When I first started as a photographer back in high school, I never asked anyone what their name was when I photographed them. Part of the reason was because I was really shy, and the other reason was because I was at a small school with a graduating class of 126, and as soon as I'd bring the photo back to the yearbook/newspaper classroom - surely someone there would know everyone whom I had encountered, if I didn't know the person myself, which often times I did.
When I began working for the Daily Iowan, I was told how important it was to have names and I began my days of clicking the shutter, followed by asking a person - Excuse me, can I please have your name? Are you a student? How old are you? Where are you from? It became routine, and although shy and skeptical at first, I adapted and looked past my fear of confronting people I didn't know.
But there were still times when I'd get a great shot, and not have time to simply ask a question, or I'd turn around for a split second and the person would be gone. There are other situations when it feels inappropriate to confront someone and ask them the simplest question of "What's your name?" AND there are other times where I find myself knowing for sure that if I do ask for a name, there's no way they'll give it to me. So during those instances, I would opt out and file the photo anyway - thinking that even though there was no name to identify the person - it was still a good photo.
That part of my reasoning ended quickly while I was down in Houston working for the Chronicle. I remember that my boss sent me out to find a hot weather feature on a day where temperatures reached 110 degrees. I found a group of construction workers and asked if it was alright if I photographed them. I ended up having to talk to about three different people before I finally got the okay from the supervisor that I was welcome. Even then, I was out of my comfort zone as construction workers smoothed away what would eventually be unveiled as a cemented sidewalk...sweat dripped down there faces, and they eyed me with curiosity on what this girl was doing taking photos of them. I used the camera as a shield from my bashfulness and worked the situation for nearly 45 minutes. Finally, I got the shot. It was of a large man who was covered in sweat and dirt, taking a break to drink from a little tiny dixie cup. I let him have his break and before he started back to work, I went up to him and asked for his name. He refused.
Disappointment crossed over me as I ventured back to my car. Surely I had something that would work, and even if I didn't - I could use the photo of the guy - I mean, after all the feature was about hot weather, not this guy - and I had the construction company's name so it would be somewhat identifiable. Right?
Wrong. I got back to the office, edited down my take and took it upstairs to my boss. Nice. He said when he got to that particular shot. That was a compliment for me and I smiled and said thanks, but my stomach sunk inside and I knew I had to mention that although I definitely had the company name, there was no name to go with the face of this guy. He simply unmarked it.
And that's when I really learned the lesson of working at a newspaper - people need to be identified. And I carried that mentality back with me to the Daily Iowan, and I continue to use it at the Gazette.
When you really think about it though, it is important. As a journalist - whether it's written or visual, you are providing people with information - and a face is not enough. It's important to validate that person, with their name and where they came from and if it's a minor, how long they've been in this world. It comes down to the whole reason why people have names before their released from the hospital - it's simply an identification.
I know there is more somewhere, but here are just a couple where I either was so busy getting other names, I forgot a couple, people simply wouldn't give their names, or the whole parent's worst nightmare (well, it's a photographers worst too) I turned my head for one second and they were gone. All of them have the same thing in common: They will never be published.
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