50-Years of Vision Quest
THERE WAS A UNIQUE DYNAMIC that enhanced my newspaper experience. I had initially declined the job because I wanted to go to China; also, I knew nothing about newspaper work. A year later, I accepted and took over a position held by Susan Ford, the daughter of the then-president of the United States. What made it unique was in the intervening time; I serendipitously got “published” in a few top magazines.
For that era, Newspaper work was almost a prerequisite to enter the world of photojournalism. It was the proving grounds. Daily newspaper meant a daily challenge, and the beauty was the daily feedback. Monthly magazines, the apex of the chase, lack this daily feedback. Some take months, even years before an assignment sees print. During such times of incubation, photographers are at the mercy of the editors, the whims of time and politics. It was not a nurturing place to perfect one’s game. So when I started working at the newspaper, after being published in a world-class magazine, it was like going backwards. Looking back, this proved to be the best thing I ever did.
Rich Clarkson of the Topeka Capitol-Journal newspaper was a tough boss, a feared drill sergeant with an uncanny ability to find young talent. When he first offered me a job, I had not realized that a photographer on his staff, also edited and designed their featured pages. An excellent layout to frame my pictures was imperative, so I thrived with the new opportunity. I had streaks of rebellion that made me bored with established norms and predictable formulas. I pushed and experimented with boundaries, looked for twists, turns, and most of all, I counted on the unexpected. To Clarkson’s credit, he gave me the freedom that I needed. Read More-
INDULGING DEFIANCE: Photography gave me wings but also a sense of boundless creativity. This was a decade of independence, anti-establishment. It was a decade that avoided entrapment, both stylistic and accomplishment,. an era of exploration and renaissance.
HEAT’S ON: A decade of transformation. The dawning of the age of Aquarius. Water turning to steam. Fruition from the quest was liberating. It was a decade that exchanged ambition for the magic of the unknown.
Samplings of published pages at the Topeka Capitol-journal between 1979-80.
June 4, 2016
On a typical day in June, cold Pacific air channels up the Columbia River Gorge and reaching the town of Mosier, funnels at a 30mph clip. The predictable wind is the reason I moved here. On this particular day, it was unusually calm when I saw black smoke rise out of the river valley. Grabbing my camera, I learned that 16 of 96 Union Pacific oil cars carrying Bakken crude oil from North Dakota had derailed in the middle of town. Uncharacteristically, I emailed this photograph to Carl Davaz-a friend and colleague from my Topeka Capital-Journal days, now the Director of Photography at the Eugene Register-Guard. The next morning, this image splashed across the state and reaching the governor’s desk provoked outrage and sobering reality: Oil fires cannot be extinguished.
Close to 30 agencies across two states responded and stood by to watch as the oil burned itself out. The only thing they could do was to keep the remaining tanks from igniting. Had the usual thermal wind conditions been in place, a chain reaction would have exploded one car after another down the track in a trajectory that would have obliterated the town of Mosier and the fragile Columbia River sanctuary. It was a miracle that the wind did not blow. Because no one was hurt, the National Transportation Safety Board declined to investigate; both Oregon Senators introduced bills for stricter inspection protocols and a moratorium on oil trains — the bill died in committee. This did not stop the Mosier townspeople and the ecological minded Mayor, Arlene Burns to fight for the preservation of our fragile National Scenic Area. My neighbor David Skakle alerted his cousin Robert Kennedy to the plight of the town. Kennedy, along with ‘Chairmans’ from five local indigenous tribes all gathered in Mosier to champion action facing rail transport. That same year, Standing Rock, the NODAPL protest, began against the same Bakkan crude oil piping through it’s indigenous land which endangered their pure water in North Dakota.
Photograph from Brian Lanker‘s Reunion portfolio. Videos It’s a natural progression for a still-photographer to evolve into filming. Digital technology, has made making videos (as with
Published Articles (Each button activate a virtual article. Click corners to flip pages, click location to enlarge) with Darrell Jones with Annie Leibovitz with John
POSTERS There was a time, before the internet, when posters were popular. It was the counter-culture way of displaying self-identity, a hip form of rebellion.
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PEDDLING PHOTOGRAPHS Seeking assignments in New York was a vain act yielding little satisfaction. The market is always saturated.
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Bob Gilka, the Director of Photography at National Geographic Magazine seem to resent me for sleeping with the enemy. He was not about to further my career. He saw me as a rule-breaker. Someone unbefitting to his proven talents even though I graduated from the very top of his associated institutions. He never gave me a single assignment, voluntarily, that is. Thirty years later, his assistant sought me out at a gathering and told me he was near death.
I embraced her, asked her to wish him my best and to tell him how much I’ve admired and looked up to him. Her eyes glassed; in a tender, almost apologetic voice, she said. “Thank you, John, I know it will mean a lot to Mr. Gilka to hear this coming from you.”
Gilka was an ego-driven drill sergeant whose magazine was his oligarchy. The reputation and mystique behind the magazine suited him well. My first encounter with the man was in his office. Like all aspiring photographers, we made our way to be ordained. On his door, the sign said, Wipe Your Knees Before Entering.
“You need to work for a newspaper!” was his response after viewing my portfolio. Sheepishly told him I was offered a job in a Kansas newspaper but turned-it-down because I didn’t want to leave NYC. Before I could finish, he yelled: “Who Clarkson!?”
Surprised by the outburst, I timidly said, “Yes!” He stared at me for an eternity. I swear I saw smoke sputter out of his head. He hissed, “NOW, IF THAT IS TRUE! You have to be the dumbest jack-ass ever walked into my office!”
With his doubting eyes, he glared at me as if he’d caught me in a lie. “Do you know how many photographers would give their right arm to be at the Capital-Journal?!” My sheepishness must have confirmed his suspicions. Not being a student of journalism, I was unaware of the extensive network this drill-sergeant uses to gather his Geographic talents. Colleges, newspapers across the country, the bastion of the Missouri Workshop, were all part of his well-established web. That morning, I was utterly unaware; Topeka Capital-Journal was the pinnacle of his recruitment network. Anyone hired there would not have gone unnoticed, and anyone declining a job there is a liar. “Well, get the hell out there and come back after you have some newspaper experience.” (I swear I’ve got a bruise on my rear to prove it ;-).
So I called Rich Clarkson and asked if the job offer was still good.
A FEW YEARS LATER, I sat in the same office facing the same doubting face. Chief Editor, Bill Garrett insisted that he assign me to photograph an article I’d proposed on Taiwan. After weeks of delay, he reluctantly offered me a fraction of the day-rate compared to GEO and later made a stink about the Chinese receipts I submitted. I did not get more assignments from him even though the Taiwan article was credited to be “transformative.” I don’t know what that meant, but it was, the first time Geographic published blurred pictures. So when his assistant made the non-verbal apology, I was surprised and wished that I had the opportunity to sit and laugh with the old geezer some 30-years later.
I understand Bob Gilka; we had mutual friends. I will always be grateful to him. Firstly, in helping me realize what newspaper work means. Secondly, in affirming my conviction NOT to wear corporate success as a form of personal achievement. Throughout the years, I knew he was surprised to hear my name intertwined in conversations. I was the jack-ass that kept beating the drum but didn’t follow his path. I think, in the end, he would have applauded me for doing this. RIP
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