PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNEY.com

Bear with me on this post… it’s less about photography and a bit more personal in nature. I just had to share.

I am fortunate in my chosen career as a network television news producer since I am regularly exposed to major historical events of all kinds. (For those of you who don’t know what a producer does — basically I’m an off-camera reporter). Of course, the job comes with a great deal of responsibility for the people who depend on my accurate reporting of the facts. And since I work for a television network, that’s a lot of people.

What’s more, all those major news events are not always easy to cover. Sometimes they are logistically difficult. Sometimes emotionally. I spent the first week after 9/11 breathing in the smoke, fumes and sorrow surrounding the Pentagon. And I will never forget it. Other moments, like the recent shooting at Virginia Tech can prove just as difficult to cover.

I arrived on Monday, literally hours after Seung-hui Cho had done his terrible damage. The wounds in those who survived were literally raw, and the emotional wounds had only just begun to sink in. I met two impressive young men on the first day — both of whom had been in a classroom ravaged by Cho. It was my job to book them for a live interview with NBC’s Brian Williams, and I did.

In the first few days of working the story I had no time to take photographs, although I had brought my camera. But perhaps that’s just as well. Later, by the time the pacing of the events began to slow, I grabbed the camera for the first time and simply went off walking. The correspondent I was working with had some free time as well, so we drove to the drill field of the campus, parked, and got out. And that was where the first of several “Moments of Silence” had just begun.

It was, I think the largest gathering of people in “silence” that I have ever seen. A profound sea of purple and orange (Virginia Tech’s colors) that stretched all across the drill field. Some were dangling their legs off rooftops just to get a view. And no one was saying a word. It was awesome in it’s power.

I had my camera with me and of course, I wasn’t the only one. There were newspaper photographers snapping pictures and television photographers rolling tape on all of it. No one seemed to mind — or even notice. But what occurred to me while taking my photographs of the event is that it wasn’t about art, my usual motivation. No, this was something deeper and perhaps even more meaningful. I was taking pictures for my own memory. Snapshots, if you want to call them that.

Earlier in the day, when I didn’t have a camera with me, I was among the first reporters to get to the outside of Norris Hall — the building where Cho murdered most of the people. It was roped off with yellow tape, of course, but the same silent procession of students, faculty and family members was walking by. Many of them snapped pictures. At first, I wondered why a student would want to photograph such a terrible thing at their own school. But now I think I know. Photography can be a sort of validation of the moment. In a way, such tragedy is so difficult to accept in the human mind, taking pictures of it is a way to make it “real.” And to remember it, of course.

The photographs I made of the “Moment of Silence” are far from my best artistically. But I am glad I took them. Because when I look at them, I remember those two young guys I met on the first day. When I see a community of purple and orange jerseys in my pictures, it makes me think that those guys will be okay. Clearly, they, and all those unfortunate souls who died, are very loved.

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