Bush League

  While campaigning for the presidency in 2000, George W. Bush stopped by Locust Lane Elementary School in northeast Eau Claire. I was there that day, and I was struck by the experience.

   First though, a bit of geography.

   Locust Lane is situated so that the main entrance is on the North side of the school. The parking lot is on the north side of the building too. When I arrived on site along with the rest of the press corps, I was quickly debriefed as to proper procedure.

   “Wait over there,” said a burly man wearing an earpiece.   

   He was pointing at a twenty by fifty foot section of lawn adjacent to the brick north wall of the school that had been cordoned off with yellow police tape. There were already several reporters massed inside, and the image that immediately came to mind was one of a stockyard “pen”.

   I stepped over the police tape and joined the others assembled there. There were no chairs, so all of us just kind of stood or leaned against the wall. The vantage point offered a clear view of the proceedings:

   Inside the building school was in session. Outside the building there were individual secret service agents scattered about outside the pen and journalists inside. But wait, it wasn’t only the press that had been delegated to the pen. I watched as the head of the county’s Republican Party arrived and was ushered into the designated waiting area.

   “Hi Don,” I said. “How come you’re on this side of the police tape?”

   “Oh…security, you know. That’s the way it is,” he smiled sheepishly.

   Bush Junior was Governor of Texas at the time, and of course a son of a former president.  I tried to imagine the danger inherent in that genealogy, but struggled. I counted about six visible secret service agents.

   We hadn’t been in the pen for five minutes when I realized I wasn’t dressed for conditions. I stepped over the tape and was immediately accosted by one of the agents.

   “I’m sorry, sir, but you have to stay inside the designated area.”

   “I’m just heading to my car to get my sunglasses,” I explained pointing to the well-marked news vehicle ten yards away. He thought about this for a moment and then spoke into his lapel microphone. I couldn’t hear the response.

   “Okay,” he said tersely, releasing my arm. I secured said sunglasses and returned, like a good journalist, to the pen without further incident.

   Within a half hour Bush Junior arrived — with even more security. The first thing he did upon exiting the limo was scowl. The second thing he did was lean in to listen to one of the agents who was pointing at us. Bush then veered our way.

   The head of the County Republican Party was a pretty obvious target. He was the only one in the pen cheering loudly.

   “We love you Governor! We’re going to win the state for you!” he crowed.

   Bush – looking rather startled – stopped briefly to shake the man’s hand – from the other side of the police tape. Guess it’s best not to let your guard down when security is at issue. The Governor – enveloped in stern black-suited men all a head taller than he — then rounded the corner of the pen and entered the school looking like he was headed for a pop quiz that he had neglected to study for.

   At that time we were instructed that we could also enter the building. Stepping over the police tape we were ushered into a small room about ten by ten feet (the nurses’ station perhaps?). After Bush Junior had his photo opportunity with the school children he joined us in the “interview room”.

   What I remember best about the event was how packed the room was. Between the lights, tripoded cameras, reporters, secret service and the Governor, there was barely room enough to wedge a sound bite in sideways. Bush Junior was so close I could’ve reached out and touched him…though I certainly didn’t want to be wrestled to the mat by some ex-Marine poorly disguised by Armani. I remember that the Governor kept staring at the camera with this stunned look, like the lights were dizzying him.

   After all this time I have absolutely no recollection of the questions asked or answers given. Throughout Bush’s career as Leader of the Free World I was consistently unimpressed by what he had to say. In fact I often thought that Brett Favre crafted more interesting interviews. I’ve met many so-called “famous people”, and there have been times when I’ve literally felt the tingle of being in the presence of greatness, but not that day at Locust Lane.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted under Artist? Scientist? Philosopher? Camera Guy?

Down & In 

   I’ve thrown up twice while taping in planes. Sorry. That’s a crude image, I know. I kind of ambushed you there.

   The first time it happened I was in a search and rescue plane making tight circles over Shell Lake. You’d think I would have learned from that, but no, I then tried to tape in a single engine plane circling above a radio-collared wolf.

   Really though, those are about the toughest conditions I’ve ever endured as a videographer. Oh sure, I’ve sat through marathon court sessions, or trudged through one-hundred degree heat and limb-numbing sub-zero cold, but that’s what hand warmers are for.

   However, one of the most incredible experiences I ever survived transpired at Crystal Cave in Spring Valley.

