Big Enough to Swallow a Man Whole

 

 

 

 

Just about every fishing story you’ve ever heard contains those words. And by the end of the story, it turns out the “fish” miraculously got away by some unfortunate turn of events.

 

Well, this one didn’t get away. But then again, it’s not a story about a fish.

 

It’s about the Siemens Energy facility in Charlotte, NC, and that “fish” is a huge generator that can truly swallow a man whole - several men whole as a matter of fact.

 

Siemens was founded by Werner von Siemens in 1847 and developed long distance telegraph networks. Over the years the company has grown and diversified. Today, Siemens has become a global company focusing on three major sectors: Industry, Energy and Healthcare.

 

The company is expanding its facility to meet a growing demand for large gas turbines used by electric utilities,investing $135 million dollars in the expansion.

 

This makes Siemens a really big fish in the Charlotte-area pond.

Striking Yukon Gold

Their dirty hands inspect the gems dug out of the ground as the machine moves them by, separating each one by its size.

Grading happens quick. And it better. There crates upon crates to be looked over. And, as the cliche goes, there are only some many hours in the day.

That’s the job of a potato researcher at the Vernon G. James Research and Extension Center in Plymouth, NC.

You hear about cut, clarity and color when it comes to diamonds. But when it comes to potatoes, the group from North Carolina State University is judging each batch on weight, quality and size. They’re looking for the next great variety of potato. And they just might have found it, buried in a field in Plymouth, NC.

The Circus Comes to Town

 

 

I recently spent a few days in Martinsville, VA, photographing for the Images Martinsville/Henry County, VA, Magazine put out by the Martinsville/Henry County, VA, Chamber of Commerce.

 

One thing I try to do during trips like this is what is traditionally called “feature hunting.”

 

It’s a term from my newspaper days and is the subject of a great book by Dave LaBelle called “The Great Picture Hunt.” Just about anyone who has come through a photo-j program in the past 20 years has heard of this book. It was first printed in 1989 and has now given rise to “The Great Picture Hunt 2.”

 

Feature pictures are the slice of life photos. Ones that show a part of a community that people may not see, even though it’s right in front of them. That’s part of my job as a photographer; to show the reader a part of their world that they may never have seen.

 

I have to admit, it’s a lot easier to feature hunt in a community that isn’t necessarily your own. One that you don’t drive through day after day, looking for something new. As a photographer that parachutes into a new community every other week, just about everything I come across is new.

 

That’s what happened with this photo, along with a little bit of luck.

 

I just happened to drive by this mural on Main Street in Martinsville. I thought it would make an interesting picture but just needed another element to go along with it. My first thought was it would be great to get somebody walking past it. I sat on the curb for a good 15-20 minutes; waiting.

 

Soon I realized that probably wasn’t going to happen.

 

Lucky for me there were flags lining the streets. I just framed the mural with one of the flags. It wasn’t a bad picture, but it would be even better if I could combine that with a human element.

 

I was pressed for time and had to leave. After all, I had another day or two to get the picture I wanted.

 

Turns out, I didn’t.

 

The next day, all the flags were gone. There wasn’t a single one in all of downtown.

 

This was Wednesday, June 15th, the day after Flag Day.

 

If I’d just given myself some extra time, I may have come away with a better picture. I guess I’ll just have to be a little more patient when Flag Day comes around next year.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

What started out as a question, has led to the opening of a new shrine dedicated to North Carolina baseball.

Folks, watching a baseball game at legendary Fleming Stadium in Wilson, NC, posed the question: “Is there a museum dedicated to baseball in the state?”

No one knew the answer.

It took several years, but the North Carolina Baseball Museum is a reality.

The museum is located within the confines of Fleming Stadium, not even a foul ball’s distance from the seats where that discussion took place. It’s home to baseball memorabilia from generations of North Carolinians who have opened their collections for others to share their passion for America’s Favorite Pastime. From old uniforms, baseball cards and even a baseball-themed chess set, the displays try to cover the history of baseball in North Carolina that dates back to the 19th century.

So the next time you’re cruising through Wilson, be sure to stop in and see the history of North Carolina’s Favorite Pastime.

Putting Two and Two Together in Danville, VA

 

 

Sometimes it has to be written on a billboard for me to put two and two together. In this case, it was a mural covering the side of a building in downtown Danville, VA.

 

The mural covers the entire side of the building, depicting an old steam locomotive and an inset picture of some of the crewmen. The words “The Old 97” are written below.

 

Old 97 is the number of the Fast Mail train that ran between Monroe, VA, and Spencer, NC.

