Jet, Reflected

For all the words I used trying to describe my ride on Flatbed One, Jerry Wolford summed it up in a single frame. Actually, I bet the News & Record photographer popped off more than one shot as he lay in front of that puddle of standing water. I myself watched him recline there for a good ten minutes, before turning my attention back to the jumbo jet in question. While I transmitted pictures that dissipated on impact, he triggered an image that'll last forever. The nerve of that guy...

His Cubicle a Kingdom

So here I sit, clicking around for something to blog about and the internet burps up John Brummett. No, I've never heard of him either, but apparently he's a very big deal in Arkansas. Why else would he weigh in on the efforts of a medium he considers so beneath him? Could it be he's a higher life form than the rest of us? Or just some deskbound gasbag who's not dealing very well with the death of his discipline? You decide, I'll report:

Our story begins in Little Rock, where local affiliate KATV 7 is trying out a new newsgathering tactic on their website. 'Choose Your News', they call it; an interactive feature that allows viewers to pick a two-minute news story from a pre-determined list. The story that scores the most votes will be covered on-air, via Twitter and anywhere else KATV sees fit to stick it. Is it revolutionary? Not really. Is it a little cheesy? Certainly - and for my liking, w-a-y too candy colored. But I'm guessing none of that bothers terminally cute Kristin Fisher who wrangles and fronts Choose Your News both on-line and on that magic box in your living room.

John Brummett, on the other hand, is stricken with indignation. Seems he's a Columnist/Reporter for some-thing called the Arkansas News Bureau and he doesn't cotton too well to the unwashed masses being in charge of their news line-up. I also have it on good authority that he's vehemently against ball-point pens as well, for they can't possibly compare to the old school etchings of a trusty No. 2 pencil. Okay, I made that last part up, but judging from Brummett's turgid dismissal of Choose Your News, I wouldn't be too shocked if he were anti-eraser as well. But enough of my derision; let the man speak for himself...

“I am so old that I remember when news professionals - trained news hounds who got called editors - beheld the contemporary landscape each day and decided with supposed professional and experience-seasoned expertise what to assign reporters to cover. We didn’t take a poll. We didn’t ask anonymous yahoos with laptops and BlackBerrys and other telephonic gadgetry to click on some icon and dictate our activities.”

Uh, John? Those 'yahoos with laptops' are/were your readers. They've got Twitter accounts and magic Crackberries, blue tooth gizmos wedged in their ears and cell phones that can launch space shuttles. They've got home computers that can replicate the output of some TV stations I've worked for and Tivo's that know which episodes of 'What Not To Wear' they've already seen. What they probably don't have is a newspaper subscription. Even if they do, I doubt they have a dying need for some troglodyte in a clip-on tie to tell them what the world (or even Arkansas) looks like. That three-masted vessel has sailed, my friend and it took my job security and your overly-developed sense of entitlement with it. Surely they printed something about in your paper. Go grab it out of the drive-way... I'll wait

Oh - and just so you don't think I'm some Millenial in a spangly t-shirt, a little disclosure: At almost 42, I'm closer to your age than that of Ms. Fisher. While I do work for one of those crass television stations, I consider myself something of an ex-patriate. I've many friends in the newspaper industry and while I consider them some of the smartest people I know, humility ain't their strong suit. Even those few, who - as you apparently do - consider all this new media just a passing fad, are smart enough to keep their beliefs off the opinion page. Why, your printed assertion is about as silly as us TV folk getting all worked up over this. It's a new world, John. Everyone in corporate media is feeling the rub, from the bloated columnist who considers his cubicle a kingdom to the overly verbose cameraman who sits up all night surfing around for inspiration.

Just try not to make us look so bad, would ya?

Flatbed One

Say what you will about Dubya; the guy’s on time. He and Air Force One swooped down from the heavens right on schedule today, rolling to a stop in front of a camera platform filled with shivering press. I was but one among them, a flinty lenslinger squinting into the morning sun as jet fumes permeated my every pore. That’s right: I got sucked into the mix. What can I tell ya? One day I’m stalking housewives at a discount thrift store, the next I’m being felt up by a guy in camouflage while two of his buddies fondle their wands. Turnabout’s fair play, deputy- but unless there’s more in my pockets than a couple of half-dead Double A batteries, can we skip the orifice probe ... please? I am a married man. Hmm? Right - where was I? Oh yeah, freezing my tripod off in front of the Decider in Chief. Yeah, by the time he emerged from the depths of his most tricked-out ride, I’d been on scene for nearly three hours. But I hadn’t spent the time daydreaming...