   My son, Davyd had gone caving at Crystal Cave (Note: It’s “caving” not “spelunking”…) as part of a scouting activity and loved it. So I got the idea to try it myself.

   Taping in a cave presents certain technical challenges. First, it’s dark in a cave. Second, it’s messy in a cave. Third, it’s tight in a cave.

   To address these issues I rigged up a portable light powered by a rechargeable battery, The camera I use is usually a high-end piece of equipment that weighs about twenty pounds with battery, but for this occasion I secured a lightweight  “lay” video camera which I stowed in a canoer’s “dry bag” when not in use.

   Crystal Cave is truly a must-see experience – especially if you’ve never toured a cave. I’ve actually visited three of the U.S.’s most famous caves – Mammoth Cave National Park in Kentucky, Wind Cave (South Dakota), and Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico – but Crystal Cave, though less is impressive in its own right.

   If you’re part of a walking tour, you meet in the above ground welcome area, then descend into the yawning opening of the cave via a cool set of open wooden stairs. If you’re going caving, the first thing you get is orientated. After fitting you with a head-lit helmet each participant is asked to crawl through a wooden chute that’s about ten feet long and laid out upon the floor. It’s a bit of a fit but it‘s supposed to give you a feel for what’s to come. If you can’t fit through the “practice chute”, you’re probably going to have a tough go of it later. Both physically and psychologically.

   With all the formalities completed, we descended the stairs, walked a short distance through the more public sections of the cave, and then dove headfirst into more intimate conditions. The group I tagged along with totaled maybe a dozen people, men and women, big and small body types. By the time we’d dragged ourselves through the first “leg” of passageways our numbers were already diminished..

   The cavern or “room” we’d all entered in was a small cave maybe twenty feet long and about seven feet high in places. There were no lights except for what we had strapped to our heads. While crawling you can see the kicking feet of the person ahead of you but not your own. You’re literally pulling yourself along on your belly.

   “If anyone has second thoughts, now’s your chance to exit the cave. My wife is right at the other end of this short passageway here and she’ll lead you back walking to the cave entrance. No one will call you a coward or a chicken. The rest of us will continue on all the way to the far exit.”

   Two of the biggest men in the group rasied their hands in the air. A bit too tight for their tastes. I admit, I watched them go wondering if they’d like company.

   Most of the people in the group had actually gone caving before. They knew what to expect. Many even seemed energized by the experience. I taped them all while in the larger “social” rooms using the portable light. At one point there was a wider opening in the crawl space of a passage to tape them crawling past.

   Cavers are really curious people. They have a bit of the explorer in them. They also have a sense of humor – especially when it comes to naming parts of caves. One of the passageways we squeezed through was called The Birth Canal. Another was called The Toilet Bowl. To enter the Toilet Bowl from the larger room we had gathered in, you have to slide hands first down into a four foot deep “bowl”. If you flush feet first, you can’t maneuver once inside. Talk about “trust issues! Try doing this once – you’ll see for yourself just how counter intuitive it feels.

   One of the narrow tunnels had an “S’” curve in it, so you had to bend forward at the waste while lying on your side and then pull your legs around after you. I admit there were many times when I was grateful to have someone ahead of me and someone behind me. When one is squeezing through a dirt hole two-hundred feet below the earth’s surface it’s helpful to know that the person ahead of you managed to make it through a confined space the width of your shoulders. It also helps to know you’re not the last person in a line in utter darkness. That one comes from watching too many horror flicks, I guess…

   By the time we’d popped out the cave exit and all stood blinking in the bright February daylight I was quite pleased to drag myself from below ground and embrace the “world of the sun and the living”. My clothes — and camera – were coated in brown clay. The camera had in fact quit working properly. But I’d gathered enough video to put together the story (included here…)

down & in

Posted under Artist? Scientist? Philosopher? Camera Guy?

Name Dropping

   Eau Claire is not New York. Or Los Angeles. It’s not even Miami Beach.

It’s not the center of the spot-lit world. If it was, we’d have a walk of fame and a “Star Island” replete with multi-million dollar homes.

   If a “celebrity” comes to town it’s because they got lost on the way to Minneapolis or it’s the thick of the presidential campaign and they’re in search of free TV time.

   Still, working in TV has provided rare opportunities to meet “people of fame”.

   Do you remember Dr. Ruth Westheimer? She was famous for giving frank sex advice. How about Joe Clark, the tough New Jersey school principal? Or Fawn Hall, the secretary who helped Oliver North shred Iran-Contra documents? No? History’s not your forte?