 

Legend has it, the train was running behind schedule. (And this was a train that was never late.) In order to make up time, Joseph “Steve” Broady ordered more coal for the boiler. Careening down a steep grade, Old 97 lost her brakes and was unable to slow down before reaching a curve at the Stillhouse Trestle just outside Danville.

 

The train left the tracks and crashed at the base of the 75-foot trestle, killing eleven people.

 

News of the train wreck reached newspapers across the country and even sparked the ballad “Wreck of the Old 97.”

 

The ballad was originally recorded by G. B. Grayson and Henry Whitter in 1923. But it was Vernon Dalhart’s version recorded in 1924 The song became first million-selling record in the United States and wound up selling more than seven million copies.

 

I’ve long listened to Johnny Cash’s version of “Wreck of Old ‘97,” but never really put Danville and “Old 97” together. That is, until I saw the mural.

Losing a Friend

Part of the Third Floor Crew (from left-right: Me, Hondros, Swayne Hall, Marc Kawanishi and Brent Smith)

 

 

Today, I lost a very good friend.

 

Chris Hondros was killed, along with another talented photojournalist Tim Hetherington, while covering the war in Libya.

 

It was January of 1991 when I first met Chris. He was the photo editor for the Technician, the student newspaper at North Carolina State University, and I was interested in joining the staff as a photographer.

 

I had developed an interest in photography while in high school and wanted to give photojournalism a try. Chris was there to take my application. But first, I had to pass a test.

 

Chris handed me camera and told me to set the correct exposure for a hallway outside the Technician office. I took the camera, I think it was an F3, and managed to fumble through the settings to make the exposure. Chris double-checked the exposure, confirmed it was correct and hired me on the spot.

 

If only all the jobs I’ve ever applied for were this easy to get hired.

 

For that entire semester, I lived in the Technician darkroom. And my grades showed it. But I discovered this passion for photography that has stayed with me until today. A passion I inherited from Chris. Though, I firmly believe his passion was much greater than mine. Actually, I know it was.

 

For the next couple of years, Chris and I, along with other members of the third floor crew as we called each other, challenged ourselves and learned from one another. State didn’t have a photojournalism program, so we were dependent upon each other and the older photographers to learn this craft.

 

It made for a tight knit group. One that has lasted through the years.

 

We were so eager to learn, that we took a photojournalism class at the UNC-Chapel Hill together with our friends Nigel Moritz and Swayne Hall.

 

I don’t want to say we dominated the class, but we did make our presence known. That was the same year Chris won student photographer of the year in the North Carolina Press Photographer’s Association and I placed third. Second place went to our friend Evan Eile from UNC.

 

I’ll never forget one night while we were students at State, Chris and I were at a party. It was 1993 and the war in the breakaway republics of Yugoslavia were coming to a head with the Serbian siege of Sarajevo. There was talk of the US sending in troops. We both were pretty intoxicated and got this crazy idea in our heads. We were going to Sarajevo if US troops went in. We pulled a dry erase board of a refrigerator and drew a crude map of Europe. Hondros had relatives in Germany and we determined, blindly, that it was about a 3-5 hour drive to Sarajevo.

 

We immediately started crafting a spring break trip around this plan.

 

In preparing for our trip, a couple of our friends decided to join us to Germany. They were totally unaware of our plans. Actually, we intentionally kept them in the dark. Our secret plan, if the US became involved, was to leave our friends in the hands of Chris’ relatives and make a beeline for Sarajevo in our rented VW.

 

Luckily, for both of us, this never materialized.

 

We enjoyed a week in Germany and the warm hospitality of Chris’ relatives.

 

But Chris was hooked on conflict photography.

 

He would eventually finance his own trip to war torn Kosovo to cover the fighting there.

 

Within a few years, he became one of the first staff photographers for Getty Images.

 

Hondros covered wars in places like Kosovo, Angola, Liberia, Egypt and Iraq. Wherever there was conflict, you could find Chris.

 

I followed him through the Getty website, doing occasional searches for his name. It was the best way to keep track of him.

 

It worried me when I saw he was in Libya. A few weeks earlier, Tyler Hicks from the NY Times, a very good friend of Chris’, was captured and detained by the Libyan government.

 

This was a very dangerous place. And even more dangerous for journalists.

 

I knew something was wrong today when I got calls from two of my college friends mere seconds apart. I was able to pick up but checked my voicemail as quick as I could.

 

That’s when I heard about Chris.

 

To say this has been a difficult day is an understatement. The only solace I can take is knowing that Chris died doing what he loved, taking pictures.

 

His passion for photography and love of life will live with me forever.

 

I will forever miss you my friend.

The Grand Duke

I don’t mind telling people my weight. It’s 141,312 beans, give or take a bean or two. You’ll just have to convert beans to pounds to know for yourself.

