Check out the fellas. Have you ever seen a modder squad of hepcat photogs than this leisure suit set from mid-Seventies Scranton? I think not. Truly, I like EVERY-thing about this photo, from the retro film cameras to the garishly-striped News Pinto to the cocky look on that little Mr. Magoo dude second from the left. But this is just one shot from a treasure trove of dated newsgathering images on display at The WDAU-TV Review, a comprehensive sight lovingly assembled by one Carl Abraham. YOu don't have to be a flaming TV News geek like myself to enjoy this broadcast time-capsule, but it probably doesn't hurt. The hairstyles alone are worth the trip.
It was the dawning of the age of ‘
I digress though, which is probably something you should expect by now. I’m just trying to capture the madness of that brief point in time in the early Nineties, when every hard-ass with a badge clamored for close-up and I was welcome anywhere. Take the early morning drug bust. A time honored tradition among the tri-county taskforce set, these pre-dawn raids on street level dealers are more fun than a thousand stale press conferences. Laws and attitudes have changed since then, but for a brief time in the early nineties, the local ‘cop shop’ beat was a wild west frontier of its very own. I of course, was a willing participant and not always a very smart one. Back then I’d strap myself to the hood of a police cruiser if I thought it meant a funky shot. At the very least, I’d get up early and meet a rolling posse of undercover agents for a breakfast of grits and biscuits before ‘jumpin’ in shotgun’ for a few dozen rounds of squad car round-up. Back then, even I loved the smell of mace and videotape in the morning.
But it rarely amounted to that, as the targets of these raids barely batted an eye at the sudden ambush of handcuffs and high-and-tight haircuts. Mostly they seemed annoyed at the timing of said arrest, much like a sailor learning he’s about to deploy. More than a few cocked an eyebrow at me, taking in my lens and logo as stocky men in jeans and windbreakers went through his pockets. Sometimes they’d smile to reveal gold teeth or point me to their tattoos. Other times they’d swell their chests and shoot prison yard stares at my never blinking lens. Once a huge redneck in an unbelievable mullet body checked me into a wall as his beefy escorts dragged him out of his double-wide. Perhaps by accident, the deputies missed the last step coming out of the trailer and the shackled man went down hard on the concrete before being stuffed into a marked car.. More likely, the sworn officers were simply on a task force high, intent on carrying out Operation Pipe Cleaner or Task Force: Elm Street or whatever manly code name they were using that week to make themselves feel like they were on a much nobler mission, not just escorting guests through the revolving door of our nation’s justice system.
However I wasn’t there to judge, but to record it for the greater good - or at least a tease-able story in the Six. If I was jazzed on the access, some of the Po-leece were a little over the top. I remember one marathon ride-along when a certain police chief who popped up front and center in my lens, (
The deputies nearly choked on their chewing tobacco laughing at the man as they drug him out of his bedroom. Later we chuckled about the man‘s remark again, gathered out by the roadside like the Scooby-Doo Gang at the end of an episode. But I had to run, as my bosses wanted a noon live shot from the police station. I made it that day and ended turning my umpteenth early morning drug round-up into quite a bit of evening newscast fodder. By the time I headed for home that night I had worked a 14 hour day. Ninety minutes after I arrived at my apartment, my wife shook me from a deep sleep and thrust car keys in my face. Eighteen hours later, we welcomed our firstborn child into the world.
As a TV nerd growing up in Saulston, N.C., I spent an awful lot of time watching the local news broadcasts emanating from Capitol City. Raleigh was only 45 minutes away of course, but the glitzy world of WRAL seemed a million miles away from my flat, rural locale. With a simple twist of the dial to 
Fast forward 25 years. I now know WRAL to be a giant to the East - a fabled place I once intended to work at, until I wandered into the hallowed halls of El Ocho. Ever the innovators, RAL has long impressed me (and legions of others) with their forward thinking. Now, their respected photog staff is taking a small step (and a giant leap) into the blogosphere, launching a 
What a wonderful description of my chosen craft! By allowing their talented staff to expound on their adventures, WRAL is taking full advantage of the kind of in-house creativity present in photog lounges far and wide. They're also extending a new kind of access to their viewers, providing an eager peek behind the curtains that fans of all TV stations are known to clamor for. I look forward to the day when all broadcast outlets embrace the information renaissance that blogging represents. So extend a hearty welcome to the lenslingers of WRAL and Good Luck - as keeping a site vibrant can be a bitch! But as the 
Having just led a family safari through the 
Like today. With every mile I put between me and the station, the clearer the horizon appeared through the windshield. For a while, anyway. Squinting in the distance, I noticed the station’s tower looming over a far-flung treeline, it’s strong signal penetrating my thick skull. Suddenly crumpled papers and scribbled dates appeared on the worn screen inside my head, flashing scenes of future gigs and annual sojourns: In two weeks I’ll travel to Memphis for a whirlwind tour of the