precipitation, began falling; many of them blocking those roads. The roads are those two lane ribbons of asphalt that snake their way through rural North Carolina, and are dangerous enough with speeding 18-wheelers steered by sleep-deprived captains. Now you feel like you're running a gauntlet of leaning trees, just waiting for a cold push by old man winter to weed out the weak among them. Their icy claws posed over you as if you're driving through the arctic version of a haunted house.

Once you step out of the news assault vehicle to get some shots of the trees that didn't make it, you hear crackling of a conifer's canopy, it's limbs, or the whole trunk. And now let's add a sizzling thrill: sometimes, the thing pulls down power lines. We found one that was smoking, and one that had become a fire. I got the shots I needed, and sparked a hasty retreat back down the road. Then, we drive back through the gauntlet, Sheeka at the wheel, and me in the passenger seat, getting footage of the ice claws and downed trees. Suddenly, a pack of deer cross the road in front of us. What a cool and serendipitous encounter. That shot made it into one of two stories we produced for the evening newscast.

We shared high fives at the end of that night because of the great visuals for the stories, and we cheated death, yet again.

Story 1

Story 2

A New Leash on Life, etc...

2010-02-04T00:56:00.004-05:00

Today began with a life-saving story, and ended with perhaps a life-ending story. And it was the story I did in the middle that prompted me to say to the people there:"I can't believe I get paid to do this." An exaggeration, of course, but still, I felt the joy of doing "good news." And it's rare on my night shift to be able to do "good news."
My first story of the day was Moses Cone health system donating 19 defibrillators to several local municipalities. Great idea. Heart attacks are the #1 killer in the U.S., and if you have one outside a hospital, you have a 95% chance of not making it. Unless there's an AED (defibrillator)nearby. Any municipality that has some of these things also makes them less of a liability. These will go in malls, parks, and golf courses in our area.

The next story was about Susie, the 8 month old pitt bull/shepherd puppy who was found in a Greensboro park last August with 2nd and 3rd degree burns, a broken jaw, and whose ears had been burned off. She was barely alive. Maggots had set up camp on her. After a long process, Donna Lawrence became the new owner.

Trained by Bob Wall and his wife, Susie behaves like a normal puppy her age, and, other than her ears still missing, her wounds have healed very well. About a year ago, Donna was viciously attacked by a pitt bull. She didn't know how or if she'd survive the attack. She told a group of about 24 children tonight at a High Point church, that it was her faith in God and her christian tenet of forgiveness that got her out of the nasty event, and helped her come to terms with the dog's owner. An animal lover, she later adopted Susie, a pitt bull mix, to overcome her fear of dogs, and she's done very well. She used her struggle for courage to hopefully set a warm, furry, and tangible example of how they too can overcome their fear of the boogeyman, having to eat broccoli, or make a friend. Donna said she'd like to bring Susie into hospitals and burn centers as therapy for patients. What a great story.

No sooner did I put the finishing touches on the previous story, I got a call from the desk telling me to head to Winston-Salem as there was a shooting. I tapped the address into my GPS, and headed out. The scene took place in a familiar setting, yet I'd never been there. After 16 years of gathering crime scenes, you see a pattern. Low income neighborhood, small homes that sit close together, police cars & crime tape. But this time, even though there were half a dozen police cars on the scene parked in random fashion, there were no flashing blue lights, and no on-lookers. Only a few people gathered at the front of their home in case the police needed them. The shooting happened in front of their house. I asked one officer if she could find someone to let me know whatever they can tell me. I know when you've been on the scene of breaking news, you can't expect someone to know enough about what's going on to go tell the media. Usually the person who can do it, or is supposed to do it isn't there. But when you are less than a half hour from air time, you only want a few questions answered. We're not looking for a formal on-camera interview.
I got the video I needed, and headed to our bureau downtown. I cut it, sent it over the microwave feed, and a few minutes later I watched it as it went over the airwaves. I got a lot of video, but we got very little information other than what, where, and when it happened. The who will come later, and the why may never be known. We just know that somebody was shot and sent to the hospital. I wonder if it was the person who tried to kill Susie.

Out of the Comfort Zone

2010-01-22T22:34:00.000-05:00

Heroes, man. That's what I'd call these two medical professionals. They are living up to the Hippocratic oath they took when they agreed to take on their medical calling. Even if they are put in harm's way, they are called to help their fellow human beings. No matter where in the world it may take them.

