Clouds after the storm...

Growing up in the great Northeast, the sound of the Weather Channel was almost as prevalent as the Black-Capped Chickadees singing outside. This is, of course, in the days before smartphones, weather apps and the gratification of instant forecasts.  My family tuned in, then scrambled to our respective corners- waiting for the ding of  “Weather on the Nines” (or sevens or whatever random number they chose that year). Like Pavlov’s dog, we’d all come dashing out, surrounding the TV to discover our impending weather fate.

Though the seasons are generally mild, we’ve certainly seen our fair share of severe weather- blizzards, deep freezes, pounding rain and heat waves are a few of the typical extremes Northeasterners deal with on a yearly basis. We’ve also grown accustomed to watching thin red lines scroll across the bottom of the TV screen, heeding warnings of possible hurricanes, flash floods and tornados. These warnings are usually followed by a light drizzle, a five-minute downpour or worst-case scenario- an intense storm with heavy winds, cracks of thunder and lightening that takes down a few  trees causing power outages and a few car accidents. In short, I’ve grown used to flat out ignoring the warnings of thin red lines and jittery weathermen.

Corn crop story...it was a bad year.

Around 5 pm this past Sunday, my reporter and I were standing in a cornfield on the picturesque landscape of Stokie Farms about 15 miles Southwest of Rochester. We were wrapping up a package on the condition this year’s corn and pumpkin harvest when the newsroom called to say that an honest-to-God tornado had touched down in Wayne County and they were dispatching us to the scene to cover the damage. I was skeptical, but since the weather lately has been pre-2012-possible-apocalypse crazy…I figured it could be true.

An hour and 15 minutes later we arrived  in Wayne County, N.Y. Savannah & South Butler to be precise.  As soon as we got out of the car, it became clear that the area had been hit hard. The damage was everywhere.  Residents stood outside their homes and gathered in the streets to swap stories. Visibly shaken and a bit overwhelmed by the chaos, they pointed us across the street where a giant, old tree had been uprooted. As we made our way over, a short burst of rain came down fast and hard, soaking us from head to toe. Not an ideal way to begin an evening of coverage an hour and a half from dry clothes…

In part II, I’ll explain the damage I photographed and some of the stories from the people who were hit the hardest. I’ll also talk about our attempts to broadcast live from the scene both Sunday night and Monday afternoon.

Big tree down and a new shed from the neighbor's yard!

Looking through the barn wall...

The line sounded like it could have been the chorus to an old Motown song. My colleague kicked his feet up and wrapped his hands behind his head with his arms spread out in the shape of a butterfly. He explained,

“Unless there’s breaking news, or uh…ya know shooting, stabbing, big fire, something like that, then yeah, we do a lot of sitting around on Sunday nights in the summer.” He laughed like a madman, as he often does, then ambled off to check his email.

As he walked away, another co-worker filled the spot with conversation of a new Hollywood film that’s set to be shot here in Rochester next month. Apparently this guy is “in” with the people who create production crews for the filming in the city and will most likely be a boom operator for scenes shot here. Eventually, our dialogue somehow steered from moviemaking, hours and part-time jobs to graphic stories from his adolescence. After his last story about two guys who put a light bulb in another kid’s mouth then punched him in the face, consequently filling the victim’s mouth with shards of light bulb glass- I excused myself to the parking lot for some fresh air. It’s not that I don’t enjoy a good “WTF” story every now and then…it’s just that this past week has been filled with tragedies and call me a sensitive sally but I could use a break.

I stood for about five minutes outside, breathing in the sweet, moist spring air before off in the distance I heard a muffled building page. I couldn’t hear who the desk was paging but somehow I just knew. I hung my head and walked in to meet my doom. I’d barely gotten in the door before the two producers were, literally,  jumping up, smiling and waving a sheet of directions.

“We have a working fire in Pittsford! Wanna go?!” She asked rhetorically of course.

“No…but I will anyway. Where is it?”

As I drove the 15 minutes to the fire I tried to look on the bright side. At least my “doom” was being sent to a fire as opposed to the prophesied Rapture. Darkly poetic, isn’t it?

