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The following is another true story in the ongoing saga (or soggy?) of the life of little ol' me. After my discharge from Uncle Sam's Army in June 1962, I worked for Western Electric for a few months, but the job was driving me dingy. Literally. I was repairing telephone ringers on an assembly line. With little hope of ever advancing from that position, I decided to return to the vocation I had begun in high school; photography. My dad told me I could do anything I wanted to do, all I had to do was be persistent. That advice helped me to get a foot in the door at United Press International Newspictures in Dallas.
22 November 1963
It was a Friday morning much like any other in Dallas, and I reported to work at 7:00 AM right on schedule at United Press International Newspictures on McKinney Avenue. I had worked there for nearly a year and was very familiar with the routine. This morning held a major difference, though, in that Dallas would be hosting the President of the United States. It was our job to be sure that the world had a ringside seat to everything he did or said while there.
My job included loading 4” X 5” film into the canisters for the “Telephoto” machine, processing that film and any 35mm or 120 film brought in by the boss or other photographers, and printing all photos for use by the Dallas Times Herald (or Times Terrible, as I called it). Occasionally I was assigned to shoot an inconsequential news event. Jerry, the boss, and George, the photographer/ assistant office manager/gofer, were busy getting ready for a big news day. Jerry would meet the president's plane at the airport, and George and I would man the office and keep our normal flow of photos going out to clients.
Fred, a news-side flunky (the UPI news department shared the building with us picture side folks), was assigned to run errands between the office and Market Hall where the president would be speaking. He was sent to familiarize himself with the route and parking areas so he would have a minimum of lost time. He was later than we expected on returning. We were just beginning to be concerned that he might have gotten lost or something when he dashed in the door, red-faced and carrying a rifle.
“I'm lucky to be here!”, Fred yelled. “I pulled up in front of Market Hall and the cops wanted to search my car.”
“You DIDN'T!”, Jerry glared at him.
“I forgot my rifle and targets were in the trunk. I went to the range yesterday and was tired when I got home, so I was going to take everything out this morning. Then I woke up late, and, well, the cops thought I was some kind of assassin when they found my rifle in the trunk. I need to stash this in a closet.” He had finally managed to convince the cops he was a genuine UPI employee and there on UPI business, and they told him to take the rifle home and don't come back with it. Fred was a funny guy, and he had the whole office in an uproar by the time he finished with his tale.
Jerry packed his camera bag with film and headed for the airport. I continued processing film and making prints.
The Dallas UPI office was southwest division headquarters and responsible for getting current news images out to the various newspapers and TV stations that subscribed to our service. Many of those clients had facsimile machines that delivered the images directly off the leased phone line, but some had to be served by US Mail. George went through all of the overnight photos and decided which ones to ship to the mail clients.
Shortly before noon, George told me to take the Albuquerque package to the downtown post office and hurry back. I hopped into my new 1963 Corvair convertible and hustled to the post office. On the way back to the office, I saw a motorcycle officer pull up in the intersection just ahead of me.
“Wow! I bet it's the motorcade!”, I said to myself as he climbed off his bike and held up his hands to stop traffic both ways. I pulled up near his bike and jumped out with my camera. Sure enough I saw the motorcade coming from my left. I prefocused my Yashica-Mat camera on the spot where I expected the president's car to be, estimated and set the exposure, then waited for the car to appear in my viewfinder. I saw JFK's smiling face and pressed the shutter release, cranked the film advance and took two more shots as the motorcade continued out of sight. As soon as the intersection cleared, I jumped back in my car and continued to the office, thrilled that I had a picture of the president for my scrapbook.
Jerry had just come in from the airport, and the office was abuzz with activity. He handed me several rolls of film and told me “I need these yesterday!”. I took my roll out of my camera and loaded it into the tank with Jerry's film. I had just poured developer into the tank when I heard someone shout, “Shots fired at the motorcade!”. George came running into the darkroom and told me to drop what I was doing and take him to Parkland Hospital. “I can't, George! I've got film in the soup!”. “Jerry will take care of it, now let's go!”, George yelled as he dragged me out of the darkroom.