Reporter Sheeka Strickland and I met Physician's Assistant John Williams at the hospital first and sat down to talk about the adventure on which he was about to embark. He's a very kind and soft-spoken man--well suited for his vocation. He had his Toyota 4-Runner packed with medical supplies, ready to take the cargo and his determined self to the airport. There, he will join his partner, orthopedic surgeon Dr. Bill Ward on a private jet to the well-shaken island. They expect to stay 11 days. But they are prepared to stay longer, if needed.

When we interviewed Dr. Ward a short time later, he said that while he is a specialist, he will do whatever is needed, and what his skills and knowledge will allow. But he hopes he won't have to step out of his comfort zone. Most of us don't like to leave the warm familiarity of our little zone of comfort. It takes a great deal of courage to do something so bold. Listen to what he says at the end of the story. If you ask me, he'll really feel vexed when he steps out of that plane. But one is never too old to be challenged and learn.

I greatly admire these two men, and it was a privilege to have crossed paths with them. I wish them both well.

Bold Missions

2010-01-20T22:09:00.000-05:00

Today was quite busy for newsgathering. We are all in the process of hunting and gathering for our big civil rights anniversary special that will air on Feb. 1. There is a LOT of time spent making calls, interviewing people, writing, and editing going on all while we march on with gathering not only the news of the day, but several franchise stories--you know, the Pay It Forwards, the Fox on Your Sides, the Made in NC, etc.
Today, Sheeka Strickland and I interviewed Pat Patterson, a man who was arrested for his part in bringing about social and civic change to civil rights in 1960s Greensboro. What a treat it has been to be in the presence of people like Mr. Patterson who summoned great courage at a young age to do something they knew would be VERY unpopular. A bold mission to say the least.

We also were invited into the home of a young man named Justin Hoyle who is a crime victim. Yesterday someone, or some people broke into his house and stole 2 TVs, a Sony Playstation, and a laptop. It is the laptop that has Justin on a mission. See, his brother Jason was an avid graphic designer, and specialized in NASCAR-type graphics. Last year, Jason died of cancer. After that, it bacame Justin's goal in life to follow after his brother in designing graphics. Now, everything that represented his brother's creativity is gone. He said he has made it his life's mission to find the laptop and finish what he started.

That story provided some very creative opportunities for me as a photojournalist and an editor. As I looked around the room we were in, I noticed several things that would make for good visual story-telling, like a sign above the living room that read in bold lettering: "FAITH-DREAM-HOPE"

Words by which to live. Thank you Justin for that, and I hope you find what you are looking for on your very bold mission.

2010-01-18T20:08:00.005-05:00

As a photojournalist who gathers the news of the day, I have come across just about every kind of story, and every kind of person you can imagine. As a photojournalist who works in TV news, it is incumbent and intrinsic that I capture and broadcast the human emotions that accompany them. Unfortunately, most of the time the story I gather does not register very noticeably on the emotional richter scale. Those stories mostly serve to educate the viewer. Conversely, when the story is a natural disaster, a fire, a shooting, or a fatal car wreck, then we're dealing with the most difficult kind to witness, let alone document.

Recently, however, I have had the great fortune to document a relatively new franchise to WGHP. We call it "Pay it Forward". As the title suggests, someone benefits from someone else's act. With the financial help from a sponsor, our station solicits people to recommend someone in the community, who is unrelated to them, who has fallen on hard times, yet carries on through life, giving as if nothing is wrong on the home front. The station gives the nominator $400 in cash, and, with our cameras in tow, they give it to their surprised nominee. Of course the plug is pulled on the emotional dike as the receiver realizes they've just been given $400 in cash to keep. Usually, as one would expect, the person receiving the money will begin to cry and need to hug the giver. And usually it doesn't hit me that hard. For some reason when a young lady named Elizabeth Brannock realized she was the recipient, and began to break down, it hit me hard enough to break me. And I love it when a story can do that. You could see a relief valve open, if just slightly, to release some of the stress that pain and suffering from a person's situations can bring. I didn't feel that strong emotion at the time I captured it on disc that day, but when you sequester yourself in the editing room, and you put that moment into the context of the story you are crafting, you realize the power of our profession, and it is powerful.

I couldn't choose a more satisfying vocation.

A Grateful Head

2009-11-26T10:27:00.005-05:00

Two of my Thanksgiving favorites: turkey and a fire.