When I arrived at the scene, it was as if Jesus really had come back. At least that’s what you’d think seeing the urgency and interest of the entire neighborhood, some standing behind yellow tape tied to trees, some running by me on phones telling their friends to ‘get down here man, this is crazy!’; apparently this part of Pittsford hasn’t experienced a good ol’ burner in awhile. That of course is a good thing. As I began getting my video a pretty, young police woman approached me. It must be that they’re trained in the academy to come on strong, rude and condescending when meeting someone for the first time. In fact, I dare say that nearly every time I’ve “met” a police officer, it’s been more of a confrontation; a confrontation begat by the badge.

“Ummm, exxcuuse me, who are you with?”

“Channel 13″

“Have you gotten everything you need then?”

“No”

“Then I’m gonna need you to step up on the grass, behind the tape just like eeeeveryone else here. The firemen are coming through here and still have a job to do!”

“Ok, no problem.”

She acted surprised at my instant willingness to comply and if my intuitions are right (which they’re often not but let’s just pretend they were), I detected a hint of embarrassment at the tone she’d taken with me. I walked up onto the grass with the rest of the rubberneckers thinking I’d probably just changed her life, or at least the way she would conduct her job in the future. Pure narcissism and definitely incorrect but a thought none-the-less.

I spent 10 minutes getting video then found a firefighter and asked if he could find the chief and tell him I’d like to interview him. The firefighter shook his head and told me that he would certainly relay the message but the Chief doesn’t like to talk to the media and probably wouldn’t until after the fire was over.

To my surprise the Chief walked over two minutes later.

“Gotta be good to our media friends…” he muttered. Somewhere in the last  five years or so, emergency personal have ditched their “Screw-the-Media” mentality and have become incredibly receptive to our presence. They even have their own twitter accounts and get upset if we’re not there. I have my theories about this newfound attitude but that’s another blog altogether.

I wrapped up the scene by interviewing a 19-year old boy who saw the flames and ran into the house to tell the homeowner to get out. It was endearing and comical the way he tried to deepen his voice as he gave his best “I didn’t think, I just did what I HAD to do. I’m not a hero…” speech.

The house was a total loss. The homeowners were ok but missing a cat. I drove back to the station where everyone was running around in a state of a panic. The server for show video was overloaded and there were still 6-8 stories that needed to be attached to the 11pm broadcast.

Yep…just another slow sunday.

The Hero

Ok, maybe I’ve done that last one once…but my point is that there are some things in this life that you just don’t do.  Scamming the elderly is one of them and that’s what this blog is about. Last week, a reporter and I interviewed a couple in their 80′s (the Curtis’) who claim they were scammed out of $3800 by Doug Shanley Jr. In fact, they won a lawsuit against Shanley in small claims court. In deeper fact, there have been multiple court judgements against Shanley Jr.. You can read the reporter’s story here.

We started by trying to track down Shanley himself. This was one of those news situations where we wanted to get an interview with him to hear his side of the story but ultimately we just wanted to get video of him. As we drove 50 minutes south to a possible residence of Shanley Jr’s., we discussed the mission.

 Whenever we (reporter/photog teams) go into a situation like this, I like to debrief with my colleague first. The circumstances surrounding these engagements are always different; as well contrasting philosophies from each reporter, photographer and news director on how to approach and handle each encounter. Sometimes the situation is high-risk/high-stakes so we roll up recording. This kind of down and dirty, shock and awe approach is generally reserved for guys like Shanley or someone who’s been accused or convicted of a crime. If we know the target is most likely to blow their stack or slam the door in our face, then we’ll be rolling. After all, you only get one chance. If however, the target is a victim or perhaps the situation is just too delicate or sensitive, then usually I’ll either wait in the car or just hang back with the camera ready to go.

This situation was closer to the first- we drove by the house and saw two women sitting on the front porch. As soon as we were out of sight, I pulled over, got the camera out and ready to roll. We then pulled up to the house ready for a heated confrontation, we were instead met by two very nice women enjoying the sun! The reporter asked if Mr. Shanley lived there. One of the women said yes, but that she was probably looking for Mr. Shanley’s son, Doug Shanley Jr. Jane said that yes, she was indeed looking for Doug Shanley Jr.

“He’s not here, he’s out on a construction site…” she said quickly while punching something into her phone.

“Well I uh…” the reporter said just before the woman stuck the phone in her face…

“Here, it’s ringing, talk to him.”

As I listened to the reporter talk to the elderly-scammer, I was struck at how impressively she handled the impromptu call.

