I never did encounter “Trib” , the gorilla donated to the SD Zoo by Jim Copley, but I cuddled Alvila who at the time was a twenty pound black fuzzy baby. I was doing a story on the nursery at the zoo and it was feeding time. I don’t recall if I fed Alvila her bottle or just dandled her on my knee until time for her nap. I do know I did NOT change her diaper. That was 40 years ago. I saw a recent blurb for the zoo, and it featured my little buddy Alvila, a handsome figure to be sure, all 800 plus pounds of her. I imagine she can sleep anywhere she wants!

I also had the occasion to drop over to the Civic Theater to do a photo of Beverly Sills. I am not a fan of opera, I am too culture-deficient, but I had an absolutely pleasant photo session with her in her dressing room. She was a remarkably friendly and charming person, especially for a ‘big name’. I suppose that is why she was known as “Bubbles” Hers is the only photo of an opera personality that I bothered to keep. I would also put Charlton Heston and Carol Burnett in that class of biggies who seemed to be genuinely nice folks, which niceness was not just part of their public personna.

San Diego Fires

Photo by John Gibbons, UT
Photo by Charlie Neuman, UT



For the past week, there have been devastating fires in San Diego. Over 500,000 people were evacuated and 1500 homes were destroyed. The 919 Gang was offline for a week as Jack Reber was unable to go to his home in Ramona. His, and all the others that I have heard of from the 919 gang, homes were safe. I sent him this message today:

I was very glad to see you came out of the fires relatively unscathed, Jack. I covered several of those nasty things for the UT and understand how devastating they can be. I happened to be in SD a couple of years ago when they tried to burn Tierra Santa etc, and got a good reminder of why they call them "wild fires" My wife's cousin lives south of Mission Valley and had houses all around him burn but the fire chose not to come up his canyon.

Is there anything that 'outsiders' can do to help? Perhaps a 919er or someone in Ramona you know of who needs ??? Or after things calm down a bit, there might be someone, older or widowed etc. There are a myriad little things that get forgotten in a disaster. I have had two brothers lose their homes to fires and I understand a bit about that. I suspect there are a lot of folks in this group who would be glad to help if they knew who or where or how.

My son Nathan and our Spanish exchange student Javier and I went to Hawaii several months after hurricane Iniki blasted through Kauai in 1992. It is the worst recorded storm in the islands and there were lots of folks who had no insurance or assistance and were living in temporary digs, even tents. Others had their roofs blown away and were living under huge blue tarps that covered their houses, while they tried to gather enough money to start repairs. We were able to join one of the work gangs for a week or so. The gangs were simply neighbors helping neighbors to start the re-building process when there was no more help coming from outside. We helped take off damaged roofs, tore an unsalvageable building down, helped clear the debris. It was not all hard work though. There were other neighbors who brought incredible Hawaiian food around for the crews! They were simply trying to give each other a little breathing room as they figured how to start their lives over.

Nathan, Javier and I also helped an old kamaaina Hawaiian named Tony Wong put a new roof on his house after his insurance company went bankrupt. Tony had gotten shingles somewhere but had no money to pay anyone to put them up. He was too old to climb the ladders or help shingle, but he easily made up for it by telling us non-stop stories about his life on the island while we worked. What a great experience for my son and me... and Tony's new red roof was the pride of Kekaha Road... even if the shingle lines are a bit wavy.

Email from Jerry Windle:

John,
You been gone longer than I but I kind of missed being in the thick of the wildfires this time around now that I are retired. Last time in 2003, I worked non-stop for several days. One lab tech was sick and the other had been evacuated so I worked 10-12 hour days. Even though I was not out there on the lines, I was in the newsroom downloading digital photos and placing them in the archive system and folders so the editors could easily find them. I enjoyed sitting there and listening to all the bickering going on behind me.

I never got into the politics of the newsroom. When they combined the papers in 1992, I got "reclassified" taking an $8,000 loss per year in income so I was bitter for several years and finally realized there was more to life than the UT so I went in did my job and that was it. Usually did a lot of personal work as well - that is once the company work was done.

Kind of like an old race horse, I wanted to be back in the fray of things again.

My reply:

Hey Jerry.... Yeah, I miss it. Its the old firehorse thing I suppose. I watched the fires on TV and found myself thinking... if I were on that little ridge right there, I could get SUCH a picture of that fire snake running up the other canyon!!! It was so much fun back then, how could we not get all nervous and twitchy? But I am also realistic. I would never want to go back, even if I could. I remember the politics and the stress... ok, spell that BS... and the long boring stuff with those three ladies and that stupid piece of paper... But the rest sure was fun wassnit?

Truth and Telephoto lenses

Ah, the dreaded Wide Angle Telephoto lens!!! How did I manage to forget that one? I recall many a cold winter evening, gathered about the pot bellied stove in the photo lab, the lively philosophical discussions as we delved into the mysteries of light and photography... images and editors. Truth and telephoto lenses. Who would not long for the day....

As I recall, it was Al Sund who stirred the congregation up over the Truth in Telephoto issue. The position that most of us took, picture editors included was: “the longer the lens, the more compression of the image.” Thus the editorial objection to Windle’s street scene taken with a telephoto lens and where all the signs and power poles looked as if they were so close they were rubbing together. The photo editor determined the telephoto lens had rendered Truth altered and the photo would not be appropriate to run. Al’s position remained that it was not the lens at all, but simply the position of the camera in relation to the subject. Further, it was not distorting the truth, but representing it exactly as it appeared. That is, Al contended, if you are a given distance from a given subject, the “ distance compression” will be exactly the same, regardless of the focal length of the lens you use to view it. He even went so far as to say that it would actually look the same to your eyes without any additional lens. The reaction was immediate and passionate... mine included.... “Friend Sund, thou speakest heresy I say, HERESY! Everyone knows it is the lens that compresses the apparent distance between objects! How about looking through binoculars? Huh? The lenses compress everything together. Any fool can see that.” At least we were right about the ‘fool’ part.

