Too Powerful

            I have worked a recent string of lethal car accidents involving expensive exotic cars.  It got me thinking about having too much power. The car as in 0-60 in three-ish seconds with an engine of five hundred hoarse power or more. The driver as in someone who ignores the law because his or her shirts are tailor made.

            We don’t let ten year olds drive. They are too small in so many ways. Its one thing not to be able to reach the controls, another not to be able to reach for the wisdom needed to navigate traffic.  Some people turn ten when they get into a sports car. I so often see privileged people getting into accidents for no other reason they feel the laws of mankind don’t apply to them. Physics has something to say about this. So does Darwin.  I have never known of an Ferrari winning and argument with a trash truck or abutment. I’m not picking on Ferrari, Maserati or McLaren will do. Okay fine you’re a GT freak or perhaps you will only allow a Bugatti into your dreams. Just pick a super car and stick with me. Gads I can hear the snidely voices of the read about it type, cant even afford the floor mats, snot nosed wussburger getting all flabbergasted at me. Blow the aghast out your nose, wipe up and lets move on.

            A special investigative team will sometimes come out to an accident and record every piece of evidence. The position of vehicles and strewn parts is meticulously recorded with the help of a laser based robotic Total Station. One can also see these amazing machines on construction sites. This device will give the nearly exact position with elevation of every bit they decide to record. Later all the rocket science of weight and velocity is computed by someone that knows what they are doing. Glad it’s not me because a five-hour on scene time turns into three days or so of calculating and weeks of interviews. Photos taken at the scene are included into a remodeling of the accident.

            I photograph things important to the investigator, every side of the vehicles and details of some parts. I am sometimes amazed at what blood will be found on. Pieces of front bumper or headlight with some human matter painted on says body contact even too an amateur like me. It’s the ability to play the scene backward that starts the narrowing of the investigators concentration. They are tested and exhaustively reviewed in continuing education. Glad I just take the photos mostly done on manual. Program is only used for close ups with flash set to TTL. I go back and forth between the settings.

            No million-dollar car is safe with defective parts like say a loose nut behind the wheel. Before you admire someone in a tailored shirt without a tie wreaking perfume, imagine him in an expensive go-cart becoming road coating. That will take the shine off the rims.

Angel In The Alley

Days of triple digit temperatures are no time to put on a bulletproof vest, but that’s exactly what I was instructed to do by the detective.

The detective was wearing a windbreaker and slacks in weather not even being completely naked would make comfortable.  Not only was he sweating from the heat, but also from a strange nervousness.  I’ve worked with this detective before, so I could tell something was off.  The heat combined with the task at hand was not making me happy.  A few minutes after putting on my vest, sweat ran down my back and soon it appeared as though I had lost control over my bowels.  Now, I’m cranky.

The job was to photograph a body in an alley located in the heart of East Los Angeles. This is the part of town where no one raves about living in the City of the Angels.  At the time, the population of Southern California had quickly grown with migrant workers who lived in overcrowded conditions.  So many of the homeless were a product of a lack of floor space anywhere.  There had been quite a number of people dying where they slept.  

It was obvious that this particular body had been moved.  The detective informed me the body had come from a nearby building packed with vagrants, and that they would have to secure it before we could proceed.  Now I understood why he appeared nervous.  Police presence was growing rapidly and squad cars were coming in from neighboring areas to secure the scene and make it safe.

Two hours passed before I was finally able to begin.  I left my vest in the truck, which had become relatively comfortable with the AC running at full blast.  The coroner had been called and we started in the building.  I only took photographs of the lower floor.  The building was located on a corner and the body was placed in an alley behind a parking lot.  

The lower floor was decorated with over-used furniture and a makeshift chapel that could be quickly folded away to allow shoulder-to-shoulder sleeping along the concrete floor.  The smell of disinfectant and old urine was nearly strong enough for me to use my mask.  The kitchen contained three refrigerators and a stove that I assumed to be in some working condition.  I had to admit, my garage was cleaner.  

The occupants were asked to line up against a wall under the bright sunlight.  They were going to be photographed for ID purposes.  From the looks of discomfort on their faces, it appeared as though the sunlight was killing them.  There was only one woman amongst the handful of men.  I allowed her a moment to smooth out her hair and work up the best smile she could.  I could feel the tension slowly melting around me.

The coroner arrived and I completed my overalls.  I took shots up to a partially rolled-up carpet in an upright position against a chain link fence and utility pole.  A thin man with no shirt had been wrapped inside of it.  I could see that his body was malnourished.  Sometimes with alcohol as the main source of calories, the body will rob muscle and bone tissue for nutrients.  His head rested peacefully against his clasped hands.  He looked as though he were in the middle of prayer when suddenly he was called home to heaven.

Along with the carpet, his story began to unfold.  He had been a drug counselor who made the decision to stay and work in the place that saved his own life.  Rescuing similarly situated individuals became somewhat of a calling for him.  When he died, the residents became nervous and took him outside.  With as much dignity and respect as they could muster, they placed him in such a way that forever memorialized him as the angel in the alley.