“Hello Mr. Shanley, my name is ___ , I’m with channel 13 in Rochester…yes hi, I’m doing a story on contracting today and I was wondering if I could come talk to you about it….well, I’d like to talk to you about that when I get there…yes…. yes right well, I’d like to talk to you about that when I get there, where are you exactly?…ooooh, Canidice, wow, that’s really far….huh?…yes…well it’s a story about contracting….right, well I’d really like to talk to you about that when I SEE you but I think that’s too far for us to come today, will you be there tomorrow? Yes? Great, can I get your phone number and call you later? Great thanks!”

She hung up, we thanked the women and left. Apparently Mr. Shanley Jr. was excited about being on the news…little did he know…

As we drove to the elderly couple’s home we discussed our strategy on how we would arrange a meeting with Shanley Jr. and stay long enough to get some video of him. After all,  the world needs to know what this jerk looks like. If we didn’t get video or a picture, there would surely be more victims as Shanley Jr. rarely markets his business using his real name. In fact, in a bittersweet twist, he is currently selling his services under the DBA of Jesse James Construction. The irony obviously being that Shanley Jr. has multiple judgements against him that he refuses to pay. As I write this however, I realize that I don’t like comparing Shanley Jr. to an outlaw. Outlaws tend to go down in urban folklore in glorified rebels…Doug Shanley Jr. is just a scumbag.

Since the producers didn’t want to hold the story for day however, the reporter wound up doing a “phoner” with Shanley Jr. I didn’t know it was legal but in NY state, only one party needs to know that a phone conversation is being recorded. When the reporter confronted him he stuck to the ‘my attorney told me not to say anything’ line. Probably smart on his part.

The moral of this story is beware of Doug Shanley Jr….or should I say, Doug SHAMley Jr.!

I learned about the accident from listening to all the commotion in the newsroom. It was near the end of my day and getting close to broadcast time. We had two breaking news stories that afternoon and dispatched two crews to the scenes with live trucks. As the first video came streaming back from the SUV crash scene, my heart sank as I immediately recognized the field and building surrounding the accident. It was School #33 where my girlfriend Danielle works. Danielle has worked closely with city youth for the past five years. The first two years she worked at the Flint Street Community Center; the last three years, she’s been stationed primarily at that school, school 33, teaching preventative education workshops in various classrooms. This was the first time a news story would hit so close to home…

When I got home I layed down on the bed upstairs. It had been a long day and I tried to nap. Twenty minutes later Danielle came home.  I could hear her cheerfully singing  to herself as she closed the door downstairs and greeted the cats. Then her phone rang…I could only hear her shocked and sad answers as she talked to her co-worker. I knew exactly what he was telling her and by the tone of her voice, she clearly knew the boy.

When she came upstairs we talked about it. I filled her in on the details as best I could while she described to me what a beautiful, sweet and happy little boy he was. As she talked through it, a deep sadness welled up inside her until the tears came heavy, followed by questions we always ask ourselves in freak accident situations like this. Why.

After awhile of quiet mourning, she got up and went to my computer. She went to our website to watch the story we aired at 6. It was both of our first times watching the story and we were both equally angry at what we saw. It wasn’t so much the video of the police cars and children standing around the smashed-up SUV- or the live report describing the circumstances that was disturbing; it was the soundbite they carelessly chose to air.

Apparently we had two reporters at the scene and one of them found a pair of teenage girls willing to go on camera and describe their eyewitness account of what happened. More specifically the soundbite that aired- they described the little boy lying on the ground, eyes wide open, blood gushing from his head, his hand twitching, etc, etc. It was hard for me to listen to and I have thick skin by nature of the job. Danielle was incredibly upset by the girl’s description and asked me if they really had to air that. I told her probably not but that maybe she was overreacting because she was personally affected by this particular story.

I went back and forth on the idea, trying desperately to justify my colleagues actions. The more I thought about it though, the more I agreed with her (Danielle). The soundbite that was chosen was done so in poor taste and served only to sensationalize an already shocking and tragic story. As journalists, we’re put under high stress and strict deadlines on a daily basis but that does not give us an excuse to be ignorant or insensitive; we still own the obligation  to choose our content with integrity and responsiblity. In situations like this I believe we should handle our reporting  fairly but with respect to the victims and their families.

