Just Plain Dead

            Do you have a career where looking at bodies gets to be like wearing an old hat?

            I have seen them all, I hope.  They come in all the shapes and sizes you could possibly see by walking the mall.  Not the beach, the mall.  You would need a mall, a big one, to get that much variety.  The majority of the bodies at the beach are beach-ready; in the mall, they are mall-ready.

            I add a variant to this wonderful thought.  Bodies come in various states of freshness.  A common question a coroner will ask is, “When was the last time you saw or spoke to the decedent?”  They like a bracket of possible time of death.  I do not know all about why they want to know.  I just hear the question being asked a lot.  For the sake of my nose, I do know that sooner is better.

I do not like decomps.  That is short for decomposing body.  That gets gross fast.  In three days, a body can become unrecognizable.  You may have heard the smell is unlike anything else. Not true.  The smell is like everything amped to the highest degree.  The trauma created by seeing your first few decomps is something that stays with you.  So does the smell.

I have a keen sense of taste and smell.  I can tell the difference between many types of coffee.  With my wonderful ability and acumen regarding potpourri, let me tell you what decomp is like.  

I would describe the smell as being very musky, moldy, and heavy on the ammonia.  It is a bit like any dead thing you have come across, plus that sour smell some fast food pickles give off.  I can testify in open court that the memory of decomp is commonly triggered by going past most fast food places.  I know that some people out there are really interested in the total variants of decomp smell.  I hope I never meet one.

Interesting note:  Smell is the most common hallucination.  In my case, these hallucinations are just disturbances like those experienced during a nightmare.  I accept them.  They do not bother me.  In fact, they have actually helped me lose some weight.  I will now avoid any possibility of a lawsuit by not revealing which restaurants trigger the flashbacks.

            Can you say, “Together?”  Not all bodies are found in such a state.  Folded, stretched, twisted, flattened, and many combinations of torn and scattered have become practically normal to me.  

I was doing overalls at a train versus car situation.  “Overalls” are photos of the whole scene at various angles and POV’s (Points of View) that are the hallmark of good crime scene photography.  The detective on scene asked me to photograph the body.  

“Sure,” I said and asked where it was.  He told me it was still in the front half of the car, which was further down the tracks than the last half.  I walked the several hundred yards back to the intersection where the victim’s car got stuck on the tracks.  She could have panicked; I do not really know what happened.

I found the front half of the vehicle, began to do overalls, and then poked the camera into the open parts of the interior.  There was no one in the car as far as I could tell, so I went back to the detective to inquire about it.  He informed me the victim was in the front seat.  I asked where that was.  We went back to the vehicle together.

The victim and the front seat were under the dashboard.  I did not realize a body was in there until the fire department pulled the car apart with the Jaws of Life and extracted the remains.  Despite the contortion and cramped space, she laid out pretty nicely.  The body looked better than most involved in a train versus whatever else.  As if there is ever a contest.

            Just plain dead is not something I come across very often.  Normally, I photograph bodies related to murders, traffic, and industrial accidents.  Recently, I lamented to the coroner that an elderly man, who had passed some hours previously or perhaps a day before we arrived, had died alone.  I was told that his family described him as a problem that wanted to be left alone.

I judged a book by its cover.  My empathy told the story before I had any facts.  I find I am not alone in this regard.  Taking care of yourself and being kind to others without expecting anything in return seems like such a trite bit of advice.  There is a vast majority of people, however, who do that very thing.  I have seen the stark difference so often.  

Black Smoke Rising

        I drove into work during a recent heat wave.  For us in Los Angeles that means temperatures exceeding 100 degrees.  I know Phoenix, you are not impressed.  If Arizona were Iraq, well,you see, life can get worse.

        As I drove up the freeway off-ramp, I saw a column of black smoke rising very near to the Archdiocese of Los Angeles.  I wondered, at first, if it were a terrorist attack.  I do not know if that is me as an American with 9/11 forever etched into my conscience or this job.  I did not think it was a diesel motor starting up, like the kind that is in the train yards.  I did not think it might be a car fire.  My very first inclination was that it might be a bomb that just exploded.  I did my best to fight off the feeling I might be immediately deployed to this black smoke rising the moment I clocked in.

        Working myself into knots and becoming stressed in anticipation of what awaits me out in the field happens a lot.  There are times I hear something on the radio and think it might be the nextcall I do.  It could be anything in the range of an officer involved shooting, a major crime, or a giant pile up of cars.  I have been to all of these situations often enough to know what they look like just by hearing about them.