The trip to Parkland was a white-knuckle flight to George, who held onto the dash with both hands as we flew out Harry Hines Boulevard at 85 mph. We were passing police cars that were running code 3. George told me that as soon as I let him out at the hospital, I had to find Frank Cancelaire, the UPI White House photographer. He had been in the car behind the president's car in the motorcade, and he should have some great photos. There was already a crowd forming at the hospital when we arrived, and I asked George, “How am I supposed to recognize Frank?” George replied, “Just look for an old guy with white hair and cameras hanging around his neck.”
I made a U-turn, let George out in front of the hospital, then went down a block and U-turned to go back. After another U-turn put me back in front of the hospital, I noticed Bob Jackson, a Times Herald photographer, walking with a white-haired older man. I rolled down the window and yelled out, “Hey, Bob! Where can I find Frank Cancelaire?”. The older guy's head snapped up and he yelled back, “Who wants to know?”. He and Bob came to the open car window, where I told Frank to give me his film to take back to the office. He didn't know me from Adam, and he refused to give up his film. I showed him my UPI press card, complete with photo, and Bob vouched for me. Frank finally relinquished his film, and I made a hurried (but not 85 mph) trip back to the office.
Upon entering the office, I saw a madhouse of activity. News-side was agitated as a stirred-up ant mound. In our office, the first thing I noticed was my photograph of JFK in the motorcade rolling on the transmitter drum. Jerry slapped me on the back and told me I did good getting a motorcade photo, as all he had was “grip-n-grin” handshaking pictures from the airport. Mine was the only motorcade photo we had at the time the story was published on the wire, so it went worldwide with the story. I explained all that to say that it was not a great photo as photos go. The only recognizable face in the picture was the president, but I happened to be in the right place at the right time with a camera in my hand.
Frank's film turned out to be a major disappointment. He had airport shots similar to Jerry's, but his photos of the shooting consisted mostly of people's butts sticking up in the air as they dived for the grass of the “grassy knoll”. I got a call late in the evening from my cousin, who claimed he was standing right beside the president's car when the shots were fired. He said he knew he had a prize-winning photo. I told him to get me the film ASAP, and he could negotiate with UPI for any financial reward. He brought the film to the office within the hour, and I processed it. He had a blurry image of the right rear fender of the president's car and a few pre-motorcade shots around Dealy Plaza. He was disappointed when I told him what he had, but he was extremely angry with me when his film got shipped to New York with the rest of the film that was shot that day. He never got to see any of his pictures. I didn't fare much better. Although I got a copy of a “coverage” shot late that evening showing my photo on the front of 5 major Japanese newspapers, the only print I got of my photo was one I pulled out of the trash can in the darkroom.
I worked 27 hours straight through, leaving the office at 10:00 Saturday morning with instructions to go home, take a shower and be back in the office by 11:00 AM. I spent most of Saturday making followup photos of Dealy Plaza and the School Book Depository building. By the time all of that was processed and printed, I was a seriously tired young man.
Sunday I was assigned to wait at the “sally port” entrance to the county jail and photograph Oswald as he was transferred from the city jail. I was there with a few dozen other photographers/reporters, and we were bemoaning the fact that he was running late. We heard an ambulance screaming up Commerce Street, and as it passed, someone commented, “That was probably him.”. It was. We didn't get the official word for another 20 – 30 minutes. We found out later that Bob Jackson got a photo of Jack Ruby shooting Oswald. Bob later received a Pulitzer Prize for that photo.
Monday I was sent to Grand Prairie to get photos of the rifle range where Oswald was alleged to have practiced. I got a pic of the range owner holding a bullet-riddled target that wasn't Oswald's. Big deal. I made photos of the Texas Theater, Jack Ruby's club, Oswald's house, anybody who claimed to have ever known him, etc.. Another big deal.
