Bridge of Help

Mike and I went to see Bridge of Spies Saturday night (long but really good).

We were leaving Assembly Row movie theater heading to the escalators when a little girl, maybe six years old, wiped out at the top while her (likely) grandmother continued down with a another little girl who was about three (she seemed pretty un-phased that one kid was left behind, come to think of it)

We helped the little girl up and asked her if she was OK. "I'm scared" she whimpered about the escalator. "Would you like some help?" I asked her. She nodded and took my hand.  I counted to three and we stepped onto the moving stairs together, Mike right behind us.

In her other hand, she clutched a cute little brown-skinned babydoll. "I like your baby," I told her to distract her a bit, "What's her name?" I asked the top of her head, covered in colorful barrettes and a headband too. "Natalie" she answered.

I admired the pretty name, and counted down to step off the stairs together at the bottom. On unmoving ground she looked up and gave me  sweet "thank you!" and went to catch up with her grandmother.

It gave me a nice feeling, just interacting with such a sweet little person.

Moments later, when a woman and I bumped into each other on the street and she dropped her phone and her leftovers, a woman with her asked "What happened?"

"That lady just bumped into me!" she said in a very I've Been Treated Unjustly! tone.

I turned, surprised. Clearly neither of us where watching where we were going. I felt a slight bump against my purse but nothing so big that even required the customary "Oh, 'scuse me!" when you bump someone. Still, I turned and said "Oh, I'm sorry!"

She turned and burned holes in me with her stink-eye.

Nice feeling gone.

Field Hockey

The first to paragraphs of the BU Today field hockey story are my favorite. I wrote them. ; )

It isn’t every varsity team that prepares for a big game with guided meditation. “Breathe in. I know I am breathing in. Breathe out. I know I am breathing out,” field hockey assistant coach Tracey Paul tells the field hockey team in a calm and reassuring tone. She encourages the athletes, urging them to visualize entering the field, teammates by their side, executing various plays they’ve gone over in practice.

It’s a stark contrast to the scene in the locker room shortly after. Music blares as players dance to shake out pregame jitters. Just before heading out to the field, cocaptain Sofi Laurito (COM’16) leads a call and response chant as the players huddle in a tight circle, arms around each other.

My story is up!

There's Always Someone Better

I feel jealous and kind of pissed this morning.

I have been playing the role of assignment editor for the past month, setting up shoots, assigning them to either myself, out temp shooter depending on his schedule, one of our freelancers (who I took the initiative to find and add to our roster - I got so sick of the commercial photographers coming back from our shoots with no cutline info), and managing our kick ass part time student shooter, who I found when I decided I was over getting all the fucking CloseUps all the time and never got to work on anything that interested me.

Sadly, I am one of those Needs Recognition Children. Or, people, I guess. I want someone to notice the changes I've made and say "That's awesome! Your department is cookin with gas thanks to you!"

In the late summer months and early fall, Jackie traveled around doing a project called Rites of Passage.  While she was doing this, I was doing everything else (not all the time of course - Jackie was around and shooting daily stuff when she could), with none of the assistance mentioned above. It was thankless. I don't appreciate thankless.

It's really important to me to be one of those women who encourages other women, let's them know when I think they've done something cool. I compliment Jackie's work, because it's totally great, on a regular basis. The compliments are not really returned. When Rites of Passage was a success, I congratulated her (genuinely!), and any compliments mentioned when she wasn't around were conveyed to her from me too. I think this is important.

I also think not whining is important but this is not one of those blog entries.

This is a whiny blog entry.

I have been working hard for weeks on a project about the BU women's field hockey team. It comes out tomorrow and I am concerned about how I will react if no one says a goddamn thing about it to me. That's the trouble with my "art". With this field. Nobody does it because they just have joy in doing it. They do it also because they want others to like it. We want our work to be appreciated and enjoyed. If no one enjoys it, were the pictures ever taken? Was the work ever even done?

Good Deed

It happened while I was standing in line for my 7AM flight on Sunday. Also waiting to board was a young mother. On her front she held a rather large toddler no older than two, and on her back was a giant backpack (the mom's back, not the kids). I wondered why she didn't let her child simply stand next to her but what to I know? Maybe the kid's a runner. In addition, Young Mom was holding a blankie and when she dropped the plastic bag she was also holding, a man nearby reached down and handed it back to her.

When I was packing for this trip I had very limited space. I had a camera gear roller bag filled with mostly gear and some clothes crammed in there, and my backpack held my laptop, toiletries, and all my diabetes crap, plus chargers, power cords, dramamine, etc. As I was finishing packing though I thought, hm, I think I'll bring my foldable nylon shopping bag. I don't think I'll use it because after all, you can only have two carryons, but, what the hell?! Maybe I'll have some weird need for it.