 

 

I try to keep my eyes on the road as I drive about five miles down a winding, two lane road off I-40 in rural Tennessee. The road is barely big enough for two cars to pass, much less a car meeting a tractor trailer full of beans.

 

Those trucks are coming from the Bush Brothers and Company in Chestnut Hill, TN, and they’re hauling “Bush’s Best.”

 

Right across the street from the company’s plant is the original AJ Bush & Company general store from1897. It now serves as the Bush’s visitor center. A place where visitors can learn about the long history of the Bush family’s business and probably more information about beans than you ever wanted to know. You can even find out your weight in beans.

 

Besides the beans, the one thing most people associate with Bush’s has to be Duke, Jay Bush’s trusty companion. He’s probably more famous than the beans themselves.

 

Duke and his owner Jay star in a series of commercials that almost everybody with a TV is bound to of seen. But unbeknownst to Jay, Duke is scheming to sell the Bush family’s secret baked bean recipe. It’s like a never-ending cliffhanger of a story. “Will Jay discover Duke’s evil plot? Will Duke finally spill the beans on the family’s secret recipe for baked beans? Tune in tomorrow to find out.

 

You’d think after all the commercials they’ve done, Jay would have caught on to Duke’s secret plan by now. Guess I’ll just have to wait for the next commercial to find out.

 

 

 

 

 

Where Racing Lives

The man watches the action from behind a glass window, like an awestruck visitor at the zoo watching the playful antics of chimpanzees frolicking about. But this isn’t the zoo, it’s NASCAR Country! And this is the window into the NASCAR world. Or at least one that allows visitors to check out one of the working garages at Hendrick Motorsports in Concord, NC.

With Charlotte Motor Speedway down the street, NASCAR is a major player in the area’s economy. Teams like Roush Fenway, Hendrick Motorsports and Earnhardt Ganassi Racing call Cabarrus County home.

The teams are also extremely fan-friendly, offering visitors glimpses into the teams’ past, present and future by way of their museums. Through their teams stores, they also give fans a chance to take home a special piece of their favorite driver, whether it be a team hat or a front bumper off one of the cars. There is something for everyone.

But the shops aren’t the only things NASCAR-related in Cabarrus County.

It’s hard to drive anywhere in Cabarrus County and not run into something NASCAR related. From NASCAR-themed restaurants, to stores selling NASCAR merchandise, to the NASCAR Speedpark at Concord Mills, NASCAR is everywhere.

After all, this is “Where Racing Lives.”

50 Years Ago Today.....

50 years ago today, Sabena Flight 548 crashed in Brussels, Belgium. On board the plane were all the members of the 1961 US Skating Team. The team was on its way to the 1961 World Championships in Prague, Czechoslovakia.

The crash killed all 18 members of the team, 16 friends, family and coaches and 38 others on that flight. It’s hard to understand the void the crash caused on the families left behind. Wives were left without a husband. Husbands were left without wives. Children were left without fathers or mothers. Entire families were destroyed.

As a result of the crash, some families left the world of skating, never to look back. For the majority of those left behind, it’s taken them 50 years to heal.

This past January at the 2011 US Figure Skating Championships in Greensboro, NC, the 1961 team was honored by being the only inductees into the 2011 US Figure Skating Hall of Fame. The Hall of Fame presented each family with a bowl honoring their loved ones. The ceremony brought together as many family members left as possible. For some, there was no family that could be found.

It was a time for remembrance. A time to look at old photos and bring friends together that had not seen each other in nearly 50 years.

But most importantly, it was a time of healing.

Susan Richards Abbe meets with family friend Fred Heller after not seeing each other in 48 years. Abbe is the brother of Dudley Richards who was in the crash that killed the 1961 US Figure Skating Team. Heller is the college roommate of Dudley Richards.

Diane Yeomans Robins holds a picture of her cousin Sharon "Sherri" Westerfeld. Westerfeld and her sister Stephanie "Steffi" were members of the 1961 US Figure Skating Team that perished in a plane crash in Brussels, Belgium on February 15, 1961.

Diana Le Maire Squibb holds a picture of her brother Richard "Dickie" Le Maire taken the night the 1961 US Figure Skating Team left for Prague. Squibb lost her father National Judge Edward "Eddie" Le Maire and brother Richard "Dickie" Le Maire in the crash that killed the 1961 US Figure Skating Team.

Fred Heller is the college roommate of Dudley Richards, 1961 US Pairs Skating Champion.

Susan Richards Abbe wears a bracelet of the medals awarded to her brother Dudley Richards who was in the crash that killed the 1961 US Figure Skating Team.

Sheryl Nolan holds a medal awarded to her father Daniel Ryan after winning a bronze medal at the 1952 World Championships in Paris, France.