The story slowly wound down in Dallas, and our office routine returned to a semblance of order until the trial of Jack Ruby began.
Stay tuned!
22 November 1963
It was a Friday morning much like any other in Dallas, and I reported to work at 7:00 AM right on schedule at United Press International Newspictures on McKinney Avenue. I had worked there for nearly a year and was very familiar with the routine. This morning held a major difference, though, in that Dallas would be hosting the President of the United States. It was our job to be sure that the world had a ringside seat to everything he did or said while there.
My job included loading 4” X 5” film into the canisters for the “Telephoto” machine, processing that film and any 35mm or 120 film brought in by the boss or other photographers, and printing all photos for use by the Dallas Times Herald (or Times Terrible, as I called it). Occasionally I was assigned to shoot an inconsequential news event. Jerry, the boss, and George, the photographer/ assistant office manager/gofer, were busy getting ready for a big news day. Jerry would meet the president's plane at the airport, and George and I would man the office and keep our normal flow of photos going out to clients.
Fred, a news-side flunky (the UPI news department shared the building with us picture side folks), was assigned to run errands between the office and Market Hall where the president would be speaking. He was sent to familiarize himself with the route and parking areas so he would have a minimum of lost time. He was later than we expected on returning. We were just beginning to be concerned that he might have gotten lost or something when he dashed in the door, red-faced and carrying a rifle.
“I'm lucky to be here!”, Fred yelled. “I pulled up in front of Market Hall and the cops wanted to search my car.”
“You DIDN'T!”, Jerry glared at him.
“I forgot my rifle and targets were in the trunk. I went to the range yesterday and was tired when I got home, so I was going to take everything out this morning. Then I woke up late, and, well, the cops thought I was some kind of assassin when they found my rifle in the trunk. I need to stash this in a closet.” He had finally managed to convince the cops he was a genuine UPI employee and there on UPI business, and they told him to take the rifle home and don't come back with it. Fred was a funny guy, and he had the whole office in an uproar by the time he finished with his tale.
Jerry packed his camera bag with film and headed for the airport. I continued processing film and making prints.
The Dallas UPI office was southwest division headquarters and responsible for getting current news images out to the various newspapers and TV stations that subscribed to our service. Many of those clients had facsimile machines that delivered the images directly off the leased phone line, but some had to be served by US Mail. George went through all of the overnight photos and decided which ones to ship to the mail clients.
Shortly before noon, George told me to take the Albuquerque package to the downtown post office and hurry back. I hopped into my new 1963 Corvair convertible and hustled to the post office. On the way back to the office, I saw a motorcycle officer pull up in the intersection just ahead of me.
“Wow! I bet it's the motorcade!”, I said to myself as he climbed off his bike and held up his hands to stop traffic both ways. I pulled up near his bike and jumped out with my camera. Sure enough I saw the motorcade coming from my left. I prefocused my Yashica-Mat camera on the spot where I expected the president's car to be, estimated and set the exposure, then waited for the car to appear in my viewfinder. I saw JFK's smiling face and pressed the shutter release, cranked the film advance and took two more shots as the motorcade continued out of sight. As soon as the intersection cleared, I jumped back in my car and continued to the office, thrilled that I had a picture of the president for my scrapbook.
Jerry had just come in from the airport, and the office was abuzz with activity. He handed me several rolls of film and told me “I need these yesterday!”. I took my roll out of my camera and loaded it into the tank with Jerry's film. I had just poured developer into the tank when I heard someone shout, “Shots fired at the motorcade!”. George came running into the darkroom and told me to drop what I was doing and take him to Parkland Hospital. “I can't, George! I've got film in the soup!”. “Jerry will take care of it, now let's go!”, George yelled as he dragged me out of the darkroom.
