Photojournalist - Lara Hartley - Behind the Viewfinder

Friday the 13th and a full moon - oh my!

There is no such thing as a typical day in journalism. No matter how ordinary a day can start anything can and will happen. Friday the 13th was no exception. I didn't realize at first that it *was* the 13th - not until later, much much later did someone point this out to me.

Friday started off rather sublimely. I was to write a small story on the wildflower season (expected to be extraordinary) and illustrate it with shots of flowers already carpeting the desert hillsides outside Barstow.

The sky was cerulean blue. The weather mild. The 4x-lite and I headed for the hills early in the a.m. to catch the longish shadows. Life was good and the shooting was nice - nothing truly outstanding, but nice. That done I did some research at the local BLM, pulled some stuff off the net and went back to the office to write my flowery piece.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch: The big local news (and making the national news as well) for that week, was the birth of the conjoined twins whose parents were from Barstow. We had been covering this event pretty extensively prior to and on the day of the twin's birth with interviews with the parents, photos etc.

The father of the twins has a checkered past and with some moderate digging the crime reporter found his name on the sex-offender CD that was recently released. He had served jail time for forcible rape. After sitting on the story for a couple of days, we decided to run it - on Friday the 13th - a few days after the birth of the twin girls.

Angel, the father, had been pretty much a media darling for several days; basking in the limelight the twins had created by their unusual status. Press conferences. Spots on national "news" shows. You name it. When the rape story broke, oh my. You might of thought that we had crucified an innocent man on the cross of yellow journalism.

Nasty phone calls to the reporter. Nastier phone calls to the editor. Nobody wanted to answer the bloody phones.

The poor editor. Everyone thought we shouldn't have run the story because that poor dear father - look what he had to face now - yadda yadda yadda. Nobody paying attention that Angel had been arrested for spousal abuse just weeks before the twins were born (charges were dropped) and that he was an alleged gang-banger from way back and a convicted rapist.

So the editor was called names, told "f*ck you" and worst of all, the arrow to the heart, he was called "scum" - a new one. This had to hurt.

And all of this before noon. It must be the moon.

As the early afternoon wore on, I sat writing my pretty little piece on wildflowers while the world went insane outside. I had plans to visit the site of a Civil War re-enactment to scout out shooting locations and was just getting ready to leave. Tones sounded on the scanner ( the less-than-melodic noise that calls out personnel and engines) - big accident. Reporter and I sighed and headed for my car. We drove until we found - a little accident - nobody hurt. Great. But we were trying to get things done dammit! and didn't need a nice afternoon drive.

Back to the office. I got ready to leave - again.

Tip came in from an anonymous source. Lotsa police cars surrounding one of the downtown banks. Darn! I have something else to do - reporter has another story to write - Don't need no stinkin' bank robbery! But being the consummate professionals we were we headed for the car. Drove downtown. NOTHING! Not a police car in sight!! Someone is playing cruel jokes on us hapless journalists. Sigh. It is only 3:30. Still time for me to visit Calico Ghost Town - site of weekend work. Off I went, loving my job right about then. The light was great. The wood weathered. The faces and costumes of the early arrivals looking like they stepped out of the pages of a history book. Oh boy, I was going to really enjoy this assignment!

I finished up at the Ghost Town, gassed up the car (just in case - you never know), bought dinner (a sandwich and Gatorade at the convenience store) and was 1/2 mile from home (10 miles outside of Barstow) when my pager went off. &^%Z(^_^%#^)_&%^!! I shouted. Called into the office. Airship requested for an accident involving an ATV and a car. Oh poop. On the other side of Barstow from me. Oh double poop. I blasted onto the freeway, savoring each and every bite of my dinner and hoping that the victims of this accident were not in terrible shape. I arrived before the chopper, checked on the condition of the victim (not bad) did my shots and headed back to work, filed my shot and went home.

The day started at 8:30 a.m. and ended at 7:45 p.m. I think I took a break - I think.

Lara Hartley

"Silence is more eloquent than words"