As a converted disciple of Al Sund, I went out and took these photos today. They are taken with a 28mm wide angle and a 210mm, mild telephoto from the same position. Yep, the compression and distortion in the telephoto is obvious. The train cars are in reality about 60 feet long and about 8 feet high, say an 8:1 ratio and they look like that... close to the camera... in the 28 mm photo. In the telephoto picture, the distant cars appear to be (quoting Pogo) squeened down and squeened together so that now they look shorter than they are tall, a less than 1:1 ratio. The billboards, which are really alongside the freeway, look like they overhang the train cars. And check out the impossible curve of the road. Yup, it is all distorted. And that nasty distortion, obviously because of that darned old telephoto lens, is what the photo editor objected to .

In the search for truth, I now offer the third picture... which is actually just a cropped and enlarged section of the 28mm photo. As you can see, when the objects are the same size in the photo, and still same distance from the lens, whether the wide angle or telephoto , they are virtually identical! Brothers and Sisters, we have found the elusive Wide Angle Telephoto!

Well, ok, the resolution, clarity, detail are obviously much worse in the 28mm pic when it is enlarged... soooo, does that make the wide angle shot the worse offender in the Truth Altered category? I can tell you that is how they appeared to my eyes but I wear glasses, so maybe I can't see what is truth?

At least, Al Sund was right about telephoto lenses.

I enjoyed Jerry Windle’s reprise of various camera memories from the old days. I never did carry a Yashicamat for the paper, although I did own one. I bought it from the AP staffer after I sold my own Rolleiflex to buy a sub-miniature Tessina from Stan Griffin. Several of the photogs had Rolleis at the time but then Stan bought the petite and delicate Mamiyaflex as the camera du jour for the whole staff!!! That was a twin lens monster! They were bigger and heavier than a Remington standard typewriter and had interchangeable lenses the size of two sewer pipes. They did make good negatives though.

I used my shiny new Mamiyaflex C33 the time I was assigned to shoot Governor Reagan (in the photographic sense) when he was running for president. The Copley power structure had made arrangements for me to ease past all the security and get an exclusive photo at the event. The press corps was sequestered on a little patio outside someone’s La Jolla mansion and were told there would be no photos!. When the moment arrived, I was whisked into a parlor where Regan and a couple of the Republican faithful, one was a judge as I recall, were to pose exclusively for me... well, OK... for the Copley Press. I lined everyone up in a ‘natural’ pose and prepared to take the photos. I was convinced that each would undoubtedly be worthy of the Pullet Surprise. I pushed on the shutter... and nothing happened! That will get your attention! “OK, once more now....” Nothing! The shutter lever on my new camera would not move and I could not take the picture. By the third effort, I was developing a serious aneurism and the Governor cum President was getting more than a bit peeved as he stood with his best campaign smile pasted on, glaring at me and waiting! Panic was infusing my fevered brain when I noticed the safety-interlock lever on the side of the camera. It was a little knob that prevented the film from being exposed while the lenses were off. It also locked the shutter when engaged and it was doing its job admirably on this occasion! I don’t recall ever hearing such a sweet sound as when that shutter clunked the way it was supposed to. I got a magnificent photo of the three dignitaries and slunk off into the night to nurse my seriously battered ego.

Another time I used Phil McMahan’s Leica. Now THAT was a camera you could learn to love. I recall that Beverly Beyette was doing an investigative piece that turned into a series on nursing homes for the elderly. Beverly was pretending to be looking for a home for her aged mother and I was her ne’er do well brother, I think. I was supposed to get photos without anyone knowing what we were doing. I know this sounds like it came right out of an old James Cagney movie “The Picture Snatcher” , but I borrowed Phil’s Leica, hung it around my neck under my shirt with just the lens sticking out between the buttons. I could then move my ultra-wide, psychedelic tie aside (remember those?) and take pictures. The plan worked. Beverly would talk to the nursing home person about taking care of dear old Mother, to keep them busy, and I would try to wander aimlessly off to get the photos. The Leica was compact and so quiet you couldn’t hear the shutter if you were standing next to me. I took several by just turning away from the person. We got dramatic photos of conditions inside some pretty nasty “care” facilities. The paper ran the series and later, Copley Press published it in a booklet. As I recall, there was a major shakeup in the requirements and oversight of California care facilities as a result.

JOE STONE, REPORTER

I have always liked this picture. It is of Joe Stone, a metro reporter on assignment, as he thoughtfully writes down his impressions of the spring wildflower bloom out on the desert of Borrego Springs. Thats the kind of story some crusty reporters would consider beneath them. Joe was a good newsman and I think this photo proves it. Joe's brother was Milburne Stone who played Doc for many years on the classic tv series Gunsmoke.

U-T HELICOPTER 09NOVEMBER

Photo taken from the UT helicopter 09N. I loved flying in that bird with a crusty pilot named, of course, Pappy. You can see the door is off and one of the blurred rotors in the sky and my knee, bottom center.

BETTY PEACH-TSCHIRGI writes:
You mentioned a need for fresh subjects from the 919 Gang. This may have been covered previously, but I do not recall reading memories of the Copley Chopper that was parked at Lindbergh Field, and was on call for the Tribune city desk. The helicopter could be at the paper's pad in less than 10 minutes.
The landing pad was reached via the lunch room and big open deck added above the Tribune's annex building, if memory serves.
It was always such fun to get to the pad in time to watch the noisy beast approach from the direction of the Grant Hotel diagonally across the Land Title Building, and hover inches above the pad. A photographer and I waited at the foot of a half dozen stairs until the helicopter door opened, our signal to dash up the steps, crouching low to keep the head out of the path of whirling blades.
Liftoff was immediate, the nose tipping forward to pick up speed. the sensation of diving into the pavement was a shot of adrenaline every time. The pilot must have startled people on the street, for he didn't level off until the last second.
When we had a small machine, I always sat in the middle so the photographer had the window seat. Sometimes the door was removed to give the photog wider view. Sturdy seat belts recommended.
One assignment I remember especially because of its rarity: unusually heavy rains had flooded all the streams in the county and had washed out the approaches of the Santa Fe railroad bridge south of Oceanside.
The adjacent highway bridge floor was under water, so it was closed on both ends.
San Diego was essentially cut off from the rest of the world ... no rail, no road ... ah, but the wonderful helicopter came to the rescue. We left the office about 9 a.m., flew directly to the target flood, and returned to 919 Second Ave., in time to have photos splashed all over page 1 of the home edition.
All hail the power of the whirlybird!