   Well, let’s see…Me and my camera have met Bob Dole, and Michael Dukakis, Don Majkowski and Barry Alvarez; Jim Gantner and Bob Uecker; Tony Earl and Herb Kohl. Tommy Thompson would always throw me for a loop because he’d extend a hand to the videographer; you’d have to remove your right hand from the camera controls to shake his hand before he’d move on.

   Howie Mandel once asked me to help him out with his material. It’s true. While sitting around chatting at the Eau Claire airport before a live shot he asked me to describe where Eau Claire was and what it was famous for. I told him it was 90 some miles east of the Twin Cities and that it was ground zero for dairy pricing. When the live shot hit he made jokes about cows.

   At another live shot set-up a fellow photog and I were privileged to have ex-Brewer great Paul Molitor all to ourselves. We conversed for about twenty minutes on baseball, and life. Just us guys. It was a fan’s dream. Of course, I didn’t mention that I’d once asked his sister Sue out for a date. We were both students at UW-La Crosse, and she…”would have loved to, but sadly had a previous engagement” (…or something like that…).

   No, Eau Claire isn’t Times Square, but it is a nice place to own a home and put the kids through school. And it’s the place for fresh cheese curds.

Posted under Artist? Scientist? Philosopher? Camera Guy?

 Hero Worship

   I have many heroes:

   Leaders and social activists like Mohandas K. Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Steven Biko, and Ralph Nader; philosophers and innovators like Mark Twain, Nikos Kazantzakis, and Mary Daly; Fred Rogers the educator; Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall; artists like Joni Mitchell, Kate Winslet, and Leonardo da Vinci; even athletes like Martina Navratilova, Donald Driver, Robin Yount, and Nolan Ryan.

   Some of my heroes are scientists too — people like Rachel C. Carson, Albert Einstein, Craig Allen, and two men whom I got to meet as part of doing my job.

   If you’re not a birder, you’ve probably never heard of David Allen Sibley. If you are a birder, you most likely have a child named Phoebe, Swarovski, or Roger Tory.

   Perhaps more than anyone, Roger Tory Peterson popularized the science and sport of birding. He was an energetic voice for conservation, wrote many books on birds, and revolutionized the “field guide”. Using techniques like the one he’d invented for identifying war planes by silhouette, he helped change bird identification texts from many-pound tomes to easy-to-use resources you could carry in a pocket.

   Each fall the Leigh Yawkey Woodson Art Museum in Wausau holds its annual “Birds in Art” show. The best nature artists from around the planet enter their work and then flock to town for the opening ceremony.

   In 1991I was allowed to tape the art in the show and while there I arranged to meet and interview Roger.

   As I’ve already mentioned, meeting anyone famous is exciting. Meeting someone whom you have idolized can leave you weak in the knees, and that’s problematic for anyone conducting a standing interview.

   Fortunately for me Roger Peterson was a talker. As in wind him up and let him go. In fact by the end of the interview, his wife Virginia was literally trying to pull him away by the arm to the flower garden where he was scheduled to speak.

   At one point he commented on the t-shirt I was wearing (photographer dress code is the topic of some future essay) – one I’d designed myself which had graph style rows of wild animals being usurped by images of humans and read “Overpeopleation”.

   “Overpeopleation…That’s very good!” he commented, eyes sparkling. “Someone once gave me a t-shirt. It had a Great-horned Owl on it and it beneath that it said ‘Roger Tory Whoooooo?’”

   David Allen Sibley may be the heir apparent to Roger T. In 2000 — after twelve years of field study and studio work — he published a brand new field guide that took the nature world by storm. The “Sibley Guide” is still the best book about bird identification out there. Again, with the help of the museum, I made an appointment to meet David for a one-on-one interview, and that was good you see, but better yet was actually getting to bird with him.

   I sent advance word out to a number of other birders and we received David Sibley at a park on Wausau’s west side where we taped the interview and spent about an hour ogling birds before Mr. Sibley was whisked away to a book signing.

   In my library I now have two bird guides which never “leave the room” – one signed by the deceased Roger Tory Petersen — the other by David Allen Sibley. Oh – and here’s me birding with my good friend David Allen Sibley…

Birding With the Big Dogs

Posted under Artist? Scientist? Philosopher? Camera Guy?