Enter the weird need.

I tapped at the mom's shoulder and asked her "Did your plastic bag break?" I asked this because I noticed the bag had indeed broken. So really the question was dumb.
"Yes" she sighed.
"Here, let me give you this" I unwrapped my handy little shopping bag and took the plastic from her.
"Really? Oh that's so nice of you!"
"I know!" I DIDN'T say back, but rather "It's no problem!"
"Say 'thanks' to the lady for helping us" she said to her daughter, who then gave me a cheery thank you and I responded with a "you're welcome" and "I like your rainbow socks!"

The young mom proceeded to put the blankie in there too and I heard her whisper "Oh, that's so much better" as she hooked it over her shoulder.

And I was happy I packed that extra thing I didn't think I'd need.

Hockey Sticks and Yankee Candles

I am currently typing in the Charlotte Airport. Barry Manilow is singing from the speaker above me in Starbucks. Something about peace and kids and Christmas. I don't know. I'm not a Manilow fan.

I'm headed home a bit earlier than expected from a shoot at UNC. For a few weeks now I have been following the women's field hockey team. Last weekend they earned the title of Patriot League Champs, and as a result, they were sent this weekend to compete against UNC in the NCAA quarter finals.

When I first mentioned the team would be traveling, my editor said "Oh we'll send a freelancer"
To which I responded, deadpan "Uh, no we won't" and added that the videographers get to travel for their stories all the time.
"Well not all the time" he retorted.
I disagreed. And then I was sent to UNC, but not without feeling guilty about it.

I'm sure UNC is a lovely place. I arrived Friday afternoon to Raleigh-Durham after a long day of travel and checked in to a La Quinta hotel. The hotel where the team was staying was out of rooms, and since I was worried about cost, La Quinta it was. It was fine. Clean, whatever.

I asked the front desk where I could go for a bite, and when I told him I didn't have a car he told me I could order delivery from a pizza joint. Delightful.

The game the next day was challenging, both to shoot and to play. The terriers were defeated 4-2 and the seniors were crushed. More so that their season was over than anything else, I think. Did I get a great shot of them crushed? Not really. The light was horrific. The sun was high and bright as ever.

My best shot was of the team captain sulking in the bus on the way back. Was it worth the $700 (to get to UNC?) probably not, but a freelancer wouldn't have gotten it, that's for sure.

Sofi and Hester, post-game ride.

Now my challenge was the fact that it was now Saturday afternoon and my flight didn't leave til Sunday night at 6. The team was being flown out Saturday night. NCAA apparently foots the bill, and buys only one way tickets until the game splay out. I thought, well, I could go to the airport and try to fly standby. And possibly get stuck at the airport all day long? I couldn't fly out Saturday night because I hadn't checked out of my room at noon so it was paid for through the night anyway.

Curiosity, fear of boredom and another shitty delivery salad nagging at me I did a search for morning flights and decided that paying $145 out of my own pocket to leave first thing in the morning was a far better option to taking cabs here and there all day long tomorrow to try and make something of my day while waiting to catch my late flight.

With that out of the way and images filed for the athletic department, I took a cab to a mall to look around and get a bite. NC is interesting. People are not surprisingly friendlier there than they are in Boston, and they look you in the eye. Like, a lot. Like, I thought maybe I was gorgeous!  But, no, definitely not (did I mentioned I have been wearing the same clothes for three days because my carry on needed to be camera gear. I did manage a second shirt and change of underwear (gotta pad the lenses with something!).

And my mall visit was productive. I bought an oven thermometer which I've been in need of since, oh, say 2011, some moisturizer I've been wanting to get, a nice seared tuna salad for dinner, and participated in the following activity which I posted on FB...


I decided to wander through a Yankee candle store and find the dumbest names of candles. Don't get me wrong, I love a good stinky candle as much as the next American, but this was a fun activity.

Smells like frost bite and disappointment because Santa doesn't actually live there because...kids, hide your eyes..HE's NOT REAL!

Now, this one I'm grateful for because fake roses smell just awful. #whatswrongwithcallingitjustplainrose?

I got nothin'

I'm gonna save a wicked lot of money and just do my laundry and jam my face in it when it comes out of the dryer. Saved money AND have clean clothes! Who's the winner now!?

I wanna know how different this candle and the "Beach Walk" candle could possibly be from each other. I'm thinking they're the same and the candlestick maker's got a case of the lazies.