My comments added:

Thanks Betty for jogging those helicopter memories. I loved flying in it too. It was an early Bell helicopter, the kind with an open tail boom and a huge plexiglas fishbowl bubble to sit in up front. You REALLY got the sensation of flying. I remember its radio call sign was Zero-Nine-November... niner, if you wanted to be really cool. I remember the pilot was a crusty old aviator called Pappy, what else? I never did know his last name and can't imagine why I would I want to. My favorite part was also the take off from the UT roof pad. Pappy would lift it up enough to clear the railing on the pad, then tip forward and swoop out over Second Ave, past the unforgiving building that towered above us on the right...was that the Spreckles Bldg?, and skim the parking lot and the UT garage on the corner to the left as he climbed. He seemed to think it desirable to get above all the buildings and power lines that surrounded 919.

What a lovely way to travel!

And Betty, I well remember that you always took the center seat so the photog could ride shotgun. I know that was a sacrifice, since you are a pilot yourself, and I always thought it was a class thing for you to do.

IN DEFENSE OF CORVAIRS

I well remember the red and white Corvairs that we had as “photo cars” or “camera cars”. In their defense, they really weren’t bad little cars. I think even Ralph Nader later admitted he gave them a bit of a bad rap with some questionable engineering criticism about the handling. I owned one for a number of years. (I enjoyed it, even though the threads were stripped in one spark plug hole and it had the quirky habit of popping the hot sparkplug out of the aluminum head where it would dangle by its wire while the engine made a loud chuffing noise until I could get it shut off. I kept a pair of pliers in the car to thread it back in and we would be soon on our way.)

Back to handling... I quickly found out that if you pushed the car into a corner, the back end might well come around and meet you on the way out. But once you learned to anticipate all that weight in the back, it was really a pretty nice handling car and you could do some fancy two-wheel drifts in tight curves and come out of the turn looking like you knew what you were doing. Of course, I would never have done that in a UT car! I have owned a couple of Porsches as well, and there ain’t that much difference in the way you drive the two although the Porsche is much better balanced and refined with its small 4-cylinder engine than the heavier Corvair pancake six ever thought of being, of course.

I would have to vote a thumbs down on the white Ford Mavericks that followed the Corvairs, and Stan didn’t keep the Fords too long. I liked the red and white Chevy Novas which replaced them. They were full size cars and much more comfy, even those basic models with few amenities. I think they actually had an AM radio. After that came the Pinto station wagons which were all white with blue lettering on the doors as I recall.

Like Thane, I almost burned one of the Mavericks up covering a wild fire, somewhere around Poway. I had parked the car on a road overlooking a little arroyo with the fire on the far side. All the windows were opened in the 100 plus degree heat and wind. I left the driver’s door open and walked up the hill to get some shots of a fire crew working where the road ended. As I was shooting my pictures, I looked back and was stunned to see the fire had come around the back side of the hill behind us and was licking up to where the lonely Maverick was sitting. Fires can be very nasty things if they can sneak up behind you. I managed an explosive comment that seemed appropriate at the time, and made a dash for the car just as a single gust of wind whooshed the flames momentarily in through the open window on one side and out the open door on the other. It didn’t do any damage other than leaving a bunch of hot ashes on the front seat, so I jumped in the car with the intent of getting my backsides out of there with a maximum of haste and a minimum of bodily damage. By the time I got turned around, the fire crew was in their truck right behind me and I enthusiastically led the little bumper to bumper parade down the mountain in my stalwart little UT photo car as fast as the fire truck could push me.

UNION TRIBUNE PHOTO CARS

Chuck Boyd and a U-T Corvair

JERRY WINDLE writes:

PHOTO CARS -- I came to the U-T in August, 1967, this was just after the photo was taken that Thane mentioned with the photo guys posed around and standing on a camera car -- at the time a Corvair. I loved driving the Corvair, especially coming south on Hwy 163 and making the turn onto Fourth Ave, nice long curve and that little Corvair hugged the corner. I didn't know any better.
Someone mentioned photogs left their gear at the paper, and this was true. Eventually we had some 40+ photogs and only 8-9 cars. we'd have to come to work, get a job, sign out a car and when we returned, put the keys back on a hook. Naturally, we soon learned which cars were better than others and there was always competition trying to get the better ones. Later we discovered the keys would actually work more than one car. We'd get a key, walk all the way down to the cars only to discover the car we signed out was gone!
Not having our equipment at home with us came home when Caliente burned down. The late Ted Winfield lived in Chula Vista and had to go downtown to get his gear and a car and head back south to Tijuana. I was the next one in and didn't get there until 9-10 a.m., and it was still burning!
The cars had a roof rack so photogs could stand on top of the car, if necessary for a better point of view. Later cars proved unworthy and a few roofs got a little bent from this practice, much to the chagrin of management.
There is a photo of Jerry Rife sitting on top of a Corvair, I believe, with water up to the windows down on Market street, I think after a big rain.
Thane/Chuck was also correct in that there was an "undercover" car, again a white Corvair. Of course it stuck out like a sore thumb, and we always felt we'd be better off in the red and white car with U-T emblazened on it. Kay Jarvis and I went into Logan Heights with one once and the choke cable fell off. Thought we'd never get back. It was a piece of junk - they all were.
I am of the belief that the late Stan Griffin was responsible for the red and white color scheme with the big lightning bolt on the side and U-T "radio dispatched" cars on the side.
As mentioned, we eventually got Ford Pintos. We never had a say in what cars the paper got. In fact, I believe Thane actually sent a memo to the powers that be that he felt they were unsafe and he wanted to be on record in case something happened. Don't know if this was an urban legend or not, but the photogs admired Thane for standing up to management.
Here's a legend regarding the photo cars which IS true. The photog shall remain nameless. He went downtown on an assignment and parked in one of the Ace lots. When he came back, the car was GONE! It had been STOLEN! Of course, we all wondered who would steal such a piece of junk. Anyway, after a few weeks, we get a phone call from Ace asking if we were ever going to get our car!! Seems the photog forgot where he had parked and assumed the car had been stolen. To this day he swears it was stolen and parked in another nearby lot.
Nowadays photogs have a car assigned to them and have their gear in there with them. They have pagers and cell phones and still can never be found when needed! Ain't like the old days when we reported at our shift start time and went from there. Of course in those days we all swore it would be great to have our own company car.

