Democratic National Convention
The first day.
I have to say, first and foremost…
I wasn’t expecting to see so many certified photo-fucking-journalists working this event, both young and old, longtime friends, and friends newly met. I thought we were extinct, yet here we are—making pictures and sarcastic yet true observations. It’s a bit humbling. Hardworking, amazing folks with a fair number of nuts and geniuses thrown into the mix.
Insert your own Keith Richards joke here.
Insert your own bartender joke here.
Where these images are properly seen is the only question, because Instagram is certainly not the answer.
It pisses me off, but more on that later.
A few hours before the kickoff, I was talking with Justin Sullivan, a brilliant journalist. He shared the importance of his first national political campaign, Kerry 2004, and the impact it had on his career. He was young back then—bastard is still young twenty years later. By "national" I mean you’re on a plane together, flying from state to state in a perpetual would-be presidential bubble. The proverbial “moveable feast.”
You’re trapped with these people, and for Justin, that meant he was surrounded by some of the world’s best political photographers. To his credit, he was smart enough to learn from them and to their’s they were kind enough to teach.
I’m talking legends like David Burnett, Stephen Crowley, David Hume Kennerly, Chris Hondros, Charles Ommanney, and Pete Souza. Sorry, I’m forgetting people.
He says he doubts he would be working the convention today as one of Getty’s top political photographers (and they have a few good ones) without that experience.
That’s what I mean by humbled.
Anyway.
Justin and I were talking about Jesse Jackson and, being that we’re in Chicago, hoped—but doubted—he’d show up at the convention.
Five minutes later, Justin reported that he spotted him. He showed me some images, and I had my assignment for the evening.
It took a couple of hours and some doing, but I managed to make some frames in a hallway. Kind of behind the scenes, as it were, which is how I often rolled back in the day with the Reverend.
I managed to weasel my way into the VIP area where he was holed up with his entourage and started seeing some familiar faces.
Then I surprised myself by getting a tad verklempt.
You see, Jesse Jackson was my first nationwide political campaign. I did not think I’d get emotional… promised myself I wouldn’t cry.
I realized I wouldn’t have enjoyed the same career without that experience.
Jesse’s son Yusef had me share a story with his dad and Al Sharpton. That’s when I kind of teared up (a story for another day).
That just never happens.
At one time, I was just as young, though better looking, than Justin on that Kerry plane.
Life’s funny that way.
Full circle for Jesse and me.
And a humbling reminder of the people who have helped make us who we are today.
Good to see you're out there again. Tasty snaps too.