One for the dogs: Luke Air Force Base's "green" K9 facility

Defying all expectations, these dog demonstrations are quite popular. Even stranger: children love them. I guess there's something about watching a dog desperately trying to tear a man's arm off. Something for the whole family. Bring grandma.

I've photographed these events — where a dog and its trainer demonstrate K9 tactics — at flea markets, city events, high schools and elementary schools (though never at a preschool), parades, concerts and at carnivals. Everyone loves a simulated mauling.

Most recently I photographed a K9 demo at Luke Air Force Base's new eco-friendly dog training facility. There were no children present, but there were a whole bunch of Air Force cadets who were eager to slip on the bite suit and let a German shepherd gnaw around their limbs. Before they could, though, the dog handlers did some quick demonstrations. The photo above was from a scenario where a suspect might overwhelm an airman who might not be able to issue commands to the dog. Through intense training the dog knows when his handler is in trouble and responds without any command to do so. 

I positioned myself on what I thought would be the most advantageous angle, though the dogs tend to ignore photographic angles when they attack. I lucked out, though, and got a nice shot (from a series of shots) of Rex laying a bite down on an airman's covered arm. Moments before, the airman wearing the bite suit was being handcuffed by the camouflaged airman, who was then pushed out of the way in a mock attack. Without any commands or signals, Rex leaped up and tried to subdue the suspect.

You can't really see it in the photo, but Rex's harness answers two questions: "Yes I do," and "No you can't."

The unasked questions: "Does he bite?" and "Can I pet him?"

Why we don't run groundbreaking photos

Every couple of years, View editor Jim Painter runs a piece on reader-submitted photos we don't publish. He categorizes them with clever names: Me & My Prop, the Grip-n-Grin, the Execution at Dawn, the Check Passing. They refer to a vast collection of horrible photos readers send to the View expecting we'll run them. The Check Passing, you can imagine, is usually two people trading a check and a handshake. They almost always look as though they'd rather be anywhere else but in front of the camera. That's one example.

Another example of photos we don't usually run is the groundbreaking — specifically the shot of a bunch of suits putting their expensive loafers on gold plated shovels and turning dirt in a symbolic gesture that work has begun on their big project. If you've ever been to a big groundbreaking then you know these things can be serious business: the elite executives get hard hats and shovels, everyone else has to settle for croissants and orange juice from the buffet table, dust is everywhere and you always get a seat just outside the one piece of shade, PR people show photographers where to stand to get the best dirt-shovel ratio, elected leaders schmooze, other photographers scurry about for better angles. It's all kind of silly. As soon as shovels stab the ground everyone looks to me, the photographer, to take the picture. Rather than explain to everyone we don't run these kinds of photos, it's grown easier to just take the shots and smile, knowing of course they'll probably never be seen by our readership. 

But why won't they be seen? For starters, the photos are boring. If you've seen one groundbreaking then you've seen them all. Occasionally a groundbreaking — or its sister, the ribbon cutting — will attempt something clever that might be photogenic, but mostly it's all the same. In fact, I could put five or six different groundbreaking shots up and you wouldn't be able to identify them from a fire station in Buckeye to a hospital in Goodyear. 

Second, these photos usually service the people in them more than anyone else. A long time ago, groundbreakings were single shovels and two or three people. Nowadays these events have more shovels than will be on the actual job site. The purpose for that is so the organization that initiated the building can thank those who contributed: people like the architect, the finance guy, the the construction guy, the mayor, the city council, the city council's children and their children's pets, the town manager's dentist. I'm exaggerating slightly, but the point is that most of the people in the photograph aren't important to anyone outside of that shovel club. What's really sad is that there are so many people with shovels that it's almost more of an honor to not have a shovel — remember the saying, "When everyone is special, that's the same as saying no one is special."

Lastly, these overly posed, highly orchestrated photos will never top shots of actual construction workers building the project. Or of the mayor taking a tour of the site with the construction foreman. Or of the building itself. There are just more interesting photos available, which is why resorting to the shovels-in-the-ground shot is our last option. And even if we don't run them in the newspaper, the groundbreaking shot is good to have for a historical record of the West Valley. Imagine the historical value of groundbreakings at the Wigwam, Luke Air Force Base or the Cardinal stadium. Those photos are more newsworthy 100 years after they were taken than on Day 1. 

Memorial Day keeps the pipers at play

There are few sadder sounds in this world than bagpipes at a memorial service. After last month's police officer funeral and then yesterday's Memorial Day services, I've had my fill of bagpipes for awhile. Not that the bagpipe is a grating instrument — that sound is wonderful — it's just that they're devastatingly sad. I remember hearing stories from New Yorkers after 9/11, how the city seemed to echo bagpipes for months during the hundreds of police and firefighter funerals. 