JR: I should point out that Jerry is a car expert, in my opinion, although if memory serves, his main interest is in Fords. I remember someone telling me once that Jerry's wife didn't even know how many cars he owned, that he had some "hidden." Of course, in Ramona, no one hides cars. They are parked in the front yard, side yard, back yard, etc. The fellow down the road from me has eight vehicles of one kind or another on his property. Not a one of them less than 10 years old, and I assume half of them don't run -- at least they haven't moved in years.

I AM A NEWSPAPER MAN AND BOY

I was a newspaper man from the time I was about ten or eleven years old. Of course, I was a paperboy before I was a photographer. That was in the fifties when the Post Register was in its downtown plant. The press room fronted on Capital Avenue and had big picture windows so you could stand on the sidewalk and watch them print the paper. I loved to watch that. I got my papers delivered to the Highland Market, across the street from our town’s minor league ball park, along with two other paperboys. The driver would drop our wire-tied bundles about 4 oclock each afternoon. We would open them and fold the papers. I preferred to roll mine into thirds and tuck the fold inside the edge to make a nice compact roll that would throw well, (which delivery was forbidden by “Huffy” Huffman , the circulation manager) or slip into a rural mailbox neatly. The papers would fit nicely into the green canvas paperbags, the kind that you put your head through so the papers hung in pockets, front and back, like a lumpy pancho. Then I would start walking. If you had a bike, which I sometimes did, and could find where your little brother left it last, you could drape the bags over the handlebars in a precise way, making sure they could not swing sideways and throw you off on your head. Then you were set to cover your route. Mine was to the north and west.

I had the worst route that the Post Register had to offer. It was mostly in a very low income neighborhood known euphemistically as “Duttonville” after the family that settled it back during the Depression. I suppose if you took the poorest of the Joad family from “Grapes of Wrath” and intermarried them with the po’ folk from Tobacco Road on the day before payday, and put them in shacks, basement houses and various home made move-ons, you would have a large chunk of my paper route. I delivered papers there for about a year and I think I collected enough to pay my monthly bill once in all that time... twice if you count the time I left off a zero by mistake. It seems like I paid the paper 3 cents per copy and collected 5 cents from my customers and it must have been a dime for Sunday... which I delivered on Saturday. It was 35 cents a week for six days, I remember that, and I can still multiply 35 by any number of weeks in a month without thinking.

I did have some good sections on my route, down near the Snake River that runs through town. Doc Reese had an elegant home overlooking the river there and the houses were pretty nice for a block or so behind him. Then there were a couple of blocks of pretty much blue collar families... and behind them, the poorer end of my route. I didn’t know it then but I learned that the gene pool requires some serious periodic maintenance that it sometimes does not get. I also learned some second hand lessons like what the interesting results can be when a person is related to themself by marriage. And then behind these folks on my route, one of my favorite spots in all the world, the City Dump. You could find some good stuff there sometimes!!!

It was on my paper route that I learned about some of the esoteric lessons that life has to offer a young boy. Things like what an old man with no teeth talks like when he is drunk on cheap wine... and how to avoid getting sprayed when he tries to explain which week you CAN collect for the paper. Things like what the DTs do to a person... (delerium tremens.. a medical condition brought on by excessive use of alcohol with symptoms consisting of seizures, hallucinations and a loss of control of all bodily functions....nice! You can look it up if you are interested.) I recall once I saw a painter who worked for my dad and who must have been nipping at the paint thinner or something, had an attack of the DTs and was lying on his back, shaking all over. There was a piece of sandpaper under one hand and his hand was shaking so violently that I was sure he was going to sand a hole in the floor before the seizure was over. Not a particularly useful thing for a 12-year old boy to learn but at least I discovered first hand there are things in life I did NOT want to be part of.

Yes, having a paper route was an interesting segment of my early education.

I suspect this memory was a bit later, probably junior high age when I was older and wiser, but I will include it here anyway. Off to the east of Bannock Ave were I lived, were the Union Pacific rail yards complete with a real roundhouse and gigantic turntable for turning the steam engines. I can remember clearly lying in my bed and listening to the sounds of switch engines and freight cars being noisily coupled and uncoupled all night long. And occasionally, the mournful sound of a lonely whistle moaning in the night as a night train headed for the mines of Montana. I remember standing beside the track, long after I was supposed to be in bed and watching the dim lights of the caboose slowly fade into the darkness and wondering what it was like to be on board the train and heading into the fascinating unknown.

But I digress....

Beyond the yards, over near the Yellowstone Highway, north of the stock yards, was Idaho Animal Products, a rendering plant of some sort where they took in all kinds of dead animals, diseased and not, road kill, most bloated with stiff legs thrust outward rigidly. There were also parts and pieces of animals, slippery piles of unrecognizable glop, you name it. Inside that concrete building, I can imagine, they skinned the carcases out, broke them down, sliced them up, flayed them off the bones and chopped them into pieces to be rendered for the fat and lard and...well, I have no idea what they did. I do know that when the wind was right and they were cooking, the smell would gag a maggot. Across the highway and a short distance away was Ray’s In and Out, a busy little drive-in of the day. I recall how pleasant it felt when my friend, Steve Elder and I had a little excess change in our pocket and would walk the mile or so over to Ray’s for a 30-cent chocolate shake or something. A nickel more for malt. In one of those aberrations in behavior, peculiar to young boys, we somehow developed a bizarre game for the trip back home. If the Animal Products was cooking and we were feeling especially silly, we would get our shake and drink it as we walked. We timed our return so we would get to the switch yard just about the time we finished the shakes. Then we would sit downwind on the tracks, enduring in the fetid aroma from the Animal Products and making jokes and telling teenage lies until we discovered who would vomit up their shake first. Great fun! It helped to win if you had a big supper.

