Author Archives: Jeff C

Oklahoma’s Swon Brothers in Atlanta

I was lucky enough to have planned a trip to Atlanta (not Dallas!) on OU-Texas weekend this year.  By coincidence, my friend Greg Cook and the now-famous Swon Brothers were there, too, so I spent Saturday night at Wild Bill’s country bar in Duluth, Georgia.

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As last season’s finalists in NBC’s “The Voice,” the Swon Brothers (whose dad, Kelly, went to my tiny hometown high school in Oklahoma) probably now need no introductions from me.  They’re talented; they’re young; and now the brothers (Zach and Colton) are well on the road to country music fame.  They put on a fine show late Saturday night just outside Atlanta.   Colton Swon is the blonde; Zach has the beard; the third face in some of those pictures is their lead guitarist, Eric Gillette.

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I’ve mentioned my friends, Greg and Heath, and their band, Ricochet (of 1996 “Her Daddy’s Money” fame), many times.   Greg has recently taken on a new role, as tour manager for the Swon Brothers.  Those young guys are lucky to have him — a smart, sensible hometown friend who just happens to have 20 years experience in exactly the same (tough) business.  Their odds of success just got even better.  That’s Greg, mostly in silhouette, in the foreground of the shots below — shown in his new role literally outside the spotlights.

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Finally:  Yes, of course I have a gratuitous picture of the prettiest girl in Wild Bill’s saloon.  Don’t