Blog

  • NASCAR Grand National West 150

    NASCAR Grand National West 150

    Tooele – NASCAR Grand National West 150 at the Miller Motorsports Park
  • Ears

    Ears

    Salt Lake City – New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson attended a dinner held by the Utah Democratic Party Friday night at This Is The Place Heritage Park.
  • Grocery Shopping in Short Creek

    One of the frustrations in covering polygamy has been access. We just never get enough of it. Keep in mind that polygamy is illegal. These people have a lot to lose if they’re exposed. So they’re not likely to risk their livelihood for me, a guy that they lump in with the rest of the bone-headed media. In 1953, government agents raided Short Creek (now Hildale/Colorado City) and broke apart polygamist families, putting the men of the community in jail in attempt to put an end to the isolated polygamist community. The terror these families felt during this event fifty-four years ago still reverberates in many polygamists. Many still live in fear of another raid, and keep their family ties and beliefs secret from outsiders. The last person they want around is a journalist. Much less a photographer. On the flip-side, when I’m in these communities, I can’t help but notice all of the amazing photographs that are just outside my reach. This past week I was in the small grocery market in Colorado City, run by the FLDS. They don’t socialize with outsiders. They believe that in order to keep themselves at the highest spiritual level, they should have little or no contact with the outside world. Outside the grocery is a young cowboy (boots, buckle, hat). He’s listening to an iPod. I wonder what he’s listening to? Home-recorded FLDS religious music? Sermons by Warren Jeffs? Inside the grocery store are at least a dozen women in pioneer dresses with their hair pulled back in their distinctive braid and weave style. The photographer in me is leaping out of my skin, dying to photograph them, wanting to document this culture. But bringing a camera in here would have been like shouting “Fire!” in a theater. Brooke and I buy some Gatorade, Pringles, and Chex Mix. That will have to pass for lunch on this hot July day. The cashier, a girl between 14 and 16 years old in a pioneer dress, smiles but doesn’t say a single word to us as she rings up our food. The bagger, another young girl, sends text messages on her cell phone and giggles in between bagging. Cell phones are very popular in Colorado City. While we were in Colorado City someone told us a fun story about one of the old women of the FLDS community, who recently passed on. She used to run the cotton candy booth at community get-togethers. In order to entice buyers she would give a couple of boys a free cotton candy and send them out to walk through the crowd eating it. What a great tactic.
  • The Polygamy Team

    There is so much I need to write about covering polygamy. So many people, stories, experiences, and challenges. It’s been two years now since I started covering the polygamists of Utah and the West with Tribune staff writer Brooke Adams. It’s been a very rewarding partnership, like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my 19 year career.  We make a great team. Aside from her reporting and writing skills, Brooke somehow keeps track of an unending cast of characters. (For example, we met a woman the other day who was related to her grandmother through three separate branches of the family tree.) I bring the cameras and make observations, as well computer and tech skills. As a team, our standards are very high. Brooke is the only full-time polygamy writer in, what, the world? She sets the pace and seems to never stop working. Her sources keep her cel phone ringing constantly. In the field, we start early and end late, working in remote environments where expense accounts go nowhere. And the day’s not over until I’ve finished a cheesecake or hot fudge sundae at the end of a late dinner. I’ve learned so much about reporting in this time, sitting in on interview after interview. Some on the record, some off the record, some to never be mentioned. We’re covering people living an illegal lifestyle, and we also covering a closed, secretive community (the FLDS – Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints). It’s been quite the adventure. It would be wrong to not mention my predecessor on the polygamy beat photo-wise. I look at Leah Hogsten’s work, especially her 2001 essay on Tom Green’s family, as my goal for excellence. Consider this the first of a few polygamy posts. I’ll start writing the next one immediately.
  • Second Funeral for Norene Jeffs

    Second Funeral for Norene Jeffs

    Colorado City – A mound of dirt and small placard mark Norene Jeffs’ simple grave, next to that of Rulon Jeffs, her husband. Friends and family members of Norene Jeffs gathered in the Colorado City cemetery to remember this plural wife, who had been buried the previous week in a secret funeral by members of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Chris of Latter-Day Saints (FLDS). Jeffs, who had been “sealed” to the previous FLDS prophet Rulon Jeffs (Warren Jeffs’ father), was buried even before family members exiled from the secretive church were notified of her death. 7.09.2007
  • The Fire

    The Fire

    Saturday we were driving through the rural community of Neola, in eastern Utah, looking for the Houston home. The day before, George Houston and his son Tracy died (along with Roger Roberson) when a wildfire swept through a hay field. We were looking for family members, hoping they will be willing to tell us about these two men. Who were they? And what has this community lost in their passing?

    We finally get close and were pointed toward the right house. It’s off down a dirt lane from the road, like a hundred places you’ve seen in the movies, with a mailbox out at the main road and Forrest Gump running down the lane. The reporter asks if we should drive down the dirt road, but I want to walk it. Walking the road sends a message but more than that, I feel like we have to walk. Others are walking ahead of us, holding hands and comforting each other. I put one camera and two lenses into a bag, latch it shut, and start walking.

    At the house there are family members with teary red eyes on the front porch. Others stand on the lawn and watch the massive fire off in the distance, still burning and sending enormous clouds of smoke into the air. A steady stream of guests brings those offering embraces, food, and comfort to the two women who lost their husbands yesterday.

    We are introduced to Margie Houston, who lost her husband of 44 years as well as one of her sons. JaLynn Houston joins us, Tracy’s wife. They tell us about these two men, who worked their entire lives to provide for their ten children. Margie’s granddaughter Marlise sits down and grips her grandmother’s hand. Only then do I pull the camera out of my bag.

    As we sit and listen, I’m constantly aware of the need to show respect to these people who have lost so much. Looking around at the family who have gathered to listen, I feel an enormous responsibility to tell their story. I put my camera on single-shot and click off a frame or two of Margie and Marlise’s clasped hands, with Margie’s wedding ring visible. It’s a powerful detail, but also my way of easing the camera into the situation. Move slowly, and start with a detail. Let them know that I’m trying to share their story, not exploit it.

    As we continue, the emotions rise and fall. Marlise leans in and gives her grandmother a hug. I raise the camera and take one frame. A moment later the situation repeats and I take one more.

    I look on the camera’s LCD to confirm that I captured the moment. And then I just sit and listen. If another moment appears, I’ll be ready. But otherwise, the camera will stay in my lap.

    Duane Houston, 11 years old, was in the hay field with his father and grandfather when the fire came. His grandfather yelled at him, telling him to run. Duane ran for it, as fast as he could through the trees and over two fences. He escaped, covered in soot.

    I asked the family if I could photograph Duane. His siblings and cousins were hopping into the back of a pickup. Duane stood for the photograph and then ran off to climb in the truck with the other kids.

    Once I left the Houston family, my mind turned back to my own superficial life with its trivial concerns, like what podcast should I listen to and where should I eat dinner. I drove into town and edited and sent my photos over dinner with my colleague, Tribune photographer Danny Chan La. Then I drove home, listening to music, returning to my family.

    My sons called as I drove. The house was too hot and they wanted to sleep outside in the backyard. But they were scared to do it alone. They would only do it if I would join them.

    I thought of how tired I was from the long day of driving and work. I thought of the early appointments I had the next day and how little sleep I would get if I was outside on the ground in a sleeping bag.

    Then I thought of Duane, his father, and his grandfather.

    “Of course I’ll sleep outside with you guys,” I said.

    More photos from this assignment here: Neola Fire

  • Neola Fire

    Neola Fire

    I wrote about this assignment here: The Fire