I just had a thought. I wonder what we smelled like when we got home? Perhaps that would explain why it was so easy to persuade our parents to let us sleep outside in the yard all summer long?

How I came to the Union Tribune

Jack: Here is my reminiscence of hiring on at the UT.

I was an art major in 1967 when we somehow found ourselves in a family way again, which condition we could not afford. I decided to leave school and head back to California and find work but did not want to go back to LA, having gone through the Watts riots and four o’clock traffic on the Hollywood Freeway. So we headed to San Diego where my sister and her husband were in the Navy. About the third day of job hunting, I wandered into 919 cold off the street and talked to Earl Vikander. He took me to talk to Stan Griffin. That was in the days when Stan’s office was in The Annex. You went out the back door of the Trib newsroom on the third floor, past the coffee machines as I recall, and onto the fire escape and back into the building where the presses were. I think they kept the two buildings separate so the noise and vibration from the old Goss letterpresses wouldn’t shake everyone out of their chairs six or eight times a day. Al Sund was in charge of the CNS photo lab in that building and Stan had a desk in the corner. By one of those cosmic coincidences that give life meaning, Stan was looking for a photog that very day and had already decided to hire someone when I walked in. As we talked, I told him that while in high school I had worked as a lab tech and sometimes photographer for the Idaho Falls Post Register and my boss was a remarkable guy named Reed Rasmussen. And in the second coincidence of the day, Stan knew Reed! Stan made a call... Reed lied his head off and Stan hired me on the spot.

I always had the greatest respect for Stan. He was a good and fair boss and always treated me better than I probably deserved. I think I started work at $109 a week which was all the money in the world to a starving ex-student. We had been living on that much a month! Talk about a dream job! And the real joke was on Jim Copely. I would have paid HIM to work for the U-T!

We rented a house on 32nd St in North Park with a date palm in the front yard and thought we had died and gone to heaven. I couldn’t imagine a job that was more romantic and exciting. I used to come into the photo lab on my day off, just to see what was happening. And that was not an uncommon thing for photogs to do in those days.

And as long as I am schlupping around in my memory, here are some other early mental meanderings from my life at the UT... senility is a wonderful thing, ain’t it?

There were, I think, 22 photogs at the time and a great bunch of guys. I don’t think I ever worked with anyone at either 919 or Mission Valley that I didn’t like, photo lab or news side. Most everyone I worked with impressed me with their professionalism and/or their personality and there are a number I still consider my friends.

As the new kid in the photo lab, I always admired the “old timers” like Thane McIntosh, Danny Tichonchuk, Phil McMahan, Roger Wrenn, Jerry Rife, Ted Winfield, John Godwin (you could tell by the crack of the balls when John was shooting pool across the street at the Press Room), Joe Flynn, George Smith and Fred Gates, and all the others. Sorry Fred, but you were there before I was.

I also liked Ed Neil when he wasn’t being a boss. He was a big help when I bought my first boat, a 36 foot steel-hulled Churchward cruiser: “Don’t you know that God never intended boats to be made out of steel? It doesn’t float!” Hmmm, coming from the desert of Idaho, I never thought of that. Ironically, Ed was the one who, on a pleasant evening when I had taken him and Chuck Boyd and several others for a cruise out of Mission Bay, came up from below and asked ingenuously “Are the floor boards down in the cabin supposed to be floating in water?” I am not sure what flashed through anyone else’s mind but PANIC! pretty well covers mine. By then, I had grasped the concept that a steel boat filling up with water was not a good idea in anybody’s book. And I instinctively understood that drowning half the photo staff in one swell foop was probably not going to look good on my resume! During the full-throttle dash back for the breakwater, we discovered that I had left a circulation valve on the engine open and the impending disaster was easily averted by closing it. But the event did leave a serious dent on my ego. Ed kindly never mentioned it.

Jerry Windle and I were heavily into scuba diving together for several years and were partners in a really strange looking dive boat. We did a number of underwater photo spreads in our spare time and on assignment with an underwater camera Charlie Sick bought. Of course, everyone took photos of the “staff seagull”, but I will claim Jerry and I were the only ones to ever photograph the staff lobster.

Joe Holly and I went partners on a 26 foot motor home. A lot of pleasant memories traveling around in it. I learned early on that little kids had a fascination for going to the bathroom at 60 miles an hour and we had to ration it so they wouldn’t fill the holding tank up before we got to Ramona. Another thing that sticks in my mind about Joe is that he was personally acquainted with Evil Knievel from his Montana days? I rode motorcycles for years but preferred to keep my wheels firmly on the ground. I always had serious reservations about the man’s judgement (Evil’s not Joe’s), or lack thereof, but it sure was fun to watch him do his thing. Joe can probably elaborate.

During the seventies, I fell in love with flying and got my pilots license not long after Betty Peach got hers. Although she flew a Beech Bonanza and I flew a lowly Piper 140, we always had good stuff to talk about when we went on assignments together. Thane McIntosh came from an aviation family and I know he could fly a plane, but I don’t recall that he ever got a license? Stan also got me an assignment on the Goodyear blimp once, so I have that in common with both Betty and Chuck Boyd.

Speaking of Chuck, I wanted to finish school and Stan offered to let me work my schedule so that I could go to SDSU (Wasn’t it SDSC then?). However, Chuck was already going to USD so I silently cheered him on for about a year and a half until he graduated and I could go. For the next several years I pretty much went to school in the mornings and worked the 2- to-10 late shift.