Photo thanks to Ricardo DeAratanha of the Los Angeles Times

From time to time we are reminded of how lucky we are to have certain things. Today is set aside to put a little more brain power into it because we're better for it.

For me, I will begin with thanking all the people of the armed services, and law enforcement who are putting their lives on the line, or who are in foreign countries serving their own. Thank you for that sacrifice.

I am thankful for having such a good surrogate family at WGHP Fox 8. I feel very comfortable with my new job in High Point, NC. It offers me the opportunities to be creative, and the challenges I need to grow professionally.

I am grateful for having good genes that enable me to think about this stuff, type it up, and want to share it with others-even if only a few people read this blog. This also includes my good health during my 44th trip around the sun. So, thanks dad, mom, and all the others down the family branches who've made me possible. I am very thankful to my immediate family for their continued support throughout a very trying time in my life. The biggest shout out goes to my dad, who I think of as a modern day Mother Teresa. He has given me the gift of life, love, and time. I'm eternally grateful for that.

I am also very thankful for having Alexandra Poindexter in my life. Some things in life were meant to happen, and my relationship with her is one of them. She has helped me be the person I truly am. Every day she gives me boundless love and gut wrenching laughter. I could not ask for a better friend than who I have in her.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you.

Holy crap!

2009-10-08T09:58:00.005-04:00

Save the Plane(t)

We live in an amazing and amusing world. We, as a species, like others before us, are only here for a short period of geological time. Unlike our predecessors, we have the ability to see the potential end of our existence. There are many who have taken up the cause to delay that end, or even stop it from happening. The environmentalists for one. But recent news headlines have shown the Japanese airline, All Nippon, taking it to new heights. They are asking people to lighten the load of their planes by evacuating their bladders pre-flight. If you can empty your pipes too, that would be even better. And, perhaps you could get a first-class upgrade if you jammed your finger down your throat and sacrificed your last meal. Hell, why don't they offer liposuction or kidney donation at the gate? There are so many benefits to reducing carbon emissions.

"Congressmen with Guts"

Not too long ago, few people had heard of these guys, Florida Democrat Alan Grayson, and South Carolina Republican Joe Wilson. That was before they chose to speak their minds bluntly. Wilson went first when he shouted "You lie!" at President Obama during his last speech to Congress on health care. That outburst is apparently what many Americans wanted to say, and finally, a congressman had the stones to do it when it counted--a high profile gathering of lawmakers and the public at home watching the event. For Grayson, a Bronx-born, Harvard-educated lawyer, his shocker fell out last week when referring to the GOP health care plan: "Don't get sick. And if you do get sick, die quickly." I'd like to hear more honesty. Not just on the hill, but everywhere. Honest opinions can lead to quicker resolutions to problems at many levels. Honesty may start a war, but it would be a necessary war. And if I do happen to start a war with this opinion, let's make it quick, I've got to empty my bladder.

Back in the Saddle

2009-09-22T23:15:00.005-04:00

After countless years of dying, (remember my dictum: "you're either growing or you're dying), and 39 days without turning a story, I am in a new groove. A new market, city, station, gear, and people. All great things that have been that carrot just out of reach for so long. I could not ask for better co-workers than the people at WGHP. I've never felt so welcome and included. I have every opportunity to grow and learn more about the craft I have chosen. I am grateful to Karen Adams, the station GM, all the department heads who have been so warm and open with this new face--a photographer!? (New concept to this wavescribe of 15 years). But mostly, I am grateful to my mentor, chief photographer Keith Hale who is extremely generous and caring about the product and the photographers. He has taken me under his wing and made sure I was ready to fly with the rest of the flock.

Today I spent with weekend meteorologist and weekday reporter, Charles Ewing. Our story was about a proposed parking ramp for down town Greensboro. The gathering would be pretty easy at first, but we would have to wait until 3pm to get additional b-roll and sound, then cap it off with a live shot at 6pm at city hall. As this would be my first live shot too, Keith set up the shot, giving me thorough instruction as we went along. In the rain. I edited and fed the pkg and Keith did the live. There were some bumps along the way, but the day had lessons learned in it, and I am, once again, a better person for being here.

Accentuate The Positive...

2009-09-09T22:28:00.005-04:00

...eliminate the negative. That's the gist of what a wise and fun-loving friend of mine, George Crocker told me tonight. (In the picture to the left, George sits with WNCT UberProducer, Rachel Gallaher and incredibly efficient editor Alexandra Poindexter.)