Reaction is always a matter of degree.  Screaming about your bad fries is not appropriate, although it does happen a lot.  Hollering your lungs out to warn everyone of a fire or bomb, okay.  You get a good citizen certificate from me.  

I do my best to keep these odd events from taking over my sense of well-being.  I have come to understand burn out; it can happen to anyone, anywhere.  It has happened to a loved one.  She had that one ‘last case’ and could take no more.  The unsung heroes of my day are those in child protective services.

A column of smoke could derive from something nice like a BBQ.  Maybe that could be my lesson.  I will try to learn -- no, unlearn the trigger that sets my reaction to negative at firstblush.  I sure as hell better or one day my head will explode in a column of smoke once the steam stops spewing from my ears.  

We are all keepers of something tragic, something wonderful, something awesome, something inspiring.  There, that is three positives to one negative.  If I did not write this, I would never have seen that.

A second look

This job is not without humor.

I don’t mean gallows humor. Not the kind of amusement, that comes with working with bodies, blood, and mayhem. I mean just plain funny.

I was printing photos for a case of child neglect. Without thinking about it at the time I took pictures as the suspect was manipulating popular themed dolls to depict how he thought a baby’s leg was broken. Showing child’s play, using one doll on its back with another sitting on it he maneuvered the dolls around on the floor to depict his scenario. The doll on top was a teddy bear. The doll on the bottom was a well-known character that I will avoid mentioning because I can’t afford a law suit from the company that used it in several movies. Let’s say this; the doll on the bottom had a look of exuberant confidence, a cracked smile, and pie eyed enthusiasm. Happy doll on bottom and a teddy bear on top. I hope you get the picture, this blog is PG rated.

Murders that have me working in an alley’s are quite common. Some alleys are better than others. This one I was at was worse than most. It was strewn with moldy living room furniture that hosted rats and who knows what. Potholes that could hold fish were full of water from a late morning downpour. Weeds were knee high except where cars were crushing them down. The group of us, some five officers and two detectives came together in a spot that was at least, not muddy or had things that were ready to jump out and infect you. With nothing better to do, I mean nothing; I began to play a popular game on my smart phone. This game involves birds and has many levels. The theme song and sound effects were so well known that it must have inspired others to try and go up in score. Soon, as though in an amphitheater with an echo I was surrounded by officers who also had nothing else to do but pass the time with me in spirit. Partners cheered each other on and tips on what to do were passed out liberally.

Downtown Los Angeles hosts a lot of crime and crime scene shows. Within a block of Broadway and fifth I was supposed to report to a major robbery. I still don’t get the odd on one side, even on the other fact of addresses. So, I get close and look for my peeps. A burglary is when someone comes around and realizes something has been taken. A robbery is when one or several robbers shows up armed or not and takes things from people or places while others are there. Armed robbery with several suspects involved usually ends up being a big scene. I expect to find units parked in various positions around the store and some form of human dishevelment where normally prim business attire is the norm. I walk in, oh so confidently, into the scene on Broadway. Everyone looks confused which is normal enough. I am face to face with an officer who is looking scared so I think he may have been involved in a gun battle which makes sense because there are bullet holes, plaster chunks, a make-up artist and a craft service table that has nuts, fruits and coffee. “Hey man, who’s the IO?” I said to the officer whom I did not take a very close look at.

            “I’m sorry you are?” A tall perplexed man says walking up behind me.

I turn around and am about to tell him to go wait somewhere while I talk to the officer since I don’t like talking to civilian’s, distraught as they may be, I don’t know who the bad guy is and who the victim is. “I am with LAPD Scientific Investigation Division and…. This is not a crime scene is it?” I start to notice the officer’s phony badge and some movie camera equipment

Some nervous laughter breaks out. The tall man with what I now recognize as a production radio smiles broadly and shaking his head tells me no. I excuse myself.

I walk out and begin to recognize other parts of production like lighting and what appeared to be some other actors. I found my crime scene across the street and a few doors down. I hoped that my sincere mistaking of the set as a crime scene would be taken, as a compliment and that I did not offend anyone.

For the many times I have wanted to do something else for a living I also remember times like these. The grass always looks greener somewhere else. Stop, take a second look, you may find plenty of green around you.

