CROSSVILLE CHRONICLE
Opinion
|
David Spates Finally I have a picture
Doctors are the worst patients. Car salesmen
are the toughest buyers. Professional landscapers' yards often
are the most unkempt on the block. It's just the way things seem to shake out.
Call it life's ironies. And photographers hate to have their pictures
taken. Now, I'm not a renowned photographer, and
I certainly don't snap off as many frames as other people in
our newsroom, but I take a fair amount of photos in the course
of my Chronicle duties. I guess what I'm saying is that
I'm a professional photographer, but only in the most liberal
use of the term, and I despise having my picture taken. The trouble is this: As much as I hate to
see photos of me, I enjoy writing my weekly column more, and
with the column comes the obligatory photo. It's a newspaper
tradition, presumably done so that if someone disagrees with
your opinion, he can slug you while you're buying a pint of Cherry
Garcia at the grocery store. Last week I decided I finally was going to
get a new column photo to replace the one taken about three years
ago. I had other "professional photographers" in our
office snap a few pictures of my face, and I hated those even
more than I hated the photo I wanted to usurp. When I smiled
it looked forced, and when I tried to look serious I looked angry.
I even tried to snap a few "self-portraits" by holding
the camera myself at arm's length. Nothing worked. Every picture was more hideous
than the one before it. So I decided to do what I've seen other folks
do. Simply go with the last picture of themselves that they liked.
The photo above is what I feel like is the last decent picture
of me. Finally I have a picture I can be proud of
to go along with my weekly diatribe. It's important to present
the right image when you offer your opinions on the world's issues,
and I feel confident this photo speaks volumes. It's a trick I learned from elderly politicians.
Many's the time a politician in his or her 70s has given me a
picture obviously taken at least a quarter of a century prior.
I ask Sen. Joe P. Shmoe if I may take his photo to go along with
the story I'm working on, and the distinguished gentleman informs
me that he has a better idea. He's got a stack of photos he gives
the press when a picture is requested. He gives me the photo,
and it's obvious it was taken seven elections and hundreds of
soft money contributions ago featuring collars so wide and stiff
that he could have soared in tandem with Sally Field's flying
nun. Hey, if an aging politicians can get away
with it, why can't a nearly 30-year-old hack columnist like me?
I admire the brashness. Besides, have you taken a good look at the
photo? It's fabulous! I'm trying not to smile, and yet there's
just a hint of a smirk starting to appear when the photographer
clicked the shutter as he said "fuzzy pickles" or some
such nonsense designed to make kids smile long enough so that
Mom and Dad won't feel like they were ripped off by dropping
$17.95 on school pictures in which their little angel looks like
he just stubbed his toe. You can't tell from the cropped version here,
but my arms are resting on a mock Liberty Bell in celebration
of America's 1976 bicentennial. There's even a mural of 18th-century
Philadelphia serving as a background. This photo's got everything
- a knowing smirk, snappy fashions, a patriotic theme, a wicked
cowlick and bangs galore. When mom pulled this from her stack
of pictures, I knew my search for a new column mugshot was over. I thought about using a picture that is even older than that one, but I'm not sure ultrasounds were widely used in 1970. |
