Voices raised as one

"Fight, fight until the end."
The voices of many, echoing in a canyon of concrete, glass and steel. Protesters crowded outside the Turkish consulate in Los Angeles this afternoon, demanding Turkey finally acknowledge the Armenian Genocide of 1915. Old and young, crying out for justice.

Have you passed through this night?

One of the great things about working in journalism is getting to meet interesting people and hear (and share) their stories. Last week, I had the honor of interviewing Renee Firestone, a Holocaust survivor who has remained tireless in sharing her story and raising awareness of ongoing oppression in the world. You can read that story here. When it came to shoot her portrait, I was working quickly, and wanted to keep the composition simple, a bit somber and with a bit of shadow. 

When the pressroom goes quiet

(Given recent developments, I felt it was a good time to share some images I captured several years ago.)

My first day on the job, a fellow reporter gave me a walk-through of the paper. Where the bathroom was, where the break room was. The tour capped off with the cavernous pressroom, that she described to me as a good place to blow off steam now and then.

Over the next few years I would blow off a lot of steam in that room. Sometimes I'd wander back there mid-day when it was quiet. It was like a hushed, industrial cathedral, the only sound my steps and breaths, inhaling the incense of ink and paper, afternoon light pouring through the windows. Sometimes I'd stalk back there late in the evening, at the tail end of a tiresome shift, when the room was alive. The hulking old machine whirring whirring whirring and pressmen shouting their conversations.

I certainly believe that newspapers must adapt. The methods of news gathering don't really change all that much, but the methods of delivering it to the public certainly do.

But I couldn't help feel a pang of nostalgia and loss when I heard of the paper's recent decision to outsource its printing to another location.

Change can certainly be a good thing. Physical newspapers will probably continue to be phased out. And that will have certain benefits. But there is nothing quite like seeing, hearing, feeling and smelling a product through from start to finish — from the haggard reporter on the phone culling facts, to papers coming off the press to be prepped for delivery, all under one roof.

A photo I didn't take, a story I want to be told.

I wish I could say I took the photo below, but I did not. It was taken by the uber-talented photojournalist Zoriah Miller (Please visit www.zoriah.net to see his excellent work, and consider financially supporting tireless photojournalism). It's a wonderful candid image of Jerry Delakas, who's run a newsstand in New York City's East Village for the past quarter-century. It's a great portrait of a purveyor of a rapidly disappearing facet of life, when so many get their news from websites and Twitter updates.

Why am I posting this? Because New York City, through its network of red tape and bureaucracy, is threatening to toss Mr. Delakas' piece of the American Dream from Cooper Square like so many discarded newspapers, and that's a shame. It's a shame to see things like this happen to a small business owner.
Mr. Delakas was willed the business license by the owner, who died several years ago. He's a neighborhood fixture, and runs the stand seven days a week.
So, all this to say, I'd encourage you to visit www.savejerry.com, look at the photos and read Jerry's story, and sign the petition to allow him to keep his business, his livelihood.
In a NY Daily News story earlier this spring, Larry Schultz, who lives across from Mr. Delakas' stand, said: "Jerry's here rain, snow, sleet, blistering heat. ... He's just a real important part of our community. We think the world of him.