Cats, Uncles, and Oceans

My family got a harsh lesson in compassion, humility, and life and death this week. And at the same time, a chapter in our lives and ties to the past came to an end. On Thursday, we put our cat Gypsy to sleep. She was our only real pet, besides countless attempts at fish, for fifteen years.

In October, Gypsy started making a strange smacking noise. Something was clearly bothering her. A few weeks later, the roof of her mouth started swelling. The vet put her on prednisone and we hoped for the best. But the growing tumor was stronger than the drugs. Over time, she started drooling and eventually began to rub her mouth on any sharp corner, obviously trying to ease the constant irritation. The vet had warned that her quality of life would deteriorate and that we would know when it was time to consider humane options. After marked weight loss and a dramatic increase in bleeding, a bad thing for a solid white cat, we realized that the time had come.Thursday afternoon, the kids said their goodbyes and we took her to the vet for one final visit. I was very impressed by the compassion and class demonstrated by the vet’s staff. But after saying our own goodbyes, an IV was inserted and she slipped off to a final sleep.

In emotional times, it’s easy to find connections that aren’t necessarily there or ordinarily sensed. Gypsy’s death could have been seen as symbolic of other surrounding foundations that have serious cracks and structural failures. Without a doubt, she was seemingly a final “living” connection to two important people from my past.Gypsy was one of dozens of kittens that were born underneath my grandmother’s house. One of nine sisters, my grandma Mullis was as country as country could be. She introduced me to “eggs and brains” and “souse meat”—don’t expect me to explain it here. Look it up for yourself. I refused to eat them then, and I still do. But she also always had cats, a constant source of entertainment for me as a child. In 1994, on the afternoon of my Uncle Harold’s funeral, we coaxed several kittens out from under the back of my grandmother’s home. Gypsy was the one carrying a chicken leg and growling at her siblings to keep them from her prize. I should have known then that she was going to be trouble.

My Uncle Harold was undoubtedly my favorite uncle during my childhood. He was retired militar, having served in the Air Force in Korea and Vietnam. He lived in Florida—on the beach where he owned a motel, no less—and always brought the coolest gifts back to Georgia. At an early age, to my mother’s dismay, he taught me to hate green beans and that a slice of cake could serve as a complete meal. When I was in elementary school, he moved to the Florida Keys to live in a boat. The ocean always seemed to call to him. And he loved cats, too. His favorite and most memorable cat was named Ten Speed. Suitably, Ten Speed was every bit the character as Uncle Harold. He would have liked Gypsy.

I think it was very appropriate that Uncle Harold died of a heart attack swimming in the ocean, a place he dearly loved. A few years back, my grandmother Mullis passed away, too. She died in a sad room in a nursing home. Suffering from Alzheimer’s, she probably died not knowing anyone around her. Oh that she could have instead died swimming in her own ocean.

Goodbye Gypsy. As far as I know, there’s no theological basis for pets finding their way to heaven, but I hope they do. I’d like to think of her playing right now with Ten Speed and Uncle Harold while Grandma looks on.

Memorial Day

So it’s Memorial Day and I picked a heck of a way to celebrate. Around the country folks are breaking out the grills, going to baseball games, and taking the first dip in the swimming pool. But for me, it’s a stomach bug. Instead of a cheeseburger or bratwurst, I’m trying to work up the courage to try some Jell-O. But I did find a way to remember. I’ve been watching war movies all day.

There were some really amazing epic war movies made in the 1960’s and 1970’s, including two that I watched today—Battle of the Bulge and The Longest Day. Films such as these, and Patton and Midway, served to wrap history around the glory and patriotism of American warfare. They were woven around decisive battles. And they demonstrated the heroes of Americans defending freedom. Sadly, after Vietnam, a majority of the war movies, albeit few in total, spent more time criticizing parties, policies and administrations. These films did much to erode the respect for soldiers bold enough to climb into a B-25 or charge a pillbox on Omaha beach. Thankfully, that trend took a major turn when Saving Private Ryan and Band of Brothers emerged in recent years.