Instead I tore through my morning with Presidential zeal, deciphering the many conflicting edicts handed down by men with sunglasses and sour dispositions, grappling with testy electronics and - as always - carrying out the mission and whims of my perceived superiors. There were times this morning I feared my cell phone was going to burst into flames from sheer overuse Who gets dragged off to Guantanamo Bay if that happens - HMMMM? It won’t be the weather bunny. Anyway, let’s review: It was an early morning and quite the cold one. I presented my credentials and entered non-negotiations with the Secret Service on the matter of where we local folk might park our TV trucks. After more than a few furtive gestures, it was decided we could perch alongside the tarmac’s edge and thread our cable over the fence. This we accomplished quickly, despite a flurry of calls telling us A.) they’ll break into programming the moment the pilot throws that jumbo jet in Park, B.) the 5 and 6 o clock producers both want separate packages and C.) Can the chatter - we’re streaming this live to the web and that last knock-knock joke was borderline offensive!

As for the President, he came, he waved, he went. Sure, he presented some elderly women with a service award, but the details of their exchange were lost to the echoes of the tarmac. From where I stood, she could have been Leslie Nielsen in a dress and a shawl, I dunno. What I do know is, no matter how I might gripe, I’m well equipped to ride this flatbed trailer bound for nowhere. The people beside me are cool - if not a bit smart-alecky and who really needs feeling in your face this early in December, anyway? Pointing a camera at an airplane doesn’t require too much skill and after a nice quiet Thanksgiving break, I’m just the man for the job. I just worry about Chad. All was going well with my reporter for the day until those civilians took one look at his sensible dark suit and mistook him a Secret Service Agent. At first he laughed it off, but now he’s talking into his shoe again.

Hope he’s ordering a pizza.

Book Review: Agent Zigzag

History bristles with heroes, cads and villains. Eddie Chapman was all three. A British conman who found himself a convict in the opening days of World Wart II, he volunteered to work for the Germans - if they'd spring him from the klink. They did and soon Eddie was whisked away to Paris - where shadowy spymasters trained him in the dark arts of espionage. The young grifter took to it, and quickly prepared for a top-secret return to London. But when a bungled parachute jump left the young spy muddy, bloodied and stunned in an English celery-patch, he stumbled to the closest constable and turned himself in. A double agent was born. In Agent Zigzag, Ben Macintyre unfurls the unlikely life story of Eddie Chapman - dashing adventurist, irascible liar, sworn horndog. Global infidelity was his specialty: staring down Nazi interrogators, sneaking around on his keepers, wooing trumpets in every port. Known as Fritz in the Fatherland and ZigZag in the UK, Chapman worked the war for fun and profit, pledging allegiance to who ever was paying the bill at the time. But in elegantly lecherous fashion, this bon vivant proves himself a statesman of sorts, a top operative of the Allies, a weasely hero, an International Man of Mystery. No wonder Tom Hanks just bought the rights. And as for who to cast as Zigzag? Ehhhh ... Matthew McConaughey - if he can master three languages and keep his shirt on. Good luck with that.

Scenes from a Turkey Shoot

By now, even the Vegan at your table has watched the Sarah Palin turkey video. You know – where the MILF that might have been King yammers into a lens while some leering farmhand lops the head off the family bird. Yeah, that one. For a week it’s flickered across the internets, convincing some the Alaskan Governor is evil incarnate while proving to others she’s got just the kind of pioneering student we’ll need in D.C. come 2012. But the clip in question hasn’t just riled up the partisan clowns; it’s made the week uneasy for the photog who shot it.

And what a photog! Scott Jensen is the National Press Photographer’s Association’s Photojournalist of the Year, a title even detractors of the polarizing NPPA cannot easily dismiss. He’s been lauded by industry press, turns powerful stories in major shops and enjoys legendary status among those who keep up with such things. But now a silly photo-op with the nation’s hottest hockey mom has thrust Jensen into a brighter spotlight. Among the chattering classes, he’s being both praised and villified for what he did - and - didn’t do. At b-roll.net, colleagues and strangers are debating the case with fundamental fervor, while over at Wonkette, they’re proclaiming him 'An American Hero'. That’s awfully strong mojo for what should have been a pretty forgettable gig.

So what do I think? I’m glad you didn’t ask. We’ll get to that in a minute. First, though, let’s review the facts:

By his own admission, Jensen horned in on another crew’s interview set-up and persuaded all involved to adjust the shot. That’s not the least bit odd; it’s a crowded field and I’ve sidled up to many a lenser from ‘across the street’ (though I usually settle for whatever background this lack of tactic affords me). Jensen then framed his shot just as it appears, even warning the Governor of the ensuing slaughter so clearly visible behind her. “That's fine,” Palin reportedly replied, “Let the people see where their food comes from." Did they! No sooner did the tape rolled than Alaska’s most ill-timed farmhand strolls into the shot and stares at the camera crew as if it’s an alien spaceship,all while wrestling plump, feathery fowl into the ole head remover. Alaska’s leader rambles on, the Grim Reaper of Turkeys earns his pay and yet another Alaskan bird meets its maker. Through it all, Jensen rides his wide shot. It makes for compelling television – but for all the wrong reasons. To his credit, the award-winning photog has not hidden from the onslaught of criticism. On b-roll.net’s raucous message board, he’s vigorously defended his actions, or lack thereof:

