Busted again

By Ed Piper

Kicked off a field or court of play again.

Other photographers have stories like this, too:

I planned my week, noted events on a calendar, and rushed home from substitute-teaching to get my camera equipment and cover La Jolla's CIF badminton match at San Diego High School.

Mind you, Jerry Tellers, my contact with the Viking badminton team--head coach last year, assistant this year--is just great. "In my gym, you can come anytime," he told me after what I'm about to tell you transpired.

I was geared up, kneeling and starting to fire up my photo-taking when a gentleman walked up.

"Are you from the newspaper?" "No, from a website." "I'm the coach." "I take photos of La Jolla sports, so it probably won't help you" (smiling, not saying it in a smart way).

Not suspecting what he was going to say next, but I've had it happen before, I asked him, "Is it okay for me to be here (on the court)?" I fully expected him to say, "Go ahead, have your run of the place."

Instead, he said: "For a few shots. Not for the whole match."

You're in the middle of shooting. You're focused on the task at hand. And you hardly know what to say, your mind on the kids hitting the birdie, not on what rejoinder to have for being told you're basically kicked off the court.

Rejoinders like: "Don't you think photos of your sport would help promote it?" Or, "Athletes really enjoy photos of their events." Or, "Don't you think coverage of any kind helps your team and your sport, whether directly or indirectly?"

Those were some of my thoughts later, but at the time I reacted (to myself). I took shots of a few more kids, and left--after I told Jerry, "The other coach doesn't want me on the court."

That was it for my Friday afternoon. Blown. I got enough shots to use. But I had planned for this, come all the way down from Clairemont to downtown for it, and had it cut short.

I was fuming by the time I got to my car. I rolled my case out the nearest gym exit. What a drag.

Plus the "take a few shots"--if you know photographers, you know how we operate: Take as many shots as you can, then pick out the best ones to use. I was almost guffawing at the suggestion, "Take a few shots." Like you put the whole event in a tiny can and you're done.

I debated--for about one second--whether to write a blog entry on this. But it's a view you rarely hear. Photographers aren't usually writers. But I began as a writer, then added photography. So, some people would probably be surprised to hear about photographers' misadventures.

These days, it's much more pronounced than years ago. I was on Crystal Pier at Pacific Beach some time ago, taking a break from photographing surfers right next to the pier. A woman came up to me and asked, "Did you take pictures of me?" Surprised, I looked around and said, "No." She said, "Can I see your photos to check?" I said, politely, though there was no way I was going to let someone look in my equipment, "No. I didn't take photos of you."

What I had done, inadvertently, while I stood leaning against the railing on the side of the pier walkway was allow my camera lens to point down the pier. Where this lady had been. My camera was turned off, but she didn't know this. Or believe it.

I assured her with an earnest look on my face: "I give you my word that I did not take photos of you."

She left. She came back a short time later, pushing. "Did you take photos of me?" This lady had a problem, and I hadn't necessarily caused it. Though I now understand a little more where people are coming from when it comes to cameras. They're touchy. I told her firmly, "Ma'am, I already gave you my word that I did not take photos of you." And that was the final word.

By the way, my shots of the surfers from the pier came out fantastically. Really good close-ups, full image, of guys riding and cutting back and forth in the waves. Very satisfying in that respect.

Back to the playing field: Some people (and this applies outside of sports, as well) like photos, and some people don't.

Years ago, in a galaxy far away, there was a girls golf coach at La Jolla whose name I don't remember--long before the present coach, Aaron Quesnell, who appreciates and welcomes photo coverage of his team--who didn't like photos.

At that time, I carried the idea that everyone will like my photos, so go ahead and make them available to them. At a match, I asked the coach, "Coach, do you have an email address I could send the photos of your girls to?" (This is before I had my photo website.)

"No."

I was slow-witted. So I asked, "Is there a friend who has an email address I could send the photos to?"

He said, "No," again, without hesitation.

I should have read his signals pretty clearly. He didn't want photos of his team.

The next week, like an eager puppy dog to take more photos, I showed up at another match of his team's. While I was standing, clicking shots of his girls practicing drives, he called over to me, "My girls say your shutter bothers them."

I go, "Huh?" to myself. I didn't get what he was saying.

What I should have done way back at the first match I covered for this team was walk up to the coach, introduce myself, and tell him I planned to take photos. I didn't know to do that. I would have quickly found out where the coach was coming from, and saved myself a little grief.

Instead, I walked out onto the course and took more photos, but from more of a distance. Then I went home. Soon after, I processed the very clear signals the coach had given me, and realized I wasn't welcome at the team's matches. I didn't go back for several years.

To put a positive ending on the story, fast forward eight years or so to Quesnell, the present coach. A year ago, I contacted him. I was trepidatious that he had the same attitude toward photos that his distant predecessor held.

I was pleasantly flabbergasted to be greeted verbally with open arms and in person with big smiles. In fact, this school year, we refined our working relationship to an even higher level by his planning out where I could stand off the first tee for his boys team and click photos of a practice shot before each duffer's actual opening tee shot. Wow. What a long way we've come.