I had been reflecting on my 15 years in this market and said that there had been many bad events, but there were also good ones. The bad ones were really bad, like a nasty divorce, and the good ones were really good, like all the friends and experiences I've had with them.

In 15 years I've worked with at least 30 reporters and producers, and 7 news directors. I have gained a great deal of knowledge, much of it I have passed along to the reporters as they came through market 105. Most of them were grateful for it as they had the maturity to know that the advice was coming from the heart, and was meant for their edification and professional growth. But their acceptance also stemmed from an inherent sense of respect for someone who had made many more trips around the sun than they. On the other hand, there were others, including one reporter still at my former station who were above any advice. They thought of themselves as an island. They thought my counsel was condescension, and that their success would come from the superficial and naive notion that how you look or sound will make you an idol. I feel sorry for people like that, and I feel bad for people who have to hire people like that, even though there are better candidates.

So as I begin a new chapter in my life, I am reminded to remember the good things. I may never forget some of the bad things that happened, but those are not worth dwelling on. Those should be used as a moral. You've heard the phrase: If we don't remember the past, we are doomed

to repeat it. It was meant to reinforce positive behavior, and repel bad. I think it

works another way: If we remember the past, we are likely to repeat it--like my reporter friends Andrew Doud and Philip Jones hamming it up at a recent dinner in my honor, while another reporter friend Parul Joshi approves in the background. That's something I'd like to accentuate. And I will.

Tired, But Still Worth It

2009-08-08T23:01:00.003-04:00

Just finished work day number 5 of what will be 10 straight. Six of them include my second job. I just hope that by the end of it, my ass can catch up to me as I will be going into 10 straight days OFF! and I want my ass to enjoy it with me. I need something to lay on while I enjoy my freedom from work, and freedom from marriage. This week I received the paperwork that officially declared the marital chain destroyed. The chain that tethered me to a very uncomfortable 19 year relationship.

During the average newsgathering day, a reporter, or reporter/photographer team will gather two stories. On most weekends, the lone hunter/gatherer, in our case, the photographer, will scrape up three or four stories. For me, Saturday was brought by the number 4. Three local stories, and one that required an hour and a half drive to the coast. I will never complain about having to go to the water--especially the ocean. Yes, even if hurricane Shaniqua is bitching her way into the coastline, I will still be there with my goggles, shorts and aqua socks to say:"ok, gimme sexy!" or, "you're a tiga" and paw at it. I've been sandblasted by every one of those swirlies since '96. Her name was Bertha.

Anyway, this time the water was covered with boats of all sizes, and some of them had cannons that were fired. Blanks of course. It was the re-enactment of when, in 1747 some bold Spanish pirates came into Beaufort, the oldest harbor in the state. They were met by some locals who put together a milita, and defeated the invaders. The event gave many an excuse to dress up like they might be going to a halloween shindig. Lots of people really got into it, and had a great time. I went into the day charged with making a long format nat sound package out of it. By the time I could legally park the car and walk several blocks to get to the action, it had already begun, and there wasn't enough ingredients to make a delicious nat pkg. We settled for a 30 second VO. Not much for three hours of driving, but sometimes, that will be the price of broadcasting an interesting event. And it reinforces a big reason why I do what I do: access.

Economic Manifestation

2009-07-11T20:12:00.000-04:00

I don't know how the rest of the country is managing to tread water in this sea of economic turbulence, but here in eastern Nawf Cack I've noticed a couple of trends. The most notable being the escalation of crime. It usually involves drugs. If not, then it's a violent crime committed against a family member (but even then it may still be about drugs). It seems more people have been shot this year than any other. Some of the victims happened to exist in the fringes of the darkness that is a perpetrator's realm. Like the two people killed earlier this month in downtown Greenville who were standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Most victims have immersed themselves in that darkness, rolled the bones every day, and eventually came up with snake eyes. Arguably, this demographic favors the young, black male. Thus, many of these, in their over-sized clothes and hats are stereotyped. I spoke with an African-American city council member the other day after a meeting with downtown business owners. They were trying to come up with solutions to the violence inherent with a large cluster of alcohol-serving establishments in proximity to a university. She was upset at how her nephew, who dresses like a thug is treated like a thug. She insisted he is not. She is one of several narrow-minded politicians in this county who are quite comfortable with their head in the sand.