One other little UT memory... our son, Steven was born shortly after I joined the photo staff and he had thick black hair that stuck out like a bristle brush. His hair reminded me so much of Joe Flynn’s haircut at the time, that I called him Little Joe, which euphonius appelation stuck solid until after he graduated high school and he changed it back to Steven. He is still “Joe” to the folks who knew him back then.

Someone mentioned Jack O'Halloran the other night. I don't know anything about pugilistic endeavors, but I remember I was impressed with Jack O'Halloran as a fighter. I have always liked this photo of him. I am pretty sure it was a bout at the old sports arena... wasn't it down by the harbor? He did have a brief and very bright career that fizzled as abruptly as it flared. When I look at this photo I am convinced I would not want to meet him in the proverbial dark alley if he were feeling grumpy... whatever his win-loss was.

I was also impressed with Archie Moore as a fighter, but probably even more as a human being and his accomplishments outside the ring. He did a lot for the community and other people, kids especially, with a foundation and camps and other programs. I photographed Archie several times for different reasons and recall that I was saddened when he died.

AW NUTZ Candy Complany

JERRY WINDLE writes:
My former darkroom partner and 919er John Price may not recall, but he and I bought a couple cases of the 1962 Non-GOP Convention ashtrays. we sold them for a while, and I wound up with several eventually "borrowed" by my son and given to his friends. We saw an article in the Trib, maybe Neil Morgan, about the company that had made them and was selling them so we got a case or two. John and I loved working downtown as on our lunch hour we'd wander down to Goodwill or the Salvation Army thrift stores down on Fifth - before the Gaslamp quarter. We always found bargains. Once we bought several "Hot Nut" vending machines and a few gumball machines. I still have one yet today. Speaking of downtown, this will probably prompt a discussion but in pre-Mission Valley days, parking was on your own. I always parked near the railroad tracks below Market Street and walked to work, often with my camera gear. I would not dare to do that today!! Often walked by the nut company that was always cooking peanuts, and one could buy a pound of fresh roasted peanuts for only 45 cents! What a bargain! One day walking to my car, I ran across a Mobil station being torn down. I later returned and asked if I could have the two metal "Flying Horses" from the station using my kid as an excuse. They said sure, and I took both and somehow managed to get them into my VW bug. My wife made me sell one eventually, but I still have one hanging on a backyard shed. Worth few hundred bucks today! Downtown was great, even with the walk to work. Mission Valley brought FREE parking. Spoiled the new hires!!

PHOTO ARCHIVES

I recently went mucking about in the stacks of boxes I call my 'archives'. I kick the dust off them and rummage about every hundred years or so... and this is what I found, some photos I took and some photos were took of me.

Yours truly with Gomer Pyle and Carol Burnett at a show they were doing for Vietnam bound marines.

Probably the ugliest scuba dive boat ever conceived by the mind of man... but boy it did a good job.

How about Prince Chuck at a Royal party at the Hotel Del Coronado!

Tricky Dicky Nixon who got in a bit of trouble as king and emperor, and C. Arnholt Smith, a major San Diego local, who later got into troubles of his own with a failing bank and did a little jail time. I don't recall taking this photo, and it may have been taken earlier than when I was at the paper, President Nixon looks awfully young.

A very excellent actual photograph of me doing what I do best. This was done by Chuck Beebe, an amazing cartoonist for the Tribune.

A Tribute to Dan Tichonchuk

Dan Tichonchuk was a photog I worked with on the UT. He was short, funny and Polish. He was also a very nice guy. The photo is of Dan and our boss, Stan Griffin, also a great guy and a terrific boss.

My memories of Dan Tichonchuk agree with all the others, he was a genuinely nice guy and a dedicated photog.

One of my fondest memories was when we were sitting around on the night shift shortly after I came to 919 and he was telling me about his wedding. I was fresh from the bush of Idaho and totally naive about anything Polish, especially weddings. He had me rolling on the floor as he described the three-day event with non-stop food and drink and guests who would celebrate until they couldnt stand up, then lie down in the most comfortable corner they could find until the festivities began again the next day. And I can still imagine him presiding over the whole shebang with that impish grin of his, never flustered, just making sure everyone had enough to eat and drink and a time good enough to exhaust them into a coma.

And I recall the sports stats notebooks he used to keep. I have no idea what they were or what they contained, but he was religious about keeping track of a lot of something... scores or batting averages or the grass length of his favorite golf green or whatever it was he listed over the years. And I do know he could give you most any sports statistics your little heart required, and do it off the top of his head, win or lose, drunk or sober.

The other outstanding memory I have of Dan was an incredible story he told when he came into work one Monday. He calmly told us that he had been kidnapped and taken to Mexico over the weekend! And he was serious! He said he had been to a dance or some event, I think at a Chula Vista country club, and for some reason, came out alone. I think his wife, Cookie had gone home earlier. He said he was accosted in the parking lot by a couple of Mexicans who did not speak English, but threatened him with knives, one may have also had a small gun. He said they forced him into his own car, the little gray Toyota station wagon he drove, and made him drive them to Mexico and down the coast toward Ensenada. At some point they turned out into the desert and drove to a totally isolated spot. By now it was in the early hours, totally dark and Dan said he was convinced they were going to kill him, probably just for his car. They apparently stepped away to talk between themselves, and he managed to slip into the brush and then elude them as they looked for him in the darkness.

I don't recall how he said he managed to find his way back to the highway or how he got back to Tijuana. But he knew better than to contact the Mexican police while still in Mexico. It was common for any American involved in anything in Mexico at the time, to be put in jail while things were sorted out. It seems like he said he walked across the border that Sunday, or perhaps he called someone to come and get him, but whatever the case, he showed up at work the next Monday quite as calm and as collected as he ever was and so glad to be alive that as far as I know, he never did pursue things any further

He did say he hated to lose his car.