The trip to Parkland was a white-knuckle flight to George, who held onto the dash with both hands as we flew out Harry Hines Boulevard at 85 mph. We were passing police cars that were running code 3. George told me that as soon as I let him out at the hospital, I had to find Frank Cancelaire, the UPI White House photographer. He had been in the car behind the president's car in the motorcade, and he should have some great photos. There was already a crowd forming at the hospital when we arrived, and I asked George, “How am I supposed to recognize Frank?” George replied, “Just look for an old guy with white hair and cameras hanging around his neck.”
I made a U-turn, let George out in front of the hospital, then went down a block and U-turned to go back. After another U-turn put me back in front of the hospital, I noticed Bob Jackson, a Times Herald photographer, walking with a white-haired older man. I rolled down the window and yelled out, “Hey, Bob! Where can I find Frank Cancelaire?”. The older guy's head snapped up and he yelled back, “Who wants to know?”. He and Bob came to the open car window, where I told Frank to give me his film to take back to the office. He didn't know me from Adam, and he refused to give up his film. I showed him my UPI press card, complete with photo, and Bob vouched for me. Frank finally relinquished his film, and I made a hurried (but not 85 mph) trip back to the office.
Upon entering the office, I saw a madhouse of activity. News-side was agitated as a stirred-up ant mound. In our office, the first thing I noticed was my photograph of JFK in the motorcade rolling on the transmitter drum. Jerry slapped me on the back and told me I did good getting a motorcade photo, as all he had was “grip-n-grin” handshaking pictures from the airport. Mine was the only motorcade photo we had at the time the story was published on the wire, so it went worldwide with the story. I explained all that to say that it was not a great photo as photos go. The only recognizable face in the picture was the president, but I happened to be in the right place at the right time with a camera in my hand.
Frank's film turned out to be a major disappointment. He had airport shots similar to Jerry's, but his photos of the shooting consisted mostly of people's butts sticking up in the air as they dived for the grass of the “grassy knoll”. I got a call late in the evening from my cousin, who claimed he was standing right beside the president's car when the shots were fired. He said he knew he had a prize-winning photo. I told him to get me the film ASAP, and he could negotiate with UPI for any financial reward. He brought the film to the office within the hour, and I processed it. He had a blurry image of the right rear fender of the president's car and a few pre-motorcade shots around Dealy Plaza. He was disappointed when I told him what he had, but he was extremely angry with me when his film got shipped to New York with the rest of the film that was shot that day. He never got to see any of his pictures. I didn't fare much better. Although I got a copy of a “coverage” shot late that evening showing my photo on the front of 5 major Japanese newspapers, the only print I got of my photo was one I pulled out of the trash can in the darkroom.
I worked 27 hours straight through, leaving the office at 10:00 Saturday morning with instructions to go home, take a shower and be back in the office by 11:00 AM. I spent most of Saturday making followup photos of Dealy Plaza and the School Book Depository building. By the time all of that was processed and printed, I was a seriously tired young man.
Sunday I was assigned to wait at the “sally port” entrance to the county jail and photograph Oswald as he was transferred from the city jail. I was there with a few dozen other photographers/reporters, and we were bemoaning the fact that he was running late. We heard an ambulance screaming up Commerce Street, and as it passed, someone commented, “That was probably him.”. It was. We didn't get the official word for another 20 – 30 minutes. We found out later that Bob Jackson got a photo of Jack Ruby shooting Oswald. Bob later received a Pulitzer Prize for that photo.
Monday I was sent to Grand Prairie to get photos of the rifle range where Oswald was alleged to have practiced. I got a pic of the range owner holding a bullet-riddled target that wasn't Oswald's. Big deal. I made photos of the Texas Theater, Jack Ruby's club, Oswald's house, anybody who claimed to have ever known him, etc.. Another big deal.
The story slowly wound down in Dallas, and our office routine returned to a semblance of order until the trial of Jack Ruby began.
Stay tuned!
Just kidding...don't hit me! I was born a couple of months afterwards.
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