At yesterday's Memorial Day service in Palo Verde, I showed up a little early to hopefully photograph some of the preparation that goes on before the service starts. Not much was happening, except a bagpiper, Buckeye firefighter Mike Malcolm, was practicing in a clump of shade off to one side of the cemetery. I stood fairly far away and snapped some shots as he paced between two trees. I especially liked the large farm equipment in the background, how it framed Malcolm as he rehearsed "Amazing Grace" as visitors slowly began to arrive.

Stay tuned for more Memorial Day shots. I'll post more tomorrow.

Sometimes the dangerous news can't be photographed

At Japan's Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant, the station that was catastrophically damaged in the March tsunami, reporters have no access to the site and therefore no access to the news. For the most part, journalists are relying entirely on the Japanese government and TEPCO (that's Tokyo Electric Power Company) to provide still and video images of the plant since Japanese officials have prevented reporters from scampering around amid the radioactive debris. Reporters and photographers prefer to gather their own information, but when that's impossible we must rely on others to deliver us the raw information so we can disseminate it and report on it. Of course, with that kind of relationship reporters must be diligent to verify facts since a company like TEPCO has something to gain with optimistic and positive news reports. 


Take a look here, at the TEPCO photo/video site for reporters covering the multiple Fukushima meltdowns. Dig a little further and you can find the sister page with the all the press releases in English and Japanese. This is the page that most of the news outlets are choosing photos from. You'll recognize the better photos because they've run in newspapers and on television when news outlets report on Fukushima.


Seeing these Japanese shots made me recall some photos from Chernobyl in 1986. After the roof blew off Chernobyl's reactor, the workers — called liquidators or biorobots — ran out onto the roof for a minute or two to shovel up radioactive graphite. Their time was limited because radiation could prove lethal with longer exposures. (Most of these liquidators died weeks and months after the disaster.) Several photographers were on the roof taking 35mm pictures. After they developed their film they noticed strange upward-moving blotches on the bottom frames of the photos. They later determined it was the intense radiation that was exposing the film right through the camera casing. Check out the photos samples below, or a short video of the liquidators here.

Funeral protocol a sensitive subject at newspapers

Phoenix motorcycle officers lead a funeral procession for Phoenix Police Officer David Uribe near Cotton Lane and McDowell Road. The officer was slain during a routine traffic stop in Phoenix in 2005.

With the funeral of Buckeye police officer Rolando Tirado for tomorrow in Avondale, it's an appropriate time to discuss what the public can expect to see from news agencies as they come out to cover the services of the slain officer.

Typically, in events like these — when a police officer or soldier is killed in the line of duty — newspapers and television stations have the difficult task of covering the event from a news angle. Reporters and photographers have to balance the coverage of the event with the mourning and grief of the family and friends. It's a tricky balancing act, but it must be done to inform the public on the people who lay down their lives to serve and protect.

Members of the Patriot Guard Riders hold flags during the Litchfield Park funeral services of Army Sgt. Brice Pearson, who was killed when a bomb detonated in a building he was occupying in Iraq in 2007. The Patriot Guard Riders is a group of motorcycle riders who hold flags outside of soldiers funerals. They also shield mourning family members from protestors.

With the deaths of police officers, firefighters and members of the military, typically there is a member from the deceased's agency — police for police, fire for fire, military for military — that serves as a point of contact with the media. Sometimes a member of the family will serve in this position and work directly with reporters. This contact serves as a buffer between the media and the immediate family. In the early stages after the death, this person will provide background on the deceased, coordinate photographs for print and broadcast purposes, and then inform the media about funeral services. Families who work with the media view it not as a violation of their mourning, but as an opportunity to frame their loved ones as they saw them — as mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, or as heroes. Families who do not work with the media do so usually out of concerns of privacy, and their wishes are (usually) respected by members of the press.

Members of the Arizona National Guard Honor Guard escort the casket of Pfc. Jesus Najera of Buckeye, from the chapel at St. Henry Catholic Church in Buckeye. Najera, a 2005 graduate of Buckeye Union High School,  was killed in 2006 by a lightning strike while participating in a training exercise at Gwangju Air Base in South Korea.

When it comes to reporting or photographing inside funeral services, the immediate family of the deceased usually decides on how much the media is involved. Some families allow complete access. Others refuse all requests and have a closed ceremony. With higher profiles funerals, like that of a slain police officer, reporters and photographers will typically cover the procession and any graveside services that are open to the media. They will also feature the reactions of strangers, people who were moved by the story or of the officer's sacrifice. It's not uncommon to see newspaper photos of people watching the funeral procession with head bowed, hand on heart or waving an American flag.

Some readers might think that photographing people in grief is cruel and exploitative. That's certainly a danger in covering funerals, but reporters and photographers — including those at the West Valley View — have learned to do it respectfully and with compassion.