It's difficult figuring out exactly what to write in this post.
There was a section of the
Newseum dedicated to the coverage of Sept. 11, 2001.
I think it's safe to say everyone knows exactly where they were when they heard the planes hit the twin towers.
I rose early that morning to work on an assignment for my photojournalism class. Because it was early and I figured I'd have time before class, I was unshowered and grimy (I was gonna work on the prairie, why shower before, right?). I was on the Konza Prairie, photographing a horse trainer. The light was spectacular. As a matter of fact, I just came across the printoffs of the photos from that day (I need to find a proper reader so I can open the files).
At that time, I was also the photo editor of our collegiate newspaper.
On the prairie, we listened to the news on the radio, and at the time, I thought some moron had a bad accident. I just kept shooting pictures. I had no idea it was purposeful. After a few more minutes, I figured I'd better get back to the newsroom, and we'd do man on the street (remember, I still thought it was an accident). There were probably a dozen missed calls from the newsroom. And then I turned on NPR.
This was no accident.
The photographers on staff were amazing, and were already at work capturing local reaction. I was on the phone, trying to get through to an alumni photographer who lived in NYC. We looked through hundreds of photos, tried to figure out the best way to put the paper together for the next day.
I don't remember eating. I don't remember sleeping. And I sure don't remember crying.
I remember watching with unbelieving shock.
When I'm covering something for any paper, emotion goes straight out the door. If I got emotional, it'd be impossible to do my job. Does that make me inhuman?
Well, at the Newseum, there was a section dedicated to the Sept. 11 coverage.
And it was powerful.
This headline .... well, I remember seeing it the next day and thinking it was brilliant. Is it bad to say it makes me smile? Everyone was thinking the same thing ... they just put it out there in 100+ point type.
Here's an overview. On the back wall are page fronts from special sections the afternoon of, or the morning after.
And a timeline of events ...
I have to say, it felt a *little* strange to be in a museum and see something I REMEMBER happening. In my mind, museums are all about things hundreds of years old ... nothing contemporary. I guess I have a lot to learn ...
Here's
Bill Biggart's camera/gear. He was the only working professional photojournalist killed on that day.
And of course,
Tom Franklin. I know many of you won't know his name, but click on the link ... you will recognize his image. I PROMISE.
I had the fortune to meet Tom a year after the photo was taken. I was a student at the
Eddie Adams Barnstorm in 2002. We photographed a book about the resilience of New Yorkers on the 1-year anniversary of the attacks. Franklin came and spoke with us ... he was just the nicest, most unassuming fella.
Oh, and the coolest part was Eddie lined up
Joe Rosenthal on the phone to talk w/ Franklin. OK, if you don't know Joe's name, I PROMISE you'll know
his picture.
Woah, I'm going on a tangent here. Sorry.
SO, back to the Newseum.
There was also a video about the day, from the perspective of those who covered the event. I simply sat and watched the video run over and over.
Finally, 7.25 years later ... I cried.
Perhaps the numbness wore off. Or maybe I'm just learning you don't have to be strong ALL of the time. Or even that journalists CAN have feelings, too. And it's OK to be affected by the news/what you are covering or putting in your paper.
It's funny, because now when I'm working (covering weddings), I weep at almost every one of them. It's pitiful, really. I have no good reason to cry. I just do. They're so beautiful and out couples ... they're just so sweet. I cried at every 2008 wedding. We start our season in about a month, so we'll see how I do then ....