Ruth Scholdan Harle holds a picture of her, her father Edi Scholdan and brother Jimmy taken outside the historic Broadmoor Skating Club in Colorado Springs, CO. Edi Scholdan, along with son Jimmy Scholdan and the 1961 US Figure Skating Team, perished in a plane crash in Brussels, Belgium on February 15, 1961.

Terri Sullivan holds a picture of her and her siblings: (front row left-right) Terri Sullivan, Michael Ryan and Sheryl Nolan, (back row left-right) Patrick Ryan and Kevin Ryan. Their father coach Daniel Ryan and the 1961 US Figure Skating Team perished in a plane crash in Brussels, Belgium on February 15, 1961.

Bowls honoring the 2011 US Figure Skating Hall of Fame inductees line a table at the induction ceremony for the 1961 US Figure Skating Team.

Siblings (seated from left-right) Terri Sullivan and Sheryl Nolan, (back from left-right), Kevin Ryan, Patrick Ryan and Michael Ryan pose for a picture after receiving a bowl honoring their father coach Daniel Ryan at the 2011 US Figure Skating Hall of Fame induction ceremony.


These photos were shot for ESPN's Outside the Lines

Give Me Some Sugar

When you think of snow skiing, North Carolina is not the state that usually comes to mind. For most it’s Colorado or Utah or some place really cold and mountainous with snow so deep one could easily get lost until a spring thaw.

Having grown up in North Carolina, my only memories of snow skiing in this state were with my church youth group. Usually it involved waking up at o-dark-thirty in the morning, going to the church in the freezing cold, cramming 20 people into a 15 passenger van and making the long trek up winding mountain roads to the ski slopes. Once there, you wait in line for what seems like forever-and-a-day to rent your skis, only to hit the slopes and find that they are frozen sheets of ice. Then you spend the entire day careening down the mountain like kamikaze on skis with your butt so close to the ground that it hits every bump or downed skier in your way. Or, if your like me, you look like Vinko Bogataj, the “Agony of Defeat” skier made famous by ABC’s Wide World of Sports for his epic cartwheeling crash coming off a jump at the Ski-Flying World Championships in 1970.

Fast forward twenty-plus-years and snow skiing in North Carolina is a whole new story.

A couple of weeks ago I got sent to Sugar Mountain in Banner Elk, NC, to shoot a little snow skiing stock photos.

Arriving there I realized this wasn’t like the ski slopes of my youth. There was actual snow on the mountain, not the man made stuff, but the stuff that falls naturally out of the sky.

The resort hooked me up with one of members of the ski patrol, Gene Self, a twenty-plus-year veteran member of the patrol that volunteers on the weekend. He was going to show me around the slopes.

More than 20 years after I last attempted to ski and not wanting to risk life, limb and camera (not necessarily in that order), it was quickly decided that I would not attempt to ski and take pictures.

Luckily, they had a solution. Gene would sled me down the slopes. Not what I had in mind but definitely better than sitting at the bottom of the slope and catching people as they came tumbling toward the lodge.

Being with the ski patrol has its benefits. With a long line for the ski lift, Gene and I casually walked up to the operator, Gene gave him a few instructions and we were in the next chairs up the mountain. Just like skipping that long line at Disney World for Space Mountain.

Membership has its privileges.

I shot a few pictures on the way up. And as my chair approached the getting off point that most people would ski down, the lift slowed and I was able to walk off without busting my butt. I probably did a lot better without skis than I would have done with.

At the top of the mountain is where we picked up my ride, an old ski patrol sled used to carry the injured down the slope. Call it the ride of shame.

As Gene gets me situated in the sled he points out a note written at the front, “It says trash sled but don’t take it personal. It’s just one we don’t use for transporting people anymore,” as he tightens a strap over my legs. “Use this for an ‘Oh Shit’ handle,” he says as he leaves me a little slack.

And we’re off.

It was like a sleigh ride over the river and through the woods but with a little more excitement. More like taking the sleigh down a black diamond with a sharp turn to the left, coming to a perfect stop at the base of one of the runs.

I’d snap a few pictures and then it was back into the sled, skipping along the slope to the next photo op.

I was great watching people as we made our way down the slope. Imagine the look you get from people as you pass them on the sled taking pictures. It’s like they were mesmerized by the sight of a train wreck and then they’d come close to having one.

Gene and I made a couple of runs down the mountain that day. It was a blast. I really couldn’t have gotten the pictures I did without his help.

Of course, that day has me wanting to make another trip to Sugar Mountain. This time to ski. I’ll just plan to leave the camera at home. And if I happen to pull an “Agony of Defeat,” at least I know the ride down the mountain in the ski patrol sled will be just as fun.