Sunday.

Sometimes I forget how quickly things can change in a single day. How you put yourself in so many different situations and cultures. A day can start off with pleasant blue skies and almost no wind, temperatures peaking at 70 degrees, and end with a twenty degree drop, a strong wind and a wintry mix occasionally falling from the sky.

You can wake up to birds chirping and cars zipping by, head to a community event filled with the sound of laughter, find your way to a basement grindcore show, the sound of feedback reverberating through your skull, then take a 20 minute drive down a tree-lined country road where the only sound comes from the wind whipping through the trees, and the occasional car slowly turning around to head the other way.

A sunny day, a dimly lit basement, a night sky flashing red and blue.

This was my Sunday. Just a normal Sunday. Maple syrup and sheep shearing demonstrations, pot cookies and rice krispies being passed around ($5 a bag), accident investigators carefully observing tread marks and laying down orange and green markers as they process the scene.



"I don't do photos," said Jan Corwin, until her son pushed her into giving me her name. "Just do it," he said.

"Richard, this is Sean, he does photos," 'Twan said. I extended my hand. "Hey Richard, nice to meet you." "Yeah, man. You too," he said, accepting my outstretched hand.

"Before you take any photos, let me make sure the body isn't visible," said Sgt. Brenning. Two minutes later he stopped me. "Hold on, I thought I saw an arm dangling." There wasn't.



It's a strange thing. My ears were ringing during the whole drive to the accident. I had forgotten to get earplugs; it was pretty miraculous I heard the call from Scott. My head was spinning as I left the Alley and made my way through the smoke haze; as soon as I got out to the scene, the ringing became deafeningly loud. My head spun again when the Sergeant described the accident to Aaron (the reporter) and myself. Two cars were following each other, one attempted to pass, both lost control. One hit a telephone pole, the other hit a tree, shearing the car in half. Two died -- a boyfriend and girlfriend, ages 20 and 18. The boyfriend's brother was ejected from the car, but survived. The couple recently had a kid, Carter is 9 months old.

Sheared. Funny, how that word came up again. Except last time it was surrounded by a choir of little kids shouting "ewww", "grosssss", or "whoooaaa." Electric shearers, handheld. A skilled hand at work.

The road, unlike the petting zoo, and definitely unlike the basement at Bird Alley, is not a playground, said lewismedlock in a comment.

Yup.

Fatal Accident 2/9/10

On Tuesday, Feb. 9 I had my first "K". Not a strike out (I suck at pitching), or the amount of money I've made (student employment is cheap), but a real "K". The not funny, scary, one-you-should-never-get-used-too kind.

My JRN 220 professor, Lisa Yanick-Jonaitis, gave me some practical advice before I went out, "If you cross where they're directing traffic, you should be fine, did you hear "K" on the police scanner?"

Then, I got suckered punch.

"K" is police jargon for a kill or fatality. "K" means I went to the scene blood pumping, adrenaline rushing, ready to take pictures of the newsworthy event. "K" means I hate spot news.




A Shepherd Tri-Township Fire Department firefighter walks away from the scene of a car accident on M-20 that caused the death of a 38-year-old Mount Pleasant man on Tuesday, Feb. 9.



Roy Buckner of Mount Pleasant talks to his family after walking out of TC's Bar & Grill on M-20 to find that his Ford Ranger, which his son borrowed, had been involved in a head on collision on Tuesday, Feb. 9.

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As soon as Roy Buckner said that his son had borrowed his truck, I immediately knew that this man in front of me, this father, had lost his son. It was heart-wrenching from behind the security net of my camera lens and my pentaprism viewfinder.

As Roy Buckner walked across the road to talk to the emergency response crews. I couldn't shout out what he was about to find out, give him some warning. Obviously, that wouldn't be ethical. I could only watch, finger ready, and sympathize for him.



This one ran in CM-Life, however, I prefer the next photo over this one. Both have the same caption.



Roy Buckner of Mount Pleasant looks back as he walks away from the scene after learning that his 38-year-old son, Candum Royal Buckner, was killed following a head-on collision on M-20 on Tuesday, Feb 9.

He had just found out. How would you have felt? This was human tragedy. This was raw emotion. This was the big leagues of spot news.



As he walked away from learning his son had died, I kept shooting. My finger never left the shutter button. Focus, take the shot. Focus, take the shot. Composition took a back seat, I just shot. The man wasn't crying, he wasn't holding his face in his hands, however, the look on his face is haunting. What was going through his head? How could you cope with something like this?

On the way to the scene with Randi Shaffer (the reporter) and my good friend Libby March (the other photographer who came with me), we were talking about photo ethics. What is the story you want to tell? Where is the border between sensationalism and an image that explains the story? As a photographer, and as a reporter, you have so much power at your finger tips, be it your shutter button, or your pen and 4" x 8" notebook. Sensitivity goes a long way, and improves your reputation, rather than just shooting the scene without regard for the human loss and suffering.

I shot the scene, and I captured the moment. I took some shots of the carnage, of the mangled front ends of the trucks involved, but it wasn't what I wanted to show. That wasn't a compelling image. It wasn't human. From my vantage point, and with my telephoto lens, I shot the emergency response crew hard at work. This is what they did for a living, they dealt with this on a regular basis. However, the second that Roy Buckner walked out of the bar he was in and asked about his truck, I knew I had found the story--but my heart still dropped.

I captured the moment as best as I could. Given the circumstances, the situation, the equipment I had, it was all I could do. I had forgotten to wear gloves or even a jacket, so I was cold, my hands were numb, I could barely feel my camera, the viewfinder was fogged and the front element of my lens was wet. The composition could have been better, the focus could have been sharper, but it wasn't what mattered to me. For me, the moment trumps the focus, but most of all, human suffering trumps the moment. When I first looked at the image, I hated it. I caught a small measure of human suffering on a grand scale, but this man, this was his Haiti.



Emergency response crews work on the scene of a head-on collision on M-20. Candum Royal Buckner, 38, of Mount Pleasant was driving eastbound when he lost control and swerved into the oncoming lane, where he was struck by a GMC Seirra. Thomas Carl Reinig, 58, and Daniel Thomas Reinig, 31, both of Sanford, were transported to Mount Pleasant Community Hospital, while Buckner was pronounced dead on the scene.

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Photojournalism isn't sensationalism by any means. As I told my girlfriend, "I wish I could say this is the reason I do what I do, but it's not..."

We tell stories, be it happy or sad. Sensational as the images might seem to some, the camera held to your eye makes you oblivious to what is going on around you. This was my first fatal spot news story, so obviously the one that will affect me the most. But I hope it doesn't get easier to shoot, because it will take away from why I'm really in love with this field.

Edit: Go to Libby's take on the crash.