The two reporters who worked on this story are both very good at their jobs. One is a veteran journalist, the other is relatively new to the industry but a hard worker with solid writing and content. Both, in my opinion, should have known better than to air the grotesque SOT, however, this is how we learn and hopefully, from now on we can all think about the people who are listening to our reports before we air them.

It was 9 am on Saturday morning and I was holding a stack of press releases and mapquest directions as thick as my Union contract. The papers were the key to five different events in the Rochester area, all happening between the hours of 10am – 1pm. My Assignment Editor looked at the ground and let out  a deep, apologetic sigh.

“Yeeeeaah, I know. Tell you what, I can live without the RIT thing, I’ll have Will get that. He wants to work alone and Alexis is losing her voice.”

I accepted the comprimise and ran out the door, no time to waste.

My first stop was in Penfield where the entire population had gathered at the town hall for their Little League opening ceremonies. I was immediately struck by how seriously Penfieldites take their kid’s baseball experience. Two firetrucks parked at the entrance had raised their ladders as high as they would go and hung a gigantic U.S. Flag in between them. It was a garish show of patriotism usually reserved for more humble events like Memorial Day, Veteran’s Day or when a firefighter dies herocially.

Thousands of people gathered around the field cheering for their kids, coaches, firefighters…and Lou Gramm of Foreigner. Yes, Lou Gramm, the lead singer from the 80′s rock- hair band Foreigner is a Rochester native and agreed to sing the National Anthem for the extravegant opening ceremonies. As Lou belted out the awkward song*, I heard one excited Dad lean down and whisper to his son

“That’s Lou Gramm! He’s a legend…he’s a rock legend!” His son stared off into the sky, caring more about clouds than the aging rocker.

Giant flags and Lou Gramm…extreme.

Lou Gramm of Foriegner Sings National Anthem @ Penfield Little Leage Opening Ceremonies

Next I dashed off the the Dachshund Parade at Washington Square Park in downtown Rochester. This was one of the weirder events I’ve ever covered. I missed the actual doggie parade but did however, make it in time to hear the official Dachshund band sing the Dachshund anthem. I’m not kidding.

“Dachsieeeee, buy the Dachseeee/the best canine under the sun/All you weiners or sausage or hotdogs/We know that you’re number oooone.”

The song was led by a tamborine playing lady and a goat’eed man in sunglasses playing chords on a synth keyboard. The crowd sang along as best they could with yellow lyric sheets in hand. They were also encouraged to sing the second Dachshund song which was really just ”Oh Christmas Tree” rewritten with lyrics about the dog.

“Oh Dachsie dog, oh Dachsie dog/oh how we love you deeearly/Oh Dachsie dog, oh Dachsie dog/we sing your praises yeeeaarly…”

Dachshund Dog and Owner's Tattoo!

There were at least a thousand people there and a probably twice as many Dachshunds. The people wore shirts with Dachshund dog faces on them. Dachsund earrings, necklaces, headbands, towels, balloons…I had no idea there was such a market for Dachshund merchandise. The first woman I interviewed was about 60 and very proud of her new (and first) tattoo…a huge color portrait of her little brown dog’s face that took up most of her shin’s real estate. The tattoo was just about life-sized. This whole event was extreme.

The last two stories of the day are worth a mention but not nearly as exciting. One was a feel-good story about Habitat for Humanity building a woman a home and the last was Free Skin Cancer Screenings at Strong Memorial Hospital.

Yesterday, after my trip to Buffalo for the political circus, perhaps the most extreme news broke in the city of Rochester. In my opinion it ranks as one of the saddest stories of the year. It’s a story that touched me on a personal level and even called into question my own ethics and the journalistic integrity of my colleagues…

To be continued…

Jack Davis- an upstate, NY  entrepeneur who has spent millions running  for congress in 2004 and 2006 decided to hold his “big” event…at a hotdog joint on Transit Road. In my eyes, the 78 year old was fired up but incredibly out of touch.  In our interview with him, he insisted on two things; that one, he would save jobs and that two, the other candidates are lying about him. He made sure to scowl and deepen his voice upon this last point. After the quick Q&A with Davis, he put on his best “workin” man face and headed into the hotdog restaurant to shake hands and talk to the constituents. He made it a point to thank each person for coming out to see him, to which each person, in turn, stared back blankly- frankly confused by the weird old man in a suit. In a move ripped directly from the ‘shady politicians playbook’, Davis twice  tried to shake a child’s hand, asking each one arrogantly:

“Would you like to shake the hand of your future Congressman?”  The first boy stood in frightened shock shaking his head no. He moved next to a mother and little girl. When the little girl refused, Davis got downright creepy as he pursued a “touching” moment for the cameras.