Jumper

We got a call that there was a jumper on a ledge on the US Grant Hotel, just across the street from the UT office. As it turned out, the best vantage point for me was on the roof of the newspaper building, almost directly across from the guy. By the time I got set up on the roof with a tripod and telephoto lens, there were several people talking to the guy. Lee Grant is a reporter from the Union, the hairy guy second from the left. Frank Saldana, fourth from the left talked to him for quite a while until this fireman crawled out on the ledge with him. As I recall, the fireman talked to him for a while until he came close enough for several folks to grab him and pull him to safety. The sad part is that all the while there were people on the street yelling "jump, jump." They must lead some pretty sad lives.

What a Babe!

Charlie Chimp goes to the Dentist

What a fun story!

Deadly Robbery

I covered a robbery at a mini mart one night. The clerk had been killed and the cops had sealed the place and would not let anyone in to take pictures. As I was standing around the parking lot, I noticed this security mirror and got this photo. It ran in the paper and also went out on the wire service.

???

Ooookay. I have no idea what this photo represents. It is Robin Maydeck, a Tribune reporter, perhaps doing her Bonnie Parker imitation. I must be doing a version of Sonny Bono. It is in the old photo lab on 2nd Ave and the gun looks very real, as does the 1970s flowered tie.

Civil Disturbances in the 70s

John Price writes:
I remember hearing about the time John Greensmith was looking for a reported uprising in Southeast SD. This was during the days when riots and violent demonstrations were fairly common in LA but had not become de rigueur in SD. As I remember the story, it was while he was on the car radio asking for better directions to where the disturbance was reported to be, that he came up over a hill somewhere around Imperial Avenue and found himself smack in the middle of a wall to wall convocation of Black Panthers, Symbionese Liberation Army supporters and other assorted groups blocking the entire street. One can only imagine what they must have thought as a tall, bald, white guy calmly drove a red and white UT photo car into their midst. I recall what John said HE thought, and which he allowed he may have impulsively expressed over the radio in spite of FCC regulations. He also managed to burn two black stripes on the pavement, going backwards up the hill and getting out of there before the crowd had a chance to take care of Whitey, (a term of endearment used by the angry black community at the time and which would probably be called the "W word" in our enlightened culture today) And that is a remarkable thing to do in a Corvair!


Jack Reber replied:
John: I hate to pass up a good story, but I think I will skip this one. I'm concerned there will be people asking why he turned tail. He was looking for these groups, and he found them, and so the question arises as to why he didn't park his car, get out and start taking photos.
I remember John very well. For some reason, he and I seemed to work together a lot. He was a great person to be around as well as a heck of a photographer. Just a good friend.

John Price writes:

Valid questions Jack.

You are probably right about not including the story. It was a different time then and we have hopefully moved past that kind of thing. That story raises no question of John's judgement or professionalism. It was a lighthearted look at what could have been a very serious situation. It literally could have been a matter of survival when he unexpectedly found himself isolated in very hostile circumstances. There was, and is, no doubt in my mind that if he had stopped he could have easily landed in the next day's police reports, having had the living crap beat out of him ...or worse... by a mob. I am sure John regrouped and covered whatever happened in the professional way he always did. It was simply not very wise for a street photographer to get very far ahead of the police or National Guard lines in that kind of situation. If you remember, those were not gentle times with nice folks out for a little diversion in the sun. They were times when angry "militants" were frequently looking for blood. Any one or any thing connected to "the establishment" was a prime target for destruction and the Copley name was a flag-bearer for The Establishment.

I found myself in that position a time or two and it was frightening. Once was in Horton Plaza, just across the street from 919. The place was jammed by several thousand demonstrators of every kind, there for any number of reasons. Every policeman the department could put on the street was in full riot gear, with standard helmets and face shields, and lined up at both ends of the plaza. I suddenly found myself isolated in the midst of the crowd... near the fountain... in my sport coat, clean shirt and tie... and was jammed up against a large biker-hippie type (I know that is a non-sequitur, bikers hated hippies!) who was definitely not wearing a suit or carrying a briefcase. He said something like: "You better get out of here NOW, Whitey! We are going to bust somebody up because of what the cops did to Willie last night and if you are still here when we do, I will smash that damn camera over your head."

I got my pictures and nobody got beat up... that I know of, but I was right to have taken the threat very seriously.

Unrelated, but similar, was the time Jerry Windle and I were covering a Rolling Stones concert from the outside. There had been a huge number of counterfeit tickets sold and hundreds of fans, many with legitimate tickets, were turned away once the Sports Arena was filled. They were unhappy. The fans got rowdy and started throwing rocks. The police set up barricades and started arresting people. Jerry was in the thick of it when a big rock came flying out of the dark and smashed one of the cameras he had hanging around his neck. There were very real dangers on the street, and we rightfully took them very seriously.

How I was deported from Mexico

JERRY WINDLE writes:
The Mexico stories and my recent re-connect with my good photo-buddy John Price, through the 919 gang, reminded me of a story for which I always admired his resourcefulness. He was covering one of the "squatter" sit-ins at Rosarito Beach. He had his photos and saw the Federales heading his way. Somehow, he managed to get the film out of his camera and put in a new roll so when they demanded, at gun point, he surrender his film, he "reluctanbty" agreed and protested a little (role playing so he didn't look suspicious). I often tried to duplicate that feat just in case I was ever in a similar situation, but could never quite pull it off. Something you might see in the movies but he did it somehow!!!
Photogs always felt a close kinship in the old building with the Trib staffers because the photo lab was "embedded" in the Trib newsroom.

Great story, Jerry. And the public never realizes what photogs go through to bring home the news.

***
Last night, Jerry Windle recalled the time John Price managed to slip the film out of his camera and insert a blank roll seconds before the federales told him to hand over his film.

JOHN PRICE writes:
I had forgotten that incident at the border Jerry Windle told about. I admit it may sound a little juvenile, but I really did practice changing film and lenses without looking, just in case I ever had to.
So the question is, does getting forcibly deported by two Mexican soldados right out of a B-movie, complete with the mirrored sunglasses, starched fatigues and very large rifles, get me considered for the journalistic Hall of Shame? I know I could never hope to compete with trafficking in illegal lobsters, but my mother would have been really embarrassed by what her son had come to. Would that count?