*see "Beach Candle" caption

It's smells like rosin and the contents of a spit valve.#onlyorchestralgeeksunderstand

It's smells sweaty and itchy, and it's annoying cause you can't use your phone while you're using it.

The only way this could be better is if it were called "wonderful tonight" and had a prom picture from the early 1990s on it

I woke this morning at 3:30. Not because I needed to - I packed last night - but because I just did. And once I was awake I was wracked with worry about my photo story. Will it be good enough? Would it get enough exposure to warrant future stories? Jackie did a story a while back and it was received really well, and so now I feel pressure. And our stories were very different - she followed incoming freshman from home to campus to record their experience. One of the students has a chronic condition and the readers really responded to that. So, I'm worried. Really worried.

When I started this project, I felt like I could breath again. Really! Years and years of taking nice pictures, but falling far from my story-telling-loving roots of photojournalism. The students at BU are tough sometimes. They will often not bother getting back to you when you try to connect with them for a story. These athletes? I was in contact with four of them and without fail, I would hear back from them within 15 minutes. It was amazing and very appreciated.

I'd shot a practice or two before I spent time in their locker room when they were psyching themselves up for a game against Harvard. I thought I would cry. I think I might have even a little bit. Everywhere I turned there was a moment happening; music blaring and dancing all around, one player sitting quietly to herself looking at her phone, other players helping each other to get their hair game-ready, two players studying together while they had a moment to do it, signs, notes, personalized lockers everywhere. It was a total joy and got me really fired up about the project. Oh, and did I mention that prior to that there was a team meeting during which they meditated? They did (not sure the picture translates since they are all sitting at desks but one can hope).

Now that their final game, ending their season, was a losing game, I'm nervous about how we actually finish the story. The powers that be won't accept a story ending on a sad note. It's tricky.

People I Love

I've been thinking a lot tonight about the people I love. I've been assigned to make the slideshow for John's Celebration of Life service, happening on Saturday, and I've been going through lots of photos - most of which are not mine - and thinking about his life. And my life, and the people who are in it. The people I am so grateful to have in my life. The people I have lost who I miss and will continue to miss, but am so glad to have had the time I had, even if it wasn't enough.

Susan and I in the cape. I love this little gem from....2005 maybe?

Ten years ago, I made this slideshow. Looking at it now, the pictures are lacking, it's too long, and so on, but John loved it, I do remember that, because I gave him a copy and he told me he watched it a ton of time. I tried to read it again tonight and it wouldn't work, but when I uploaded to vimeo, tada!

Labor Day weekend 2005 from C.M. Scott on Vimeo.

John

Maureen sent us all this link the other day
http://forums.gunboards.com/showthread.php?414748-RIP-John-Wall

I would rather learn more about John from the man himself, but it's nice to learn more about him anyway, and it's not surprising to read what people thought of him. I especially love reading John's words, reposted by a forum member.

"When confronted with a situations like this (There are rare but they happen!) I have learned the hard way that the investment can tie up resources that could be used for other unforseen opportunities. And after all, almost all buys are unforeseen "pop-ops". The other question I've learned to ask myself is: "If I needed cash real quick, could I sell it/these for this same amount quickly?" If no, it is not worthwhile having multiple copies of the gun, so I pass. 
I discovered long ago that it helps all around (for buyers and sellers) if I pass the opportunity of purchasing the extra rifles onto other collector-friends. In doing so, we derive the benefits goodwill and friendship that come from thoughtfulness like this, and of course, we firm up our own network of contacts. I've found that its also a chance to payback favors done for me. You just never know how friendships based on this kind of consideration will help you...and your collecting oppportunities...in the future, but they do. Enough of the soapbox! 
Have a great day!
Regards,
John"

I also really like what this person wrote about him...

Sadly, I knew John Wall only from his prolific contributions within Gunboards. From his knowledgeable and point-on commentary, early on to realize that he was indeed a mauser ‘expert’s expert’. Yet one matter to be such as an expert. Quite another to be an expert linked with willingness and commitment to share freely of such knowledge base in a community setting. There, giving of his time and efforts to assist both novices and advanced collectors alike. All simply in the spirit of furthering a body of historic information and enhancing the camaraderie of like interests. In this he was outstanding and left a truly high mark! 

Only from his obituary to learn of his wider interests in ‘community’, both local and international. Now to appreciate his contributions in greater context. An Internet link below to this greater perspective. Such offered that others of us who didn’t have the privilege of knowing him well, might better appreciate a truly good man. 

