Photojournalist - Susan Markisz - Behind the Viewfinder

A Day in the Life

Thursday, August 20, 1998

9:30 am, Riverdale, NY:

Drop off my daughter at the barn where she spends her summer days as a camp counsellor at the Riverdale Riding Center day camp. I take some pictures of the camp for a Riverdale Press future file on summer camps in Riverdale.

11 am: Page from New York Times Metro desk: "I need you to go to the Newark Center for the Performing Arts at 1 pm and take pictures of the new rug that was just installed there in the lobby."

A rug? Ok, remember Susan, there are no bad assignments, only bad attitudes.

1:15 pm, Newark, NJ: Have just shot a few frames when PR person's secretary announces: "I just got a call from Susan the photographer; she says she'll be about 15 minutes late." The PR guy and I look at each other and I say: "I am Susan the photographer, and I'm...here!"

I soon realize there's probably been a mix-up and call the desk. I'm pulled from the job, because a staffer had already been assigned and wasn't sure she'd be able to make it. Editor apologizes for the foul-up, tells me to bill him anyway and he'll try and make it up to me. PR guy takes me for a mini tour of the new performing arts complex. The city of Newark has had a renaissance. It's about time.

2 pm: Back at the car, another page: Metro desk: "Go to Westchester County airport for a story on Governor Pataki's proposed legislation for new housing for the mentally disabled." There's an old hangar now used to house the homeless and supposedly there are a few people living there who are mentally retarded. There isn't enough housing in New York State for the mentally disabled. At 5:30 I'm to go up to Yorktown Heights to do a portrait of a mother and her handicapped son for the same story.

I head up to Westchester county, encountering traffic at the toll on the NJ Turnpike. I'm only a couple hundred feet from the toll but no one's moving. A half hour of not moving. Once through the toll, there's no apparent reason for backup. What should have been a 45 min.to an hour ride is over an hour and a half.

Assignment editor gives me good directions to the airport, but no contact phone number, only that the writer will be there. He says once I get in the airport, I'll see a sign for a hangar. I know it's not a small airport. It's been recently redesigned; but I 'm not prepared for...jets, not just corporate jets, but 727's...multiple terminals...multiple hangars. Then I remember his instructions: "you'll see a hangar..."

3:30 pm, Westchester County Airport, White Plains, NY: I drive round and round, thinking I'll see an old abandoned hangar, thinking...it'll be obvious that it's housing. Thank goodness I don't feel compelled, like my husband, to not ASK DIRECTIONS. You know, lost your way, gas stations on every corner, but stop to ask directions? Nope, not on your life. We'll do it the hard way. We may be an hour late, but we'll have found it on our own. This is probably a chauvinistic thing to say, but I think it's a guy thing(?!)

Last week I had an assignment at the Brooklyn Federal Courthouse. I'm not embarrassed to say that in my 23 years as a New York City resident, I've set bart in Brooklyn maybe a dozen times. I am embarrassed to say however, that as a NYC photographer, I didn't know which was the Brooklyn Federal Courthouse Building. As it turns out, even more embarrassing for the 20 or so citizens of Brooklyn, whom I asked, even they didn't know...and we were standing in front of it!

Anyway, Westchester County airport: Airplane hangars. Lots of them. I stop and ask several people who don't know anything about housing for the homeless, but finally see a sign that says "Volunteers of America." A clue? Sounds like a social services agency to me. Maybe it has something to do with housing?!

After introducing myself, the director of the facility asks me to leave the building. I indicate I'm here to meet a writer and I'm told she's been asked to leave. I'm physically escorted outside. Uh oh, no permission here. He warns me not to take pictures even outside; (even though legally I probably can) I call the PR people in Manhattan. Fifteen minutes later, PR person phones and asks me to please not take any photographs outside with any "clients" in them. Meanwhile, several security guards give me the evil eye and approach me repeatedly when I start shooting. I call the picture desk to inform them what I've got and the editor tells me to respect their privacy, to leave and get to the next assignment in Yorktown Hts. He's not sure yet whether this is for tomorrow's paper but tells me to make sure and call the desk before I leave to come into Manhattan.

