Bush visits Napa Valley. I stress out.
I wrote this little first-person story on my White House press pool experience for the newspaper. I think I sprouted more than a few new grey hairs during the madness.
I was sick. Sick to my stomach from thinking that I managed to miss one of the more important photos of my Register career; a shot of President George W. Bush during his July visit to the Napa Valley.
I should have gotten him emerging from Marine One when it landed at Sutter Home Winery. Except his motorcade got in the way, of course.
Why, motorcade? Why? I had a perfectly good shot lined up, ready to go. But nooooooo. You had to be in a huge hurry and pick up the President. What, afraid there may be traffic? A curse on your house, motorcade.
I’ve missed shots before. I miss shots every day. That’s fine. I do not mind making mistakes and learning from them. Usually, it makes me better. This one did not. It put a dark cloud over my head.
I shared my lament with one of the photographers traveling with the White House press pool. He provided no Pepto for my ego. “You’re living in fantasy photo-land,” he said.
While shuttling from Sutter Home to the Republican Party fundraiser at Harlan Estate, I took pictures from the press van window of people standing on the side of the road. Normally, this little piece of therapy would have blown the storm clouds away, but not this time. This was too big.
After a working dinner in the Harlan Estate cellar — where, by the way, I had the glorious task of revisiting my failure by picking through what shots I had to send to the newsroom — I looked to members of the traveling press for glimmers of light in the darkness.
You know how that went. Apparently, I was living in “fantasy photo-land.”
Since I missed the clear, albeit brief, opportunity to capture a picture of the president when he emerged from his helicopter, I was hoping against hope I might get something of him when he departed.
Once we were told to gear up for the ride back to Sutter Home, I made it my mission not to miss again. Since the press vans traveled in the back of the (cursed) motorcade and the President’s SUV was up front, I figured my only chance might come from hanging out of an open window. I asked, and the van driver let me sit in the passenger seat.
Once we hit the road, I double-checked my camera settings and took a few shots through the windshield of cars and bystanders.
Finally, we turned from Highway 29 back into the Sutter Home distribution center. The front of the motorcade was nearing Marine One while our van was still football fields away.
I rolled down the window as we got closer. The doors to one of the President’s SUV’s started to open. The SUV disappeared behind Marine One, only to come into view on the other side as we rolled closer.
The driver of my van slowed to a stop, thanks to the gentle commands of a local TV photographer. “Take your time. Take your time,” he told the driver. She did, otherwise we would’ve blown right by the action.
Out popped the president while I leaned out the window, my elbows forming a bi-pod as I braced against the door. He waved to a few people, turned to Marine One, saluted and was gone.
During the whirlwind 19 seconds that I saw him, I took 20 pictures of the President, thankful for the moment where preparedness and opportunity met.
And as wind from the blades of Marine One blew my hair back during take-off, the dark clouds over my head began to part.