Somewhere above in these ‘In Memoriam’ posts, the suggestion that John’s various forum commentary be accumulated and offered perhaps as a “Sticky” or like presentation. If practicable, I believe it would be particularly fitting and especially useful if sub-topically organized. Yet not to be characterized in the context of memorial. Rather as a competent resource and living body of knowledge yet to offer information and counsel to all. Here the presumption also, that he might well approve of such in the context of ‘continuing education’. And in that perhaps a most fitting resulting memorial in continuing to ‘share of himself'.

Goodbye Mr. John Wall. A belated personal “Thanks” and a prayer for you at Sunday Mass.
Iskra / John Oceanside, Ca.

John's Obituary;

John Joseph Wall, Jr. died in his home in Wakefield surrounded by his family on October 26, 2015, due to complications from brain cancer. He was 73 years old.

Mr. Wall was born on April 12, 1942 in Oak Park, Illinois. He graduated from St. Procopius High School in 1960 and went on to receive a Bachelor's Degree in History from Loyola University in Chicago.

In 1965, Mr. Wall entered the Peace Corps and began a 3 year assignment in Maimana, Afghanistan. It was in Afghanistan that he met and married fellow volunteer, Ada (Creech) Wall. Upon returning to the United States after completing his volunteer work with the Peace Corps, Mr. Wall received his Master's in Education from New York University in 1970 and then took a teaching position in Shiraz, Iran, where he taught for two years.

He returned to the U. S. in 1973 and worked as an ESL teacher in the Chicago public school system. In 1974 Mr. Wall accepted a position with Raytheon Service Company and moved his family to Tehran, Iran, where they remained until 1978, when they were relocated to El Paso, Texas. In 1980 he was again transferred by Raytheon to the Boston area, and chose to settle his family in Wakefield.

Mr. Wall worked for Raytheon for over 35 years, until he retired in 2013.

An avid lover of history, Mr. Wall quickly found Wakefield to be a town that fed his passion for knowledge of the past. He was an active member of the Wakefield Historical Society for over 20 years.

He also enjoyed contributing to his community and was a member of the Wakefield Center Neighborhood Association for over 25 years.
He had numerous collections of various historic artifacts and was expertly knowledgeable about most of them. Many thought of him as a brilliant man, for he knew so much about so many things, but for him it was simply a love of the history.

Aside from his intelligence, Mr. Wall was known by many for his wonderful sense of humor. He loved to laugh.

Mr. Wall is survived by his loving wife of 48 years, Ada; daughter and son-in-law Jennifer and Patrick Brennan of Peabody; daughter and son-in-law Maureen Wall and Jonathan Crumrine of Natick; four grandchildren; his sister Patricia Wall of San Rafael, California and his brother and sister-in-law, James and Jeanne Wall of Plymouth, Indiana.

A memorial service will be held to celebrate the life of Mr. Wall on Saturday, November 7 at 10:30 a.m. at the Unitarian Universalist Church, 326 Main Street, Wakefield. In lieu of flowers, Mr. Wall's family would like to suggest a donation to the Wakefield Center Neighborhood Association: P.O. Box 485, Wakefield, MA 01880 or the VNA of Middlesex-East – Home Hospice: Development Office, VNA of Middlesex-East, 607 North Ave., Ste. 17, Wakefield, MA 01880.

My One And Only Dear John Letter

When I was four years old, John and Ada moved next door with their daughter Maureen and Jen. As Maureen, who is two years older than me, tells it, she and I were the first to meet over the fence which separated our homes which share a backyard. Evidently, I sparked up a conversation with her about McDonalds and Burger King. Burger King had better burgers and McDonald's had better fries. I don't know how a four year old would know such things or have enough time in her young life to do the research necessary to make the claim.

Regardless of how we connected, our two families, neither of which had family nearby, became a family. Maureen and I played together. Sometimes all four of us played together. We celebrated holidays together, Christmas dinners and Easter brunches, Thanksgiving meals and every day cook-outs. 

I remember watching John crank the massive handle on the wood ice cream maker. I remember there being a need for salt to be added to the ice. I remember I didn't much like blueberry ice cream (I still don't), but I ate some anyway because ice cream's better when it's homemade, no matter the flavor.

Christopher, Jen, Maureen and I put on performances, too. Most notably was our circus; Christopher was the comic part of the show, dressed like a lady, wearing Jen's training bra over his patriotic t-shirt, and a pair of nylons on his head. Maureen was the acrobat, whirling around the lawn, cartwheeling in a blue leotard. Jen was a ring master, I was a strong man, lifting up over my head in triumph, a barbell made with a stick and one balloon on either end. Except right before I was to come out for my part of the show, one balloon popped. We improvised, as good circus performers do, and stuck the stick into the soft summer earth so I could lift it our like Excalibur's sword from the rock to applause from our small audience of adults.  The finale will go down in the Scott Wall book as one of the most memorable vignettes. All the kids went inside and when we emerged, I was holding a hula hoop and the others were on all fours. Lions! And I the lion tamer. The name of this act? The Ferocious Mildreds! 

