There really is a point to this story.
I admit to a political point-of-view, and a specific reason for sharing how this event impacted me–aside from a cathartic chance to cleanse myself by putting the thoughts of my darkest days in writing, allowing anybody with an internet connection to see them and develop an opinion about who and what kind of person I am.
I’ll ask you to trust me just enough to believe that I’ll get to the point eventually, and in return I promise to make it there before I stop typing for good.
Early afternoon of August 7th found me in a production suite at Andersen Air Force Base. The objective was viewing on-scene footage of the first few minutes after the last of the rescues. It’s time I’d like to have back.
There’s this ... "moment" that most of us have in common. I ask you to visit it with me. It’s the moment after you board an airplane and you’re looking for your seat. I’m not a wealthy man, so I’ve very rarely been in the first few rows of a commercial flight; for that reason, I’ve had the opportunity to repeat this ritual repeatedly..
Shortly after my rows are called, and I cross the threshold of the machine and make the right turn that sends me down the middle aisle, I find myself scanning two things. You’ve probably done the same thing. First, I carefully try to unobtrusively find my row number. This requires a constant leaning in and squinting at the tiny numbers above the seats, but below the luggage racks bolted to the walls.
Secondly, I scan the faces.
I used to wonder what I’m looking for when I look at the people. I used to believe I was looking for the pretty women. That was probably true at one time. Now, I admit to looking for potential terrorists, and people who look like they might have a death-wish for some reason. Basically, I’m trying to get a feel for people I’m hoping I don’t have to sit beside.
The end result of that scan is almost a kaleidoscope of faces and images. There are usually men and women. Old and young. A wide variety of skin tones. A variety of colors. An interesting mix of clothing styles. A variation of sleepy, well-rested, and anxious expressions.
Videographers pay close attention to how vision works. Not in the way opticians and optometrists do; Doctors pay attention to the biology and physiology of the process. Video-shooters and editors pay attention to what you see first, and second, and third when you’re confronted with a new scene. It is the foundation for how film and video scenes are put together. The current hypothesis is that when you walk into a new environment, your eye takes a wide shot. You then zoom in to a region of the room, then a specific object. After this, you tend to scan from one item of interest to another. This pattern repeats until you either find an object that will hold your complete attention (like a person talking to you), or you start all over again in a different part of the environment.
(Where is this heading? This is disjointed and hard to follow.)
Have a bit of trust, would’ya?
After being introduced to the theory of videography, I started subconsciously testing it in my own responses and reactions to new environments. That’s when I first noticed the airplane thing...
...which brings me to a metal folding chair, sitting in front of an edit suite with the Senior Airman ... who was NOT my type of guy. He’d been up for about 35 hours too, except that when the crash was first reported, he’d immediately headed up to the scene. He arrived a few minutes after the first fire engine, and hitched a ride in an ambulance. He immediately started shooting...
...he popped in his tape #2, and said ... "check this out. It’s REALLY cool."
It was a videographer’s imitation of that scan I do every time I board a plane.
After climbing through a hole in the skeleton of the aircraft, in the dark ... he’d walked to the front right side of the plane. After the color bars, the first few seconds of the tape were pitch black. He switched the mounted light on. What followed was about 30 minutes of "the walk." From the front of the plane to the end of the first section. From the gaping hole between the first section to it’s conclusion.
I felt weird watching it.
The round light cast a peculiar glow on everything, sort of like an interrogator’s lamp. In the middle of the wide shots, there was a round circle of light where everything was the right color, outside the light ... everything was bluish-gray.
Most of the people were still belted in their seats ... even though some of the bolts attaching them to the floor had snapped, tilting some of them at odd angles.
They were all dead.
I’m no expert on these things, but it seemed like many of them never woke up. A few had their eyes closed, and I might’ve thought you could wake them up if a snapped your fingers loud enough right in their ears ... except for the charred clothes, and skin, and seatbacks.
One or two had apparently been WIDE AWAKE and realized PRECISELY what was happening. Faces frozen in terror, my impression is that their last moments had been exactly how I DON’T want to die.
First class got the worst of it. Most of it was just a mangled mass of metal. The fire had consumed virtually all of the cloth. My eye zoomed in on severed limbs and shoes full of feet and legs up to the knee jangled up in-between some of the charred metal rods and busted suitcases.
In a different environment, it might’ve been a horror movie. But there was no plot, and no music. Just blood, and gore.
I was sure the SrA wasn’t my kind of guy because he was stoked about it. I asked him why he was so excited, and his logic made a sick kind of sense.
"I didn’t cause their death, and its the most interesting thing I’ve ever shot."
Fair enough, but not my cup of tea.
There was a pregnant woman in the second section. I’ve no idea how far along she was ... but I couldn’t help wondering if her fetus had survived the initial impact.
The further you went back in the wreckage, the less actual "damage" had been done -- unless you count the fact that so many of the people were dead as part of your damage assessment.
Some of those images are still seared into my brain.
There were men and women. Old and young. A wide variety of skin tones. A variety of colors. An interesting mix of clothing styles. A variation of sleepy, well-rested, and anxious expressions.
I suffered through about six tapes worth of footage. Close ups and zooms, pans and rack focuses. A continuous stream of sights and sounds I wish I could simply erase.
But they’re all still here.
I’ve tried to drown them in scotch, soak them in beer, smoke them out with nicotine, eat them away, even work them out in the gym until I nearly passed out.
But they’re just as strong as ever.
Usually, my job as a journalist requires me to get as close to whatever is happening as possible. I’d thought in this situation that to board the wreckage was a good idea. I decided at that moment, in that room, where the line was for me. I wasn’t going to board the wreckage. I wasn’t going to even try.
It wasn’t a very professional decision, but in some ways it has probably saved my mind.
I met back up with Dan, and we headed back out to the scene.
There really is a point to this story.
I admit to a political point-of-view, and a specific reason for sharing how this event impacted me–aside from a cathartic chance to cleanse myself by putting the thoughts of my darkest days in writing, allowing anybody with an internet connection to see them and develop an opinion about who and what kind of person I am.
I believe there are three more parts to this story. The third is where I’ll make my point, and probably never mention this event again.
Thank you for your patience.
(Originally Posted 20 Feb 2006)
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