Repetitive

Lots of things in my job are done so often I forget how they get done. They are repetitive things that occur on every assignment. I found today that they can be life saving.

I stop and think about what actions I take to begin every job, they are as follows. Pull the lever, the flap opens, insert the card, close flap, format the card, enter the information into the cameras computer so it will tag every image for the job, check settings. Most of those things I don't even need to look while doing them. I use the view finder to tell me what the camera is set on. I know the knobs I need to turn to set up. Again, I don't look while I do this, I know where they are. I can deploy my tripod without looking. You might think one could get tunnel carpel from all this repetition. The variety of actions probably saves me from it.

One of my favorite things to do is take photos of Officers who are getting recognition. One has to do a lot besides put up with the heat while wearing black nylon and a thick bullet proof vest. They are required to put up with people having the worst day of their lives. So many by their own choosing. The greatest job security for law enforcement is the never ending stupidity and jealousy that is a catalyst for most of the tragic scenes I visit. You can add your own opine here_____:)

Now I'm in the studio with an officer and his partner. A parter is like the left ventricle of your heart. No one lives without one. I have to prepare the lighting and the camera. Standards require I ask the officer to remove the vest and the Sam Brown which is the tool belt that carries the batman stuff all officers have now, they have lots of stuff. Just the stuff alone makes a lot of people want to be one. The tools include a gun with extra clips. Communications like a radio and cell phone. Tasers and other less than lethal items. I had to ask about a recent ruling on an officer who pulled his gun instead of taser that caused a fatality. The officer gave me a quick lesson on the amount of training they go through to ensure that it does not happen. The practice involves drawing either, each, one or the other, until a thought becomes an action. The same way you don't think about driving your car, tying your shoes, or what I do to work a camera or tripod they put into making sure their hand is full of the object they need. The one appropriate for the situation. Each situation an officer can be expected to encounter is trained for as rigidly and exhaustively. That is what they are trained to do. Being exceptional, above and beyond the twelve thousand others is rare, that is why I enjoy taking those particular portraits. I am portraying a person who is above and beyond the finest and brightest.

I have only had one nightmare about grabbing the wrong thing. I will never have the ones an officer might when a small falter, not their own, ends in tragedy.

Never Give up

Were I as so arrogant to assume the ability to mobilize the English language and send it into battle, I would do so without apology. Never give up on being a better writer.

We have, for now, free speech. It is as free as you take it. Free speech is not given to you. Try to say something against the popular grain such as: “Dr Martin Luther King was a Republican” and the flummoxed faces will soon shout indignation and spew hatred for you no matter your color. I know this as I see the hate for conservative blacks promoted by what used to be the main media. The main media is quickly faltering. I have watched it lie for twenty seven years as of this post, July of 2012. Never give up on finding every facet of truth.

I have policy disagreements with Liberals. They have, on average, poor grasp of business. What they do understand is that education and qualification are of paramount importance. I have no argument with that. They do, shout down, anyone they can who is not qualified to “speak”. Never give up on your rights.

I am not writing today to make a declaration or turn the tide. I would simply remind those who hold power, for now, that all glory is fleeting. Notice the little people holding a golden crown of thorns above your head. The only real legacy anyone should care about is the truth. The truth will outlast everything we are and build. Be careful of self importance fueled by any form of adulation. Arrogance has brought down empires. Never give up your freedom.

I have been called a racist for not wanting Obama reelected. I would vote for Dr Condolezza Rice. Mmm, am I covering several Liberal bases here? Never give up on self determination.

The most important aspect to success for an individual is their Emotional IQ. They can gather others to forward an idea or make a big project happen. Be careful of the politician who is merely good at making you feel like your being listened to. Most important, be careful what you demand with your protesting and petitioning of the government. Any government big enough to give you everything, is also big enough to take everything. Never give up on your innovation.

I think protests are awesome. Please, protest at will. Just do your cause and my nose a favor. Do not take over the lawns of public places and leave feces and trash all over. That is what the public will really remember about what you are. Not what you stood for. You see, a trash pile and hazardous waste clean up is the final sound bite of everything you were trying to do with the occupy movement. A sound bite destroyed any message you could have had. All glory, and fame, are fleeting. Never give up your soul.

http://www.winstonchurchill.org/learn/speeches/quotations/quotes-faq

He mobilized the English language and sent it into battle to steady his fellow countrymen and hearten those Europeans upon whom the long dark night of tyranny had descended.