I have no memory of this and I tell it from stories which came from others. The story goes that the parents basically lost it completely. Tears rolling down their face at the innocent, possibly unintentional stab we had made. Have I mentioned on this blog before that my very difficult, relatively unpleasant, late-maternal grandmother was named Mildred?  Therine lies the hilarity of the circus act.

We spent a lot of time together. We two families. I had countless dinners at their house and when I got older, John drove Maureen and I to school every morning when our high school careers coincided. Whenever one family went to the others for a meal, party, or celebration, we were always smiling to see each other. There was a long-standing joke that our families could never get through a meal without potty humor coming in to play. John was said to be the source of such humor. He and I bonded over our love of the movie Parenthood. Most notably for the scene when one of the kids sings and entire song about diarrhea. It was not uncommon when I was a kid, for John and I to bust out the diarrhea song for kicks and giggles. We thought it was funny, anyway.  When I would go to the Walls for a visit while living away for so many years, they always seemed happy to see me; all hugs and smiles and "tell us the latest!". 

When my own dad had his heart attacks so many years ago, I thought, who would walk me down the isle if I ever got married and Dad wasn't here? John would, is what I thought. 

Why am I telling these stories about the past? I do that sometimes, but this time, I'm just stalling. Stalling about talking about today, because today, we are one less.

Less than a month ago, John went to the hospital with stroke-like symptoms. It wasn't long before they realized he had a massive brain tumor. Geo sarcoma, I believe. In extremely aggressive cancer. The majority of the tumor was removed, but the surgery left him, now 73, extremely weak, mostly blind, and with partially paralyzed vocal cords. He developed a severe case of thrush as he attempted to recover at a rehab center. 

It is the cruelest of things; he loved to laugh and tell jokes, and was barely able to speak. He loved food and was unable to eat because of the pain on his tongue and throat. He loved to learn and research and could no longer see the pages if they were placed in front of him. 

It was nasty. It was unfair. It was shocking, sudden, and fast.

It wasn't a week before it became clear that John would not recover. He was brought home for hospice care on Friday.  On Sunday I went to visit him. Also there were Jen, Lilly, 15, Patrick, Ada, and an attending nurse. We all joined John in the front room where he lay in his hospital bed as the nurse fed him some soup. John was out of it, but knew we were there. He struggled with the carrots in the soup and Jen rushed off to puree it some more. 

Eventually, Patrick said "Grampy, we're gonna head back over to my parents' place where Owen's watching the Pat's Game".  John's eyes shot open at the sound of football "What happened!" he whispered loudly, curious about the status of the game, and we all laughed. Lilly and I looked at each other and there was an unspoken feeling of relief that we saw a smidgen of John. A bit of himself rising out of that limp body on the bed before us. There was a break in the uncomfortable tension and feeling of helplessness and Lilly and I appreciated it together, without words.  

Jen and I stayed with John for a bit. I figured out how to get the football game on the TV for him. After doing so, as Jen gave him a Popsicle, I said to John "I'm sorry, John, I know nothing about football so I can't explain what's going on. There's just a bunch of big guys in tight pants. That's all I know"

He laughed. I was glad he laughed. I have that. As I said goodbye, I gave him a staccato of kisses on the cheek and told him I loved him. He said it back to me. 

I didn't get to say goodbye, or tell him how much I loved knowing him, how grateful I am that he moved in next door along with Ada, Jennifer and Maureen so long ago, how happy I am to have so many memories of his incredible humor, intelligence, and kindness, but I do have the kiss and the "I love you" and that's not too bad.

He died Monday night.

Tuesday morning I went over to the Walls house before my late shift started. Mom and Dad were there and I added a collection of muffins to the breakfast they were already eating. Jen and Maureen were working on what the next steps were. Helping them get an obituary photo ready. We were basically just being together. Keeping each other company. That evening, there would be a lot of food, Jen told me, and I should join them if I could. As I left to go to work, I said goodbye to Lilly who was in the kitchen leaning over a bowl of Ramen and she gave me a distracted but clear "Bye I love you!"

I headed to work and knew I just didn't care what assignment needed to be shot that night. I wanted to be with my family. So I got out of it, and that's what I did. We ate, we chatted, we raised a glass to Grampy, "If Dad were here" Maureen said as we sat down to eat  "he would say 'MM MM MM MM MM!"