The other trend I noticed today while driving an hour south to cover a news event. Yard sales. They have cropped up this season like clovers. They come in all sizes too. Some you can wander through the entire yard and into the house, some are simply a man leaning against the back of his car with two items laid out in front of him with a sign that reads: "YARD SALE". I must have come across at least 30 of these "sales" in my hour drive. People are trying to get rid of all the crap they've collected. Whether it was useful at some point, or it was handed down, it no longer has a use in their lives, and their hoping it can be handy to somebody.

Some sell personal items, some sell euphoric diversions. One is benevolent, the other is not.

Flea Powder, anyone?

2009-07-04T00:33:00.000-04:00

One of the many axioms thrown around in the South is:"You take the fleas with the dog." In my line of work as a news photographer, we occasionally come across people who either don't know what the purpose of local news is, or don't care. And if they can convince a green newsdesk to send someone out to their "event", then they can abuse the fourth estate, and they win.

Thursday night, by the assumed power of a "press release", I was sent to cover an "event". I don't know what the desk was thinking after hopefully reading said release, but they thought it was some kind of seminar, freeing people of financial burdens. "Leveling the playing field and getting rid of financial illiteracy, " was the mantra in the release and the female in charge of the seminar. And she said that exact phrase six times in the 20 minutes I spent there. The desk assumed it would be a well-attended event. It wasn't.

My plan was to arrive 15 minutes early so I could get my sound bite, then shoot the seminar and leave when I have my 40 seconds of video. There were four people with this group, and only one person showed up to see what it was about. It was to get people to pay these people to have a "personal concierge" at their beck and call, 24/7. If one had questions of any kind, all they have to do is call their personal assistant and they would do the digging and get back to you in minutes. It was a get rich quick scheme for the person who wrote the "release". So there I was in a conference room with these four people watching this one person look at a video presentation on a laptop. Feeling like a cheap whore, I started walking out. The leader stopped me at the door and wanted my personal cell number. Nice try, but HELL NO.

In this small TV market, with VERY little to feed a hungry news machine, our desk will take just about anything at face value. So yes, there are actually two problems here. But, there are fleas that some dogs just can't shake.

Every rose has its thorn

2009-07-02T12:55:00.000-04:00

In addition to the title of this entry, the source of the title I find fitting. There is a song by the same name by the band Poison. I don't know what the song is about, but my reference is downtown Greenville after the sun sets. There is a prickly poison inherent in the atmosphere of a bar scene, and it doesn't have to be adjacent to a college campus to be cursed with that toxin. Most nights, patrons can dance and move through their rose garden and never get stuck by a thorn. Sometimes, though, the thorns come out. Exhibit A: a man walks into a bar, (yeah, yeah,) gets thrown out of bar, drives by the bar, fires gun at people standing in front of bar, two of them die. WHY? When this person is found, he should not be put in jail for the rest of his life. That is getting off the hook. He took two lives, he should spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to those whose lives were affected by their loss. This is better than my first reaction: when found, shoot him in the head. That's the emotional reaction, the rational reaction is one of restitution.

Big hair bands ruled the airwaves and the bars when I was in my college years in Okinawa, Japan. For me and my fellow Marine Corps friends, the bars were the places to go because at that age there was some inherent urge to alter your normal state of consciousness and live life as if that night was your last. That motive is organic to the age. I've done things others would not, but none of those things was as serious as firing a weapon at someone. If someone made my blood boil, I would usually tell myself that that person is not worth the trouble; that they would get their appropriate punishment at some point, and I would turn and go on with my life. Sometimes, though, I would let my inability to confront get the best of me and I would later become a little destructive. Nothing major, just enough to make me feel better. But afterwards I would feel worse because I damaged someone's property. That story is probably played out today, but now we have people who were obviously brought up with a daring feeling of invulnerability, and without the emotional burden of a conscience. The answer to keeping the thorns away is a moving target. And it may not be possible.

With one exception, the 12-pack or so of people we spoke to about the events (reporter Arthur Mondale and myself,) all said the same thing: the high they get when indulging in the rose, outweighs the risk of getting stuck by the thorns. Or, as the eloquent writer, Neil Peart believes, Danger + Risk = Fun. The amount of danger in an activity, plus the amount of risk you want to put into it, equals the amount of fun you will get out of it.

For Every Season...