—Edward R. Murrow, American journalist, on Winston Churchill, 1954

Healer

Normally one thinks of someone in a hospital as a healer. I have met many Doctors who are just punching through the numbers, some who care about what they do, some truly interested in the process of returning someone to full function. Detectives come in all of these flavors.

Overworked is not just some idiot thing I spew when it comes to the detectives I have gotten to know. Some, out of pure frustration become 'by the numbers only' administrators of overstrung resources. These detectives have learned to do the job without straining the system that never has enough people and equipment to solve every crime that comes along. If what I said sounds cruel I am truly sorry. Not every crime gets full blown attention. I was telling a story of four teenagers shot up in a car at a housing project on a Sunday afternoon. There was no media and the thousands of people who were out milling around didn't see anything. In the right neighborhood, say like a nice suburb, their would be national attention. I did get the hint from the Officer In Charge that the teens were selling drugs where they were not supposed to. I was told to take the photos and then the officers could all leave. I did and we all left. I wondered if someone would report what happened later.

Most detectives fall into the category of really loving what they do. They like being surrounded by the staff of experts a department like LAPD has and they are genuinely happy about seeing me on scene. They gather evidence while walking with me knowing that every nuance of procedure they follow today helps the case they have, and probably cases in the future. Good police work has allowed the cold case unit to solve murders that are more than fifty years old.

The true healers, the ones all other detectives look up to are so very rare. They have what it takes to be a great detective, and a great mentor. The joy of every process and the way they embrace every member of the team is palatable. You want to be like them in all ways. I have seen them solve cases with only a few interviews. They contrast the first kind, the administrator who figures 'without DNA there is no case.' I am amazed how the healers, like great doctors can get the invisible dots illuminated, and then connected.

I had a chance to talk about what I do this weekend. I met Dr Tess Gerritsen the author of “The Surgeon” who's work has been turned into the popular television show Rizzoli and Isles. It is obvious to me she is a healer, someone who takes what they do to the highest level it can be.

Doing your best, then doing it again makes you better, never get put down by your first effort, or get too hyped by early recognition. Make yourself open to new learning and points of view. Doing this will make you the healer so admired.

I let someone else

Photography is no joke, not to me, not to the people I serve while documenting crime scenes. It takes two sides of the brain to be the technical artist behind the lens. There are times, with all I know, that I let others do the hard work and just enjoy.

Today there was a solar eclipse. I know the best photographers in the world are out their with sophisticated equipment capturing it. I just can’t wait to see some of the better results.

I’m also a photo freak. I can’t just ‘kick it’, waiting around like some voyeuristic couch potato waiting to gobble up the flotsam of others efforts. So I had to do something.  Yep, I wanted to do a poignant photo with my cell phone. I need help, I know.

How?  Not directly, all I would get is a tiny white dot. After looking for a surface that would not be blinding when I focused the sun with my reading glasses on it, I went to work lining things up. First try; the inside of a sunglass case that was coated in black felt was a pooch.

I could not get the direction of the sun, and the background, and my glasses, and the cell phone all out of each other’s way. The left side of my brain was being a snob and started to suggest getting clips and a tripod. The right side was more impatient and wanted to be manlier about it all, that is also the side that drinks. I decided to concur problem one; get the image to look right. Finally the two sides of my brain quit arguing and settled on my front door. I put the glasses up, and using them like one would use a magnifying glass I focused the dual image on the door. Then the idiot celestial movements took my lovely alignment and made it oblong or egg shaped, POOP!

The left side of my brain kicked in after laughing at the artistic right that had the idea in the first place. The artist wanted to just go have more beer, the left said sorry, and discussed swinging the door to match the suns track, in reverse, BINGO!

Now I had a decent dual image, a great line up and the right contrast to make Mr. cell phone happy. Using my left big toe to slowly keep the door opening I was able to with only two hands line up and take the shot. That’s when the left side wanted a beer too and suggested that we look for better shots tomorrow on the web.

To you the astronomer I hold in such high esteem. I look forward to your work, wish I were as smart and am glad you are keeping photography’s limits pushed. Not every photographer does fashion, and weddings, and crime scenes, and astronomy. Not every child will grow up fulfilling its parent’s wishes. Do let them try and fail. Let yourself try, fail, and try again. If you do, at least you will have lived a bit more, then if you did not.