Note: This post and my entire Tribune Diaries series is written from the notebooks I filled in 1995, when I was put on contract to fill in at The Salt Lake Tribune while they looked for someone to hire. Part of the deal— by taking the temporary contract, I would not be considered for the staff position.
July 25, 1995
So a week ago I was sitting around our new apartment in Denver, eating orange creamsicles and trying to crack into the local photo market. From Salt Lake City, Tribune photographer and good friend Rick Egan called me about their temporary need for a shooter. The only female on the photo staff had left so it seemed likely they would hire a woman to fill that spot. Still, it sounded interesting. The next day an editor called me. He said stuff like, “From your portfolio it looks like you could do the job,” and I said stuff like, “I know your computers and I could step right in.”
Then he said, “What about the fact that if you took the temp job, you wouldn’t be considered for the staff job?”
I came off really lame answering this one, beating around the female issue with, “Well, there’s one qualification that you’re looking for that I don’t have and…” He said, “Now that it’s out, we’re looking for a woman. Preferably a woman, but at least a minority, and if not that, a non-Utahn.”
I had applied at the Tribune before, and I knew it was an amazing place to work. People just didn’t leave a staff photographer job at the Tribune, ever. Openings seemed to came along only once every several years. But I had moved away (escaped) from Utah (County) twice before and had sworn to never live there again. A temporary stint would be perfect. No politics, no worrying about pleasing anyone, and since they couldn’t really fire me I could concentrate on my art and photograph as freely as I ever had. So I said, “Not being considered for the staff job doesn’t bother me.”
I’m obviously the wrong person to hire if they’re looking to diversify. Trent Nelson is the whitest name you can find. Now that I’m here in Salt Lake a lot of people are telling me how unfair the situation is. Of course, my portfolio is still sitting among the “to be considered.” It’s right there at the bottom of the stack, under a portfolio that has two cute squirrel pictures and one picture of a dog lying on carpet.
Even though I’m in the middle of it, I do see both sides of the minority thing. The only African American I’ve seen on any local TV newscast here does the sports.
Before work I was walking around as the sun came up. A group of very young Jehovah’s Witnesses were stacking tracts to hand out in front of the Mormon temple. Then, the odd omen of the day: A man with one leg carrying a Payless Shoes bag! (Note from 2008: Idiot! Why didn’t you get that photograph?!)
When my colleague on the early shift showed up, veteran photographer Lynn Johnson, I told him about the one-legged man. He just looked at me like I was crazy.
It’s 100 degrees out today. My assignment was to drive out to a small town called Plain City. Their city hall is simply an old house. The mayor talked to me and the reporter for about 40 minutes. Whenever a car drove by the mayor would wave and they’d wave back.
After that I looked around for weather art but didn’t see anything. I knew another photographer was going to the water park so I was looking for something different. My vision was a close-up of some sweaty construction worker working in the miserable heat. I did see a guy stirring hot, smoking tar, but it just wasn’t going to work out like I wanted.
On the hiring front, an itinerary was posted in the lab detailing the visit of a (female) candidate flying in for an interview. It says stuff like:
8:10 Mr F picks up at hotel
8:30 Tour of photo lab, meet staff
9:00 Speak with Mr X
10:00 Speak with Mr Y
11:30 Sit in at am roundup
12:00 Lunch with Mr Z
then, later,
7:00 Dinner at F’s
I also heard the photo editor tell a photographer to, “look over the guy from Alaska’s portfolio.” So at least they’re looking at men, even if it’s just for entertainment.
Sorry, no wacky Utah people in today’s post. But there was a guy outside the mall with some duct tape on his shin and a sign saying, “Broke leg. Need help,” if that’s what you wanted to hear about.