Americans seem to always be looking for a hero—the next hero. Sports stars, musicians, and even a few politicians seem to be common fodder for the next American “hero”. Unfortunately, we as a country need a “Memorial Day” to remind us that true heroes fill the pages of the history books of American warfare. And, of course, new heroes are serving in Iraq and Afghanistan today.

So on this Memorial Day, I lift my glass of Sprite high—yeah, clear liquids for me for a while— to the soldiers of yesterday and today. Midway is coming on in a few minutes. With a cast like that, I’m sure I can muster the courage to pop open a strawberry Jell-O.

A Long Weekend

What a weekend. Sometimes I can’t imagine what other folks do with Saturdays and Sundays—watch television, sleep in, or play with their cat. I can't remember the last time I went out on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon to play golf. And at times like this afternoon, I envy them the moments of rest or solitude.

This past week, I picked up an unexpected wedding to photograph. That was a pleasant surprise, but nerve wracking considering I didn’t meet the bride until Friday night at the rehearsal. So after consulting with the bride and watching the rehearsal Friday, I spent most of the evening packing up my gear. Saturday , I spent six hours shooting the wedding, rushed to the wedding of a friend’s daughter, and then played with the band for the wedding reception. Thirteen hours in dress shoes. Four hours in a tux. Three hours playing trombone. And six hours with two Nikons hanging around my neck. By ten o'clock Saturday night, I could barely walk.

Sunday brought no rest. I spent the morning playing keyboard at church and then rushed off to a luncheon. Then I spent two more hours on stage with the Grapevine. But I did get some time to play with a fisheye lens and get some shots of the band for the Website. Oh, and did I mention that it rained?

So why do I do it? Why do I spend so much time chasing hobbies—probably because they are passions. They bring an outlet for creativity. And maybe because they take me to a place I can’t otherwise find in the reality of everyday life. Sometime soon I need some downtime, a chance to shut down and contemplate a few of those realities. But for now, it’s time to hit Photoshop.

Unfortunate Photo Ops

As a photographer, the idea of a dream photo shoot is captivating. What if I could shoot anywhere or anything I could imagine? A celebrity wedding? A sports photography gig at the Superbowl or the Masters? A supermodel shoot on a remote beach? So what would you do with a $328,000 budget, Air Force One, an iconic landmark, and an F-16? Chances are, even if you are a very mediocre photographer, you could do better than the truly awful image supposedly taken as a terribly controversial publicity photo. It is a poor photograph in every conceivable way—composition, saturation, and exposure, not to mention the bad shadow in the bottom right corner.

This past week, Louis Caldera, director of the White House Military Office, took responsibility for the blundered “photo op”, which took place on April 27, sending thousands of New Yorkers fleeing into the streets. Doubtless the fall guy for all of the other military brass and Obama administration wonks who had to also be knowledgeable of the mission, Caldera’s resignation was quickly accepted. And except for the likes of Jay Leno, who continues to use the incident as fodder for his jokes, the media has largely forgotten that it happened.It stands to reason that if the U.S. military and the Obama administration were to truly want a photo op of Air Force One and the Statue of Liberty, a professional photographer would have been involved. One glance and this terrible shot is suitable evidence that a pro had nothing to do with snapping this shot. Would the mission even be launched on such an obviously hazy day? And why use the cramped cockpit and solid bubble canopy of an F-16 as a photo platform? Air Force public affairs photographers do spectacular work. This photo is anything but spectacular.

But while the motivation for the Air Force One “photo op” is unclear, previous administrations and political candidates made critical errors in judgment. In 2003, President George W. Bush was at the controls of a Navy S-3B Viking as it landed on the deck of the U.S.S. Lincoln. The ship became the backdrop of Bush’s famous "Mission Accomplished" speech announcing the end of “major combat operations” in Iraq. It’s ironic that this photo op occurred on the Lincoln, named for an assassinated U.S. president, as the U.S. media did much the same to “W”.

Commenting on the Bush event, Sen. John Kerry, who was seeking the democratic nomination at the time said,"The president's going out to an aircraft carrier to give a speech far out at sea ... while countless numbers of Americans are frightened stiff about the economy at home." Oddly, neither Kerry or anyone else from the Democratic Party have seen fit to criticize a $328,000 photo op in the midst of a pronounced recession.

