I am now embarking on a new photography career after 10 years as a staff photographer at the San Francisco Examiner and later what became the San Francisco Chronicle. The Chronicle bought the Examiner in 2000 and all staff on both papers became the new San Francisco Chronicle.
A great photographer and friend of mine who worked at the Examiner for many years and who left the Chronicle after the merger, said about his best years as a photojournalist, "I never knew what I had in those days."
Looking back I guess we all feel that way. It's an end of an era for me personally and an end of an era for newspapers in general right now.
Here are two photos that span my career from 1997 (when I started at the Examiner) to my last daily photo taken in 2007. I've always loved the game of baseball and I guess it showed in my work.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
A Poem By My Mother About Baseball...
Baseball, U.S.A.
Write a theme about your country
What it means to you, the U.S.A.
An elementary school dilemma, one sees
Something more than jingoism this day
Yesterday we sat on hard steeled bleachers
We watched the best athletes compete
How does one apply this sobriquet for teachers
The sun reddened our faces, enthusiasm replete
The intellectuals said baseball, inane
The seventh inning ritual stretch
In closeted heart, they envied freedom of game
Remembering childhood throw and fetch
And so goes the game and the United States
Free to run, win and yell aloud
To all there is, someway, an open gate
Bases loaded, what next, the crowd
Umpires rhubarb as do politicos
We gulp down hot dogs and sparkling drinks
And this is the way America goes
And so, with another chance, when sun sinks.
By Antoinette Bell (All Rights Reserved, 1987)
Write a theme about your country
What it means to you, the U.S.A.
An elementary school dilemma, one sees
Something more than jingoism this day
Yesterday we sat on hard steeled bleachers
We watched the best athletes compete
How does one apply this sobriquet for teachers
The sun reddened our faces, enthusiasm replete
The intellectuals said baseball, inane
The seventh inning ritual stretch
In closeted heart, they envied freedom of game
Remembering childhood throw and fetch
And so goes the game and the United States
Free to run, win and yell aloud
To all there is, someway, an open gate
Bases loaded, what next, the crowd
Umpires rhubarb as do politicos
We gulp down hot dogs and sparkling drinks
And this is the way America goes
And so, with another chance, when sun sinks.
By Antoinette Bell (All Rights Reserved, 1987)
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