Archive for the ‘history’ Category
This past weekend, Joe Torre’s #6 was officially retired at Yankee Stadium. He rightly took his place among the pinstriped legends. I worked with Joe a number of times over the years, and he always proved to be an affable subject. I wrote about the above snap in The Moment It Clicks.
I shot it in the aftermath of Frank Torre’s heart transplant surgery, performed by the famous Dr. Mehmet Oz. Frank and Joe were not only brothers, but also one of those rare tandems of siblings who both made it to the big leagues. I was assigned to shoot the trio, at Yankee stadium, for a story on alternative medicine. At about noon, on a sunny day. As I think I asked in the book, “What do you do with three relatively lumpy guys who are waiting for you to tell them to do something interesting.?” In five minutes or less. In bad light.
The answer, as it often can be, was a big, single blow of light, in this case a 74″ Octa. One light, full power, open up the faces, and beat back the sun. The operative thing that goes through my mind during a session like this is always “KISS!” Keep it simple, stupid. No time for anything fancy.
But, if you leave these guys alone and don’t direct them, all you got is three different head shots, only all in the same picture. So, you gotta have an idea, and venture it, at the risk of hearing no, or even worse, being ridiculed for suggesting something outlandish or stupid. With Joe and Frank, though, I knew I had a couple good guys who had spent enough time in locker rooms to respond to “How about giving Dr. Oz a big, Brooklyn smooch?” Which set the doc to beaming. Three minutes or so, and I left with a picture for LIFE.
Shot Joe and his equally famous golf buddy Rudy Giuliani for the cover of Golf Digest, also at the old Yankee Stadium.
We shot this in the left field warmup area, hence the rumpled seamless. The biggest problem I had was that as soon as the team got wind that the skipper and the mayor were doing a photo shoot, they started pulling home run balls over the left field wall during batting practice, hoping for mischief, or perhaps to see one of my lights explode. One ball was a screamer that might have done some damage, but we were saved by Mo Rivera, who Joe described as the best pure athlete on the team. Rivera made a helluva grab, and the set stayed safe.
Congrats to Joe, who always made my job easy. More tk….
A bright light just went out. Robin Williams could speak faster than most of us can think. And when he spoke (often in tongues) we laughed, long, hard and well.
Only photographed him once. Typical of his irreverent whimsy, he walked onstage to rehearse wearing a “Forty F%&*$#&G Niners” t-shirt, and dared the assembled photogs to take his picture and put that in your “family f%$*(**&^%g newspaper.” Had to bring my timing to get a publishable snap.
We were all lucky to get anything sharp. He kept it lively, doing his routine, and riffing here and there. His pinball wizard brain kept us anywhere from chuckling to outright howling. I know I missed a bunch of pics just standing there, slack jawed at the pace of it, camera in my hands and not to my eye, giggling like an idiot. Old style chrome, EPT pushed one stop. Radio City Music Hall, 1982. Long time ago, and lots of laughter since then.
Thank you….Godspeed…..more tk…..
I’ve been friends with Mike Corrado, the originator, orchestrator, and pied piper of the merry band of disparate, dysfunctional (hey, we’re photographers) talented oddballs who make up the Nikon Ambassador crew, for more than 25 years. He is a blood brother, a good shooter, and a fierce advocate for photogs and their worth. He is also blessedly inappropriate.
Together, we have lost a prototype Nikon camera in Miami Bay, smashed another one perched on the end of a hang glider into a telephone pole, and had a 70-200mm lens run over by a truck. We at one point tried to run a photo set on a beach spitting distance from another crew who were running a full blown porno shoot complete with scuba tanks, fins, masks, but no swim suits. Needless to say, Mike’s attention on that occasion was, uh, divided.
He also tends to show up on these occasions with the coolest, newest toys. Such as last week when he loaned me his newly minted D810, and, in the briefest of interludes, I shot 27 frames with it. Luckily for me, during that two minute stint, I had a wonderful subject, Joe McFadden, a Schuylkill River rowing legend, in front of my lens, standing in equally wonderful window light. I shot quickly, hand held, at ISO 1600.