Most folks have probably forgotten the image of Michael Dukakis in the turret of a tank. Taken in 1988, the backfiring photo op of the presidential candidate in an Abrams M1 tank was very damaging to the Dukakis campaign and was ultimately used in future President George H. W. Bush’s campaign ads. Regardless of who you voted for, Dukakis just looks plain goofy in that helmet.

Back to New York in 2009, chances are, we will never know why the flight took place or who was on Air Force One while New Yorkers scrambled out of buildings below? And chances are, we will never see more images from this shoot or any other during Obama’s reign. But I’m sending my resume and portfolio to the White House, just in case there’s enough stimulus money left to fund my own photo op. Just imagine—me, my Nikon, an F-16, Air-Force One, and a supermodel. Hey, I said it was a dream photo op.

Shooting a Civil War Reenactment

Last week, I wrote about two upcoming Civil War reenactments in my community, the Battles of Sunshine Church and Griswoldville. Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to photograph both reenactments and other events surrounding them. It was a great opportunity to get in close to historically accurate reenactors, practice shooting in some very challenging circumstances, and learn some valuable lessons from comical mistakes.

On Saturday, I got up early to take advantage of some very nice morning light. The reenactors were conducting inspections and drills. There were authentic camps surrounding the battlefield, offering some great opportunities to shoot a number of kids in period dress. I’m still learning my new 70-200mm f/2.8 telephoto. In the morning light, narrow depth of field portraits of reenactors and family were plentiful. But the kids were my favorite, especially when I could catch them from a distance without them noticing me.

At some point during the morning, I was invited to be ”embedded” with the troops during the afternoon battle. So I put on a hot wool confederate outfit, complete with floppy hat, and set out to find a place to hide from the crowd out on the battlefield. I was also given a escort by the event coordinators. I’m certain his function solely to ensure I didn’t do anything stupid and get myself beheaded by a cannon or run through by a bayonet. We selected two “blinds” to shoot from and hunkered down for the battle to begin.

Early in the Battle of Sunshine Church, which the Confederates won, I realized just how challenging the photography was going to be. I was set up in the edge of a fairly dense stand of hardwood trees, and the shadows from the midday sun were deep. Out in front of me, the remainder of the battlefield was in full sunlight. To make matters worse, in the background, from practically every angle, were rows of spectators. I suppose this is where professionalism comes in. Time to get creative and make lemonade.

Soon after the battle started, my “guide” and I decided to move from the first blind to the second. Wanting to travel light and assuming that we would quickly return, I left my camera bag contain the rest of my lenses, armed only with one DSLR and the aforementioned 70-200mm 2.8. Save the troublesome lighting challenge, I was in a pretty good spot to shoot over the heads of a line of Union soldiers as they fired at Confederate troops advancing toward us. But the Union troops were in deep shadow and the southern soldiers were in very bright sunlight directly overhead. To make matters worse, gunsmoke from from the rifles and cannon quickly spread across the area, totally confusing my camera’s exposure meter.The final insult to my photographic skills, or lack thereof, came when the Union troops retreated to and then beyond my position. As quickly as they pulled behind me, the Confederate troops overran us, crowding to within four or five feet, quite the challenge with only one lens with a minimal focal range of 3.5 feet. I laid back in a tangle of vines and poison ivy, ignoring the fireants, and tried to find some creative close-ups, longing for the camera bag I could see, but could not reach.

The second day, the Battle of Griswoldville, proved a little less stressful. The Griswoldville battle is significant only in that it was the last resistance faced by Sherman on his March to the Sea. And resistance is a bit of an overstatement. The Confederate force was made up of local Georgia militia, mostly young boys and old men. They were virtually annihilated by the regular Union forces. I shot from the base of the hill covered with spectators and got a few really good shots, despite the bright sunlight.

Overall, it was a really fun weekend. I shot nearly 1,000 frames and got a couple hundred nice images, some of which I hope will either be published or sold. Regardless of the images, the most valuable thing was the experience of learning to never leave gear behind and to think ahead. For now, I’m still processing photos and hoping I get the opportunity again next year so that I can put some of these lessons to work.