2009-06-20T17:52:00.000-04:00

With the season changing from Spring to Summer, the sun will shine a little longer, and bring a change in the chemistry of the newsroom. It happens almost every year in small markets: someone's contract is up, and they cast off the island, setting sail for prosperity and personal growth. I've watched it happen for the last 15 years. It's usually every member of the newsroom, save a photographer. Reporters, producers, and news directors all are in small markets for small amounts of time. It seems to represent a lot of how my life has gone. You make friends with someone, and they leave. It began in the first grade when we moved from St. Paul, Minnesota to Minneapolis. I met new people and made new friends; friends I would have until 7th grade when my dad's new job required us to pull up our upper-midwestern roots and move to the east coast. That was a rough adjustment for a pre-pubescent kid trying to find who and what he is. And since I wasn't good at writing (or calling), those friendships died on the vine. That was when I discovered a band called "Rush". I've been guided by their music, but especially by the wisdom and drumming prowess of their lyricist, Neil Peart. More on that in a later entry.

In the local news business many relationships are superficial. There's no wonder. The stories we broadcast and publish are limited to at most a minute and a half. Hardly enough time to get to know it. And that brevity comes across in the gathering process: you interview someone for the story, and when you know you have enough info to cover it, you stop. And because stations have cut back on employees, there are fewer hunter/gatherers. Hence, the name: "drive by media". Can you blame us? Some relationships run deeper, like if you work with the same people every week, you spend a lot of time in the car to and from the story, and you spend time in the newsroom and edit bay developing the story you're working on. After their inevitable departure, it would be easy for me to stop communicating. But, since technology has advanced past what George and Jane Jetson ever used, I have been able to keep many potentially dead relationships alive using just about everything we have: cell phone, texting, twittering, email, and this blog. In fact, today's technology has revived some relationships I thought were done forever. Thanks, Facebook.

The people who leave are replaced by people you don't know, and even some people you do know. It's been said that the local news business, among others, operates in small circles. When someone leaves, you will inevitably be reunited with them. Usually at another station. Not this time. David Sawyer, who was our morning meteorologist here at WNCT, and one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet, left in 2003 for Mobile, Alabama, I think it was, and now he will be our chief weather guy starting next month. The sun will shine a little longer.

Pretty Real

2009-06-14T17:14:00.000-04:00

This be the viewpoint of one thug.

Violence shatters an otherwise peaceful Sunday. At least 24 bullets screamed between this vehicle and the balcony behind the steering wheel. Most of the rounds went to the left of the railing, through the exterior wall, into someone's living room. One bullet made that trip and went through the steel front door and into the next apartment. The driver's side window is on the driver's seat and the parking lot. The windshield has two holes in it, the door frame to the left has two holes in it, and the dashboard has a hole the size of a fist.

45 caliber and 9 millimeter rounds did the property damage (with hollow point rounds!), and scared the crap out of a lot of people who live at English Village apartments. It's at the end of Peed Drive in Greenville, and managed by Wainright. Not good. The people who live there are very friendly and seem to know most everyone who lives there. They said one of the people who may have been involved only lived there a few months. Maybe Wainright has lowered their standards.

One man I spoke with across the parking lot said the gunfire woke him up at about 4:45 this morning. He wanted to see what was going on in his usually quiet neighborhood. As he opened the front door, POW-POW-POW! Three small caliber rounds hit the door. I noticed the location of where the rounds hit the door. If he had not moved, he would have been hit square in the chest, and in the head. There was a bullet casing lying near the front door. I asked him if he had any lights on, and he said yes. My theory is that this was possibly a gang initiation because a resident heard one of the thugs say: "I got one!" They find a mark, and protect the action from witnesses. They look for lights on at that time of day and cover it. Any movement, and let 'em have it. Just a theory.

Just before I arrived at the scene, I saw two cops parked a few blocks away. I turned to talk to them first. I asked them what they knew about a shooting that took place at the end of the road this morning. I was armed with that information when someone at the scene called our newsroom to tell us about what happened. They actually wanted to talk about it. They were angry enough to want to tell people that this happened in their little neck of the urban woods. Sometimes luck is on our side, sometimes it's on the side of the competition. Turns out, the station claiming to be the "breaking news station" did not have the story at six, even after I had posted it to our website at 1pm. The ABC station used a little bit of info from what I had gathered, and the best they could do with any video was a google image. Sad. The sour economy means a lot fewer resources for tv stations. And now I've just learned of a house fire on Harker's Island, close to a 2 hour drive. So, we won't have video of that, but the ABC station might.

What comes around goes around.