“Would you like to shake the hand of your future Congressman?…No? Well then can I touch your hair? You have beautiful hair…”

It was weird. (continued below…)

Our next stop was to Salvatore’s Italian Gardens for Jane Corwin’s $150/plate fundraising lunch. Corwin’s event was the clear competition of the day, boasting Republican Speaker of the House, John Boehner as a special guest. From a media standpoint, the event was hot mess. We were quarantined to a small section of risers in the back of the room. If there was a media liaison, he/she was not there to help us. There wasn’t enough space for the number of journalists in the room. The mult-box for audio died and they didn’t have a back-up. This was the third time I’ve dealt with the Corwin camp as media and every experience has been bad. Apparently Jane Corwin is qualified to be our next Congresswoman because her family created the talking phonebook business and then sold it for millions. ??

The most entertaining part of the event for me was watching John Boehner eat. I know it sounds strange but he really dug in. Of course he was the distinguished guest and put on display at the head table but that didn’t stop him from eating every last bite. Even as Jane Corwin spoke about how happy she was that he was in attendance, he continued to chow down. The thought occurred to me that at this point, he’s made so many speeches and appearances that the food is, perhaps, the only thing he has to look forward to!

Last but not least was Kathy Hochul and camp medicare. As we crowded into her headquarters, I surveyed the room. 20-30 elderly folks, a few young volunteers and walls that looked like they’d been decorated by 3rd graders. Little stars cut out of construction paper held the names of people who had helped with her campaign. A large sheet of paper with a title scribble “Stuff We Need!” hung close by with a list of supplies that could have easily been mistaken for a back-to-school shopping trip. ‘Scissors, tape, folders, pens, etc’. Among the people in attendance included a woman talking to her dog and an old lady who constantly licked her lips with an oversized tongue and talked like mini-mouse.

We finished the day close the way we started it…at a hotdog restaurant. Only this time we were eating a well-deserved lunch at Ted’s Hotdogs, luckily no politicians in sight!

I read the text message quickly and without much thought as I was standing on a dark street in a bad neighborhood, haggling with a cop over information. 

“???” I responded.

Occasionally my girlfriend will call or text me with questions about local or national news. Sometimes I know the answer, most of the time I don’t.  This time I didn’t because an hour earlier I’d been sent to an accident on the corner of Goodman and Clinton. The police had blocked off the street there and people were calling our station asking why. When I arrived at the address, I came upon one of the strangest accidents/crime scenes I’ve ever been witness to. Five men in varying degrees of casual dress were standing around a smashed up car. Three of them had large brooms and were busy sweeping up pebbles of glass and debris. One of the men approached me…

“Hey man! I was the one! I found the girl and pulled her out of the car. That’s why I have blood all over me.” He said enthusiastically as he tried to shake my hand. I politely showed him my camera and declined. I asked him what girl he was talking about…

“The girl man! The 9-year old girl, she was hurt pretty bad man. I’m not a real emotional guy but that got to me. Come on over and take some pictures…I’m cleanin this up.”

As I walked over it became clear that this wasn’t your typical accident clean-up crew. In fact, as they began talking to me, I started to realize they were all drunk. Really drunk. One of the men was sitting in the door of an apartment building adjacent to the wrecked car. He smirked and asked where the real reporter was.  I told him it was just me. He had dark purple circles around his eyes, wine in one hand and a great tan. He slurred his speech and waited for me to recognize his name after he told me. I didn’t, which bothered him a lot.

Romanoooo? Carmen Romaaanooo? Like, of Golden Tanssshhh?? You know, the commershellshs?!” **

“Oh yeah!” I said, pretending to know.

“Yeah, soooo, yeah. My Dad’s a buisnessman. He can’t know I’m talking to you but this is big man. You want a big story man? Thish is it! The cops man…Ahm jus sayin…why’re we cleanin this shit up?! Why   are weee     cleanin this shit up?”