'I'm a photojournalist. It is my goal to convey every scene I shoot as close to reality as possible. I want truthfulness over tastefulness - every time. From my perspective the background dominated the scene. It wasn't way off in the distance. It was like ten feet away! Guess what?! It really was distracting! Askanyone who was paying attention. The video I made portrayed the scene exactly. I believe that is what we are supposed to do.'

Mayhaps. But a bedrock principle of television interviewing is the avoidance of distracting backgrounds. Some bug-eyed goon beheading livestock easily qualifies as such. Alerting Palin to the carnage absolves one of responsibility, I guess – but it’s just bad tee-vee to let ancillary action dominate a talking head shot. NOT zooming in opens you up to a world of criticism; even if you wish the Governor’s already tarnished reputation no harm, it’s hard to explain why you didn’t follow every cameraman’s instinct and clean up the frame. That said, it’s difficult not to let walking cartoons prove themselves worthy of all that two dimensional scorn. Protecting her image (and future) is the duty of her staff, not some TV news photog, no matter how highly a decorated one. Me – I would have zoomed in, not so much to hide the turkeycide, but to rob the looky-loo of his unscheduled stare-down. While no real fan of Palin, I would have filed her further embarrasment under shit I don’t need. Scott Jensen’s deservedly sterling reputation will survive this flap, but I can’t help but wonder if he wishes he’d tightened up. Perhaps he’ll log in and tell us.

Now do you see why I avoid covering politics?

Searching for Pergola

Screw Indiana Jones. I wanna watch a movie about this guy!



Here's what we know...

"James Pergola, 37, of Bronxville, New York, Pathe News cameraman, who was among the nineteen persons listed aboard the palatial 1937 cross-country airplane reported sighted at Evanston, Wyo. After being missing for more than twelve hours, the United Airlines westbound "mainliner" with 16 passengers and a crew of three, was last heard over Rick Spring the night of October 17. Mr Pergola joined Pathe News in 1930. In 1933 he spent five months filming the Cuban Revolution. In 1932 and again in 1935, he toured the United States during political campaigns with President Roosevelt."

A cursory search of the interweb turns up little else about this pioneering lenslinger, other than the fact that he was aboard the flight that killed him because he was filming a newsreel on... airline safety. Ironic, yes - but I'm more interested in how this swashbuckler lived than how he died. What little we do know could already fill a few sequels...

Anybody know more about the late, great James Pergola?

(Photo on loan by Amanda Emily)

UPDATE from Emily:

Mr Pergola, who was thirty-seven years old, was one of the leading camera men of his concern, specializing in feature assignments. He joined the Pathe staff in 1918 as assistant camera man, and had been a full fledged operator since 1924. Previously he had been connected with motion picture studios in Long Island City, joining Fox Movietone with the coming of sound films. Mr Pergola was said to have been the first to make a sound film of the late John D. Rockefeller.

Bliss at the Abyss

Should a physician ever tell me I’ve only months left to live, I’m heading straight for the nearest City Council meeting - for there, time stands still. Take this morning, for instance. It was only thirty minutes or so, but the time I spent trapped in the innermost chamber of my fair burg’s municipal complex felt like something akin to waterboarding. Luckily, I had my imagination there to protect me. That and a well-honed ability to defocus my mind’s until I’m damn near catatonic was all I had to fend off the effects of a backwards traveling second hand. Yes, in the time it took the assembled incumbents to decide what kind of screws to use on the city’s new lampposts, I conjured whole operas out of tabletop dust motes, achieved Enlightenment Level 3 on the yoga scale and at one point, left my body altogether.

What else could I do? My reporter for the day was in the corner pretending to take notes, I already had a dozen shots committed to disc and that creepy dude from the Free Weekly was looking’ at me funny. It was either float up there by the ceiling tiles in some transcendental state or attempt a flying dropkick that would no doubt land me in some manner of incarceration. Thus, I chose to chill, drilling holes in the highly-buffed mahogany tabletop with my eyes while willing my leg not to twitch too much and upset the sheriff’s deputy wedge there in the corner. Yeah, that one - the one mumbling all of Charleton Heston’s lines from Planet of the Apes. You think I’m dangerous. That cat’s got most of a Big Gulp on board and more than a few bullets in his right breast pocket. Drop anything heavier than a briefcase in here and he’ll pop up like that fat kid from Full Metal Jacket.

I’ll be hiding under the Mayor should the SWAT team ask about me.