Emotion in Numbers

2009-06-14T15:43:00.000-04:00

It was another one of those hot Eastern North Carolina days where if you just stand in one place for a minute, you can feel yourself melting into the tarmac, concrete, or swampland. A situation many would later acknowledge as a sacrifice.

I was among a few hundred of my fellow species pulled together by someone's brain child. Many made a pilgrimage of several hundred miles. Some are worth it, some are not. This one was.

Ninety percent of us had to sit and roast, while the weakest of the herd retreated to the edge of the tree line surrounding the site.

This was the dedication of a Vietnam veterans memorial that reported to be one of a few in the country to have all 58, 229 names of those who did not come home from the war.

Among the usual and expected ceremonial items like a color guard, band, national anthem, and pledge of allegiance, were members of each of the armed forces who spoke to the steaming crowd. Most were thoughtful enough to keep it to brief parables, a couple of them spewed harangues to move the masses into justifying why the project exists and why they should be happy to be fanning themselves with the one page program.

I was told to make a brief story out of this.(or a VOSOT in tv news lingo) But after realizing the scope of the event, it should have been made into something longer (a package with reporter audio). But I was also instructed to get a package on another event already in progress down the street. If I left the dedication ceremony when I needed to, I would have missed the best video opportunities. And I love good video like I love beef. (Don't read into that) The package story video, eventhough it was about drinking water, was as dry as the suicidal earthworms you find on the sidewalk.

During the gathering process of this story I noticed the number of names that are said to be engraved into the 65 glass panes of the memorial. With no strong visual reference to that number, it didn't get much of a reaction from me. When I saw the scope of the memorial, and how much surface area it took to accommodate all the names, the number 58,229 had me. When I watched a woman kiss her hand and lovingly touch it to the name of her loved one, it had me.

It's just a number, it's just a name scratched into a piece of glass. Only to the stoic. This work of expression is sublime. It is therapy. It ellicits powerful emotions, imparting a message from those most passionate about what it represents.

Here's a link to see my edited version of what aired.

http://www.wnct.com/nct/news/local/article/vietnam_veterans_dedicate_a_memorial_in_the_east/38571/

Is perception reality?

2009-06-12T21:15:00.000-04:00

Is it just our frame of mind and attitude that determine our perception of things?

Today was one of those days where things were rubbing my fur in the reverse direction. It started at The Home Depot, where I worked a 4 hour shift in the garden department. Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy working in the elements especially surrounded by thousands of plants. For some reason I did not want to be at that place on this day. Because while I am grateful for having TWO jobs ( a lot of people don't have ONE), committing 60 or more hours a week to two businesses can take a toll on a person from time to time. Anyway, little things began to add up: screaming children, customers who come in not prepared for what they are about to do (A man buys two 4 foot Yucca plants. He wants me to re-pot them, and somehow get them in his Toyota Camry), and learning even more about a company's cryptic computer system. I have a hard enough time remembering how to operate all the computers at the TV station. That's the trouble with two jobs: there is so much more to know if you want to be valuable to a company.

So throw those things into the mix, add a pound of Friday afternoon traffic, pour in some lines at the gas station, let it cook in 90 degree heat for a while, then go in and negotiate the vast retail landscape of Wally World for 8 items, then get into the "Express Lane." I had a choice between two of those lines. I picked the shorter one. Well, the shorter line does not always mean a faster line. When you are either in a hurry, or in a bad mood, someone will pick up on this and decide to delay the checking out process by paying with some cash, and some food stamps, and maybe a gift card to round it out. Well it was at time when I was standing in line with my 8 things wondering why we can take photographs of constellations so far away from here that one's mind will twist into a mustard flavored pretzel just trying to comprehend where the pretty grouping of lights actually is, but there's always a log jam at the checkout.

Well I know that it isn't always that bad. One just needs to know what time and day it is that one can take a wire buggy with a gimp wheel and jacked alignment at a leisurely pace through one of the most vile places in America, and not want to throw a jar of instant coffee through the freezer case. I do. And THAT would put me in a good mood.

Finally...

2009-06-11T22:43:00.000-04:00

...I've joined the throngs of people who want to share what's on their minds. I've wanted to for so many years, but life happens, and I've found some time to make THIS happen. So, welcome to my blog, and I hope you find my entries amusing, if nothing else.

I've just cracked the bottle of Mad Dog across the bow of this vessel of scrawl, so please stay tuned for thoughts on current events, what's going on in my world, and, brain droppings.