3:50 pm: Before I have time to start my car, another page; I'm rerouted from Yorktown to Pleasantville.

4pm, Armonk, NY: While driving up route 120, along the Kensico Reservoir, there is a pastoral scene in which an elderly couple enjoys the warmth of a sultry summer afternoon; a woman sits in a lawn chair reading the newspaper, while her husband fishes in the background. I pass by but turn around and go back...the light is beautiful, the scene so peaceful, I can't resist taking some pictures; I quickly shoot a few frames, get id's and head up to next assignment.

4:30 pm, Pleasantville, NY: I photograph 74 year old H. Arthur Alonso, a widower, and his 38year old daughter Jerilyn, who is mentally disabled; she has been on a waiting list for a group home for the last five years. He is concerned about her welfare if something should happen to him. It's now a little before 5; I ask what they'd normally be doing at this time of day. Jerilyn dries a few dishes and helps her father to prepare dinner. We do some photographs in the kitchen, then go outside to the porch to chat for awhile. I make a few portraits outside, then a few portraits in the living room.

38 year old Jerilyn Alonso has been on a waiting list for five years for a group home for the mentally disabled. Her father, H. Arthur Alonso, a widower, worries what will happen to Jerilyn if he should die without having made provisions for her living arrangments. Jerilyn is on a high priority list because of her father's age. August 20, 1998. (c) Susan B. Markisz for The New York Times This was the photo that ran with the article

The picture ran inside, in black and white. I like the BW version better because it eliminates all the extraneous elements like color balance and lets you see what the story is really about. (c) 1998 Susan B. Markisz for the New York Times

5:20 pm: I call in to find out that the story is for tonight's deadline. The picture editor wants to know what time she can expect me back. I say, without traffic, probably an hour.

7 pm, New York City: There is no such thing as "no traffic" at least not in the metro area, and certainly not at rush hour. For some reason, this has been the summer of public works projects. It seems almost every highway in and around New York City is undergoing major construction. Someone in the lab notes that I look famished and tired. (I've had no lunch). He says to slow down, take it easy and hands me an apple. Captioning takes 15 minutes.

7:45 pm: Editor looks at film with me; we discuss which pictures we both like and why, and why we like one better than another but why one of them might not read well in the paper. She says she likes my day shots, picks one but says space is tight, no guarantees.

8pm: Leave for home.

I had pretty much packed up my gear to leave, had called the office to say I was on my way when (naturally) my subjects relaxed a little. I happened to see stairs going down to a lower level and a wrought iron banister that framed Mr. Alonso and his daughter nicely as they chatted together. I quickly took out another roll of film and did a series of pictures that were more artistic than journalistic. When I came back with my film, the editor and I looked at the take from the assignment. We both liked this photo a lot but agreed it might not read well in the paper, 2 or 3 columns wide. It was deceiving seeing it on a 17 inch monitor. Looked great big...but small, we felt the subjects would be lost in the paper. (c) Susan B. Markisz for the New York Times

8:30 pm, Riverdale, NY: 122 miles later, arrive home, say hi to my daughter; my husband and I go to dinner party of friends and colleagues at a neighbor's home; we're 2 hours late. Still running on adrenalin.

Friday, August 21, 1998: One picture runs in the City edition of the Metro section on the Pataki/housing story. From a colleague in the Midwest, I hear that two run in the National edition (one from the airport, one of Mr. Alonso and his daughter). My day picture doesn't run. When I call the assignment editor to say hello, he says something to the effect that I really ran into a hornet's nest yesterday. I thank him for the assignments---he laughs, thinking I'm being facetious. I'm inclined to suggest (jokingly of course) that I'd go to the ends of the earth for him, but I think better of it. I need a nap.

Susan B. Markisz

August 21, 1998