I think the film-palming stunt qualifies you for the photo hall of fame. I know Jerry Windle sounded envious of your talent. I assume the deportation you mention was a separate incident, yes? If so, we'll need more details before we can elevate you to the same high status as the lobster poacher.

Brief bio

I was hired as a photographer for the old San Diego Union and Evening Tribune when the papers were separate and the photo dept worked for either/both. Made for some interesting logistical and political maneuverings in and around the photo lab. Stan Griffin was the head of the department and Charlie Sick was his second in command. I was a photog from 1967 to 1977 so was there during the move to the new building in Mission Valley. I was involved quite heavily in the design and construction of the new photo department but I was always ‘on the street’ as well, so I had the best of both worlds. I apparently suffered from a terminal case of ‘career burn out’ and left the paper in 1977.

I sort of fell into the ship repair business with my brothers in San Diego. I do the design and engineering. We moved the operation “back home” to Idaho Falls, Idaho in 1980. So what is odd about fabricating shipboard equipment in the desert of Idaho? We are still in business together, fabricating furniture and equipment for both the Navy and the Army.

Email: johnhprice@qwest.net
Address: PO Box 357, Iona ID 83427
Phone: 208 523 8090

Ring of Truth Award

So sad to hear that no Pulitzers were awarded to those of the UT persuasion this year. It did remind me of the other brass ring of journalism, slightly less known perhaps, but a gem nonetheless. What ever happened to the Ring of Truth award... also known reverently in 919 circles as the Ding-a-Ling of Truth award? I always thought that it was a marvelously proletary gesture for the brass to give awards for the marvelously vague and often obscure categories up with which (I assume) Paula Kent came. My one and only award was for “Best Photo Promoting the Copley Press” or something like that. I took a huge, group photo of.. .. well, a huge group. The award is a desktop plaque with an actual brass bell sitting on it. Kind of neat. My kids have loved it over the years, joyfully ringing in many a happy occasion or generally annoying their mother with it. The year I received it was the last year they had an actual bell. The next year they just gave a plaque with a picture of a bell on it. That award then became, of course the No Bell Prize. I never got one of those.

919 Gang

I worked for eleven years as a news photographer for the San Diego Union-Tribune. I recently discovered an old timer's news group where we can sit around the stove and tell lies about the good old days. I think I will use this to collect the stories that I fondly... or not so fondly... recall and are part of my life.

Let us begin.

Jack,
I was a photog for the UT from 1966 to 1977 so perhaps I qualify for this group. I reconnected with Phil McMahan and Jerry Windle a while ago and they both told me about it and sent me some of the dailies. They dredged up some long forgotten names and some amazing memories, thanks.

Phil Sousa was indeed a class act.

The comments about Jack Cooper made me smile. I don't think Coop could breathe properly without his cigar, at least I never saw him try.

Is Joe Flynn still around? I always thought he was the epitome of what a news photog should be; aggressive and dedicated, with a flat top haircut and attitude to match. He could have been modeled right out of a Raymond Chandler novel. Maybe he was.

One story I remember was when he was covering a snooty dog show. He thought it would make the Union's picture page if he got the biggest dog in the show together with the tiniest one they had. I don't recall the details, but I assumed they rounded up a great dane and got the proud parents of a little chihuahua or pekingese to volunteer their little darling for the photo. Joe said he put them together in one of the exhibit booths and stepped back to take the pic. The big dog did a slow turn and looked down at the little dog. With one "Ggrunphh!" the dane grabbed the little dog by the head and gave it a shake, just to express its displeasure with the situation. To everyone's shock, Joe's more than anyone's, it abruptly ended the little dog's career. Joe never did say how he made his own exit from the show.

I don't suppose Cooper used the photo.

Thanks again for the memories and add me to the list if you will.

***

Your Assignments That Went Bad suggestion jogged my memory about one of the few times I ever missed a deadline. I was assigned to cover either Lyndon Johnson or Richard Nixon (my memory is leaning toward Nixon) making a speech at Camp Pendleton. I think I recall that Thane MacIntosh also went. Thane went to properly cover the whole event, I was to get a quick shot of the president speaking to the troops who were departing for Viet Nam, and then hot foot it back in time for the Trib’s final. As I recall, the photo deadline was about 11:30 am and if the president was on time... if I unloaded my camera enroute... if I could coax 60 mph out of my UT Corvair... if the traffic lights on Broadway were kind and if Jerry Windle had the developer superheated, I could theoretically make the green sheet, but just barely. I went up early, mapped out my best route to get off the base, parked just outside the gate that was closest to I-5, anticipated which onramp was likely not to be congested with the president coming etc... and we waited for Air Force One to arrive.

Everything went smoothly, I got my photo (it was one of these.) and made serious tracks to the gate where my photo car was parked. It was at the gate that I was met by a short Marine corporal with a very large rifle. “No one is allowed to exit the base until the President departs, Sir.”

“WHAT? All I want to do is LEAVE!” I tried every argument, every story, every bluster I could come up with. I may have promised him a date with my sister, but nothing worked.

I missed the final edition that day, but I learned a cosmic truth: there is nothing in this great universe, not even the weight of the Copley empire, quite so immovable as a Marine corporal with orders and an M-1 rifle.

***

Hey Chuck. Yes, I do have a picture of that old Churchward cabin cruiser I bought. I will see if I can find it. Were you with us when we went out and almost sank the thing? ? Ed Neil was the one who discovered the we had a problem. He came up on the bridge where I was regaling my guests with my expertise and seafaring knowledge, and asked me if it was proper for the floorboards in the cabin to be floating? Apparently there was an engine circulation valve that I had accidently left open and it had siphoned most of Mission Bay into the boat. I managed to turn the bilge pump on and headed for the dock. The boat and all aboard were saved, but I was a bit embarrassed

***