Pray for my sanity
A few months ago, I was lucky enough to pay a visit to San Quentin State Prison as a photographer for the paper. A minister and community leader from a small town just south of us was named the head protestant chaplin of the prison about a year ago, and right after I heard about it, my first thought was, “Can we get in?”
It took time and persistence by the reporter to get the green light, but we finally did. The strange thing is, for me, the hardest part was not the typical things you might expect from shooting in a prison with a PR person next to you.
At no point was I ever told not to shoot something beforehand and at no point was I ever get told to put the camera down while taking a picture. In fact, we were given a tour of the place and saw a lot of the prison while hanging out with the chaplin. The only thing the PR guy asked of me was if any prisoner asked that he not be photographed, I respect their wish.
Actually, the hardest part ended up being the mule-like stubborness of the reporter.
While I was more than happy to see and capture a lot of different moments during our visit, I still wanted to try and go back to photograph an actual Sunday service — we visited on a Thursday — as well as meet up with the pastor at home and in the community to show the other aspects of his life. In a nutshell, to try and paint a more complete picture of the pastor overall.
The reporter completely disagreed with my ideas and not only that, made it a point to throw cold water on them several times while talking with me and my supervisors. She did not see a need for the extra photos, felt getting back in would be impossible and complained that by holding off on publication, we were straying to far from the original intent of the story. She continually harrassed me on these points until I finally pretended she was a top 40 radio station and tuned her out.
I went ahead and pursued the other options — with my supervisor’s approval — and was lucky enough to get back on the phone with the prison PR guy. Usually, the San Quentin State Prision PR people only work 9-5, Monday to Friday, and if you need them outside of these hours, you have to pay for it. MSNBC, for example, just finished a big thing that took over 100 hours of their time, and they paid for it.
I told him that our budget was not that big, but we think the story of what the pastor is doing inside is special enough to try and get better pictures, even though Sundays are typically a day off for the PR department. I tried to brainstorm other ideas with him to maybe overcome the obstacle, but ultimatley he tells me to write an email to him outlining everything I said and he would forward it to the warden. He thought maybe he could work out a deal with the warden where he could work a Sunday in exchange for some time off.
I sent a long, elaborate email off and two hours later get a call from him. He says, “Today’s your lucky day. Two Sundays from now, a film crew will be in that I’m escorting around. If you want, you can ride their coat tails.”
I was elated. Not only did I catch a break with the prison, but my tenacity in the face of a visionless reporter paid off. I was on cloud nine.
That is, until the PR guy emailed me three days later saying the film crew backed out and therefore, he would not be working.
I tried calling and emailing him after that, hoping against hope, but to no avail. He stopped returning my calls.
On top of this disappoinment, the pastor made it clear that he was not interested in me hanging out with him at home. His said his wife trys to avoid the limelight. I actually had him convinced to let me spend time at his house, but I could tell he was reluctant, so I just let him be.
I can understand that some people may not want to have their pictures and story in the paper, and I’m fine with that, which is why I eventually just respected her wish and let that part of the story go. At this point, I could see the writing on the wall — what I got that day in the prison was going to be it.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been on such a roller coaster of emotion while working on a story. From the lows of dealing with an unresonable reporter to the highs of seeing doggedness pay off, to the lows again of watching your vision of a story die in the end. Overall, I’m happy with the photos I got that day, but if this story has not left me eternally conflicted, I’m not sure what will.
