I started in the newspaper biz at 13, working a summer in the back shop of the small town weekly: folding inserts and sweeping the floor. But hanging around that print shop did it's damage. The sound and smell of the presses and linotype; handling the newspapers. Printer's Ink. Caught up in the romance, in the old fashioned way.

I was writing little things not long afterward.
The photography came naturally.
The paper was the conduit,
and I got to meet some heroes during the high school years.
Lots of 'old hands' helped me along.

And my little town ( not far from Schwab's ) had some remarkable newspaper guys at the time. It was just a natural thing.

By the time I was ready to head out into The World,
the camera was had become My Way.

During college, I carried a Filmo under the car seat for spot TV news ( before video, kids ).

Did little jobs on weekends that paid college bills,
and did photolab work in the school biophysics lab,
shot theatre and nightclub stuff;
interviewed old soldiers,miners,and ranch hands - guys out of my hemingway / hammett soaked imagination.

Met more real shooters.

One thing led to another.
One night I was holed up in the office of a small town daily,
riding out a Rocky Mountain blizzard, when the teletype went off.

It sounded like WW3, but it was worse.

Life magazine announced it's final issue.

There would be no brass ring.

It's all been dip and dunk ever since.

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