He had a point.

“That lil girl man…I pulled BAGGIES out of her pocketsh maaan. Mother fuckin police didn’t even wanna look at em.”

“What, like drugs?” I asked

“Uhhh, yeah like drugs!” He answered, sounding a lot like Charlie Sheen. “You wanna real sshhtory…stick around man.” As he said this he walked out on the street and jumped on the one remaining police car. “Take it from a 3-time felon man!”

I was tempted to explain to Tan-Man- the irony of  his final statement- and tell him, for his own sake, to never, ever say it again…but I let it go.

Turns out the accident was a hit and run. The merry fellows claimed it was some kind of drug deal gone bad. This information came from Tan-Man’s prostitute, who also claimed that she heard gunshots before the accident. An hour later I was walking down the street, camera and tripod in hand as two neighborhood hippies pulled me aside.

“Hey man, what happened? I heard some little girl was shot up with a machine-gun man.”

This was entertaining because it was such a great example of how quickly information spreads and becomes something totally inaccurate and ludacrous.

“Dead.” That was the last text message from my girlfriend before I packed up to head back to the station. I thought about it as I drove back and how this would be one of those moments in history where everybody remembers where they were when they heard the news.

** Names have been changed to protect the, er, innocent…and me.

Scene of the kneel.

This morning I drove out to a horse stable/riding arena to photog an interview with a 17 year-old girl who’s had heart surgery three times. Jennifer Johnson- one of our morning reporters- has been enterprising a feature series on people who have gone through some kind of major heart surgery and come out on top.  The girl we interviewed, Britney, was pretty and upbeat with a nervous giggle. A typical 17 year-old, she was more upset about missing her Homecoming dance than having to go through the surgery!

After the interview, I spent some time getting video of Britney riding a horse. I spent five minutes shooting her walking, trotting and finally galluping around the wide open indoor arena. A photographers natural instict is to find different perspectives on the same scene and we really love our low angle shots. So, without thinking, I knelt down and set the camera on a small patch of hay.  As my knee sunk into the wet, dark, mysterious horse dirt, I recalled my conversation with Britney’s father on the way in and how I told him that I was ‘used to this kind of place because I grew up in a rural area’. I simultaneously wondered if perhaps I had just unwittingly spead horse poop on my nice blue jeans.

I stayed down for about 10 seconds, just long enough to make the parents, stable-keepers and Jennifer think that I had done this on purpose, with conviction- because I really, really wanted that shot.

As we were leaving the stable, Britney’s Mom turned to me and casually rolled her eyes and whispered…

“You’re gonna smell like this the whoooole day!”

The best part is, I forgot to change my pants when I got home. As my girlfriend put her hand on the huge brown stain on my knee she sympathetically asked

“Oh honey, what happened?….Why are you laughing?”

It’s hard to explain the look on her face when I told her that there was a chance she just put her hand in dried mud mixed with Horse-poop particles!

 Every year The Associated Press has a contest with all kinds of newsy categories. “Best Spot News”, “Best Feature”, “Best Sports Coverage” etc. Every year each station scrambles to find their year’s best stories which they send off to be judged alongside every other news station in their quadrant of the country. For the past three years, I have been the guy who scrambles to put our station’s stories on DVD; two years at WETM and this year at WHAM. Now, I’m all for healthy competition. Awards make people feel good and give stations something to brag about. That’s great. My problem with the AP Awards is a personal one. Here’s what happened:

Last year, while I was still at WETM in Elmira, my News Director had me find all the stories he wanted to enter and put them all on DVD and in exchange he would pay for me to enter a couple of my stories for the category of “Best Photojournalism”. I was excited because I had put a lot of work into many of the features we ran that year during our sweeps period. I spent three long days putting everything together. We shipped them off and I was excited. *I’ve never won any award for my photography* and I was sure that the work I submitted was worthy.  