My current iteration of this camera, the D800E, to me has been a camera all about control. I use it in the studio, and work with it when I need the res, have the time to manage the buffer, and shoot in the realm of lower ISO. (Like a flash portrait, go figure.) But, when confronted with the great unknown, a coverage that could go any which way, something that might head into the fire swamp of high ISO, I’ve dragged out a D4 or a D4S.
The D810 keeps the allure of high res, but removes the fear of high ISO. It was nothing short of remarkable.
In the days of ASA, 1600 was the magic number. It was a frontier. It was a factor of speed that enabled you to shoot most night time sports and still come back with a reasonable facsimile of what your eyes actually saw. To go beyond that number was like going north of the wall. Few came back to tell about it, or get another assignment. Below is an example of Tri-x hot souped in a closet of a darkroom at Yankee Stadium in 1978. Good shot, but grain you can drive a truck through.
Same with Giorgio Chinaglia, here heading the ball for the NY Cosmos, also circa 1978.
Film was a tricky beast to manage, occasionally, and I speak from the rueful experience of having mismanaged it on all too many a job. Below is a one of my favorite portraits of Carly Simon. I had to overexpose, given the nature of the bright sky behind her, which blows the neg apart a good deal. I could have done better with my focus, too. (I think I should have used a flash maybe? Sigh.) Still her ebullient expression carries the day for me, and I love the frame. Just wish I had done better. Or had a D810.
I’ve been living in the digital world of photography for quite some time now, and the technology can still take me by surprise. I shake my head in wonder. As Captain Jack Aubrey said in Master and Commander, ”What a fascinating modern age we live in.”
Visited the 9/11 Museum on Friday night. Wandering the halls there was powerfully, meaningfully difficult. The images, feelings, and audio recordings that you walk through and among were staggering in their impact, and ricochet like an emotional pinball through your entire being—head, heart and gut. Read the rest of this entry »
So the Super Bowl ball game is done, and has now modified and progressed into the Super Bowl of Trying to Get Home. A wall of snow just fell on NY, heavier and more sustained than a Kam Chancellor hit, and football fans of all descriptions are stuck in the Big Apple. I flew out this past Supe Sunday, and thus escaped before the city got rolled by the weatherman.
I shot one Super Bowl in my day, which was amazing to me, as I suck at sideline photography. This may sound odd, as I did have a contract with Sports Illustrated for a number of years, despite not being adept at shooting moving objects. I would get intrigued by the hoopla, color and obsession of the sport at hand, but was not all that compelled by the grunting and sweating out on the field. So, they would send me to something like a Super Bowl to shoot that which no one else was interested in, in this case, the refs.
The game was the 1987 matchup of the Broncos and the NY Giants, a game won by the Giants, and featured a legendary performance by QB Phil Simms. I don’t really recall seeing any of the game itself, as I had to key in and shoot pix of all nine of the refs. One of the biggest challenges was getting them all together for a group shot, however quick and dirty it had to be. And trust me, it was.
The above was shot less than two minutes before kickoff. I had made arrangements with the refs to meet me in the corner of an end zone that had a last sliver of daylight, with the field as a backdrop. To “fill” this picture, my ever grumbling SI staff assistant had to hoist a 4×6 Chimera soft box onto a monopod, and sling four Norman 200B battery packs on his shoulders and follow me out onto the grass. Phil Jache, the resident techno-wizard at the mag, had adapted a Speedotron Quad to Norman cables and flash tubes, so I had the equivalent of 800ws of portable power blowing through one lamp head. It was truly a Rube Goldberg arrangement, and the two us trundling this Frankenstein of a light out in front of millions of people I’m sure looked perfectly ridiculous.
And of course, there literally dozens of my colleagues on the sidelines, all being helpful. “Hey Joe, the flash isn’t working!” “You’re light’s not goin’ off, dipshit!” Constructive suggestions as to my lighting, staging, composition, overall demeanor, my looks and my ancestry rained down on me. The intimation my light was malfunctioning was a real possibility, as it was pre-Pocket Wizard days, and I was using a Hawk Radio transmitter system, which had all the sophistication and dependability of your basic garage door opener. Shot Kodachrome, no time for testing, or Polaroid.
I got a serviceable group shot, and then spent the rest of the day chasing the zebras during my one and only Super Bowl adventure. Story never ran. More tk….