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!