I was told that the categories would be judged in the winter months and I would know the outcome by April. April came and went, so did the spring. I gave up asking if anybody had heard anything. My excited, naive anticipation never stopped though and when the winners were finally announced… I didn’t win. What absolutely kills me though, is that NOBODY won for the category of “Best Photojournalism”. In what has to be a completely apathetic and unprecedented move, the station that was judging the categories decided to just not declare ANY formal winner in that category! I was furious about it (and apparently still am). Not only did they NOT assign a winner to that category, they also never explained why, nor has any official representitive of The Associated Press. I’ve never heard of such a thing. I wouldn’t even be upset if someone else won, but pick someone for God’s sake!  Perhaps there’s a rule somewhere that states

 ’If the Judges find they are, in fact, too lazy, inept or apathetic to assign a winner to a particular category, then NO winner shall be assigned, thus hurling the category-contestents into a deep, dark hole of rank and status limbo.’

It was ridiculous and it made me very, very mad. There. I feel better now.

* Actually, as a side-note, a reporter won Best Feature in 2008 for a story that I shot and edited. I took a lot of time with the piece, complete with animations, graphics, effects- the whole she-bang. When the congratulatory email went out, I was never mentioned. When the reporter went to the official awards ceremony in Albany, she was allowed to take one guest…she took the 5pm producer who, consequently, had nothing to do with our story, at all. She also never acknowledged this as a faux pas, although she did tell me twice that she never would have won without me…in the privacy of edit bay 4. Yeah, I’m a little bitter.

The video in question was a medium- framed shot of a river. Actually, the bottom half was a typical dark brown, flowing river. The top half of the screen was composed of  the riverbank, lush with trees, brush and generally leafy over-growth. As a viewer, at first glance you don’t even notice the true subject of the shot; a fairly large, light-brown log, leaning into the river on a bit of an angle. A longer gaze however, draws the eye to a fairly large log- the only pronounced object separating the muddy river from the green bank. If you look even harder you see what appears to be something stuck to the left-back side of the log. This “something” is the object of heated contention, the center of the controversy, the decrepit, bloated torso of a man wearing a black and white, vertically striped shirt, laying face down in the water, seemingly stuck to the log.

This all sounds horrificly morbid, and it is. It is also my job to photograph it, and furthermore , as journalists, it is our job to sit around at the station as a group and debate the moral and ethical balance pertaining to the gravity of decisions on what to show the public.

This scenario of debate over journalistic integrity is not new. It has played out hundreds of thousands of times, in every legitimate newsroom over the past 200 years of modern press. Our job is to be objective, however, these situations are trying and test the grit of a journalists personal and emotional convictions. In this case, the body was there but barely visible, unless you knew what you were looking for…and even then the grotesque was visually nothing more than a lump on a log **.

** In fact, if there is to be any comic relief in this, albeit dark comic relief, it’s a shot I got of two kayakers, paddling along at a medium-pace. I let the camera roll and waited in suspense to see if they would notice the decomposing man only 10-15 feet from where they were boating; gabbing away, leisurely floating by. As I watched them through the viewfinder, I imagined different scenarios. Mostly I envisioned them looking to the right, then frantic pointing and screaming! The horror-movie scene never happened though. The kayakers were focused intently on what was directly in front of them and passed by without a dropped beat of conversation. My morbid imagination gave way to relief. It would be a terrible thing to see that close…it also made for a great 5 seconds of video!**

“Absolutely not. No way. We are NOT showing a dead body on TV. No WAY. NO how. Uh-uh, nope, we are not going there.”

The anchorman for the 6pm show was adamant and firmly resolute in his decision to NOT air the body-shot. After another photographer (photog A) argued in favor of including the body-shot, Anchorman became more and more passionate in his already fixed tone.

“No! THAT is somebody’s father…or brother or Grandfather. How would you like to be watching the news and see your dead family member, floating in the water?! We are a family program. Kids watch this show! Absolutely not.”

“There’s no gray area here guys, it’s a dead body, we don’t show bodies.” Added a different photographer (photog B).

(Photog A)   “Yeah? Then whyyy did Nate get the shot? It’s good video! You can’t even tell what it is! If it’s that big a deal then I say we put a freaking blur effect around the body. Boom. Done.”

Anchorman (very upset and bold at this point): ” I said NO! No blur, no body. Do NOT include that shot. The news director would agree with me. This is not war video. We are NOT CNN. We’re not showing it. End of story.”

And it was. I didn’t air any of the body shots. Although… I was really, really tempted to when I read the script. The first line read (and I’m not kidding):

‘At 9am this morning, a pair of kayakers noticed a body tangled in a log on the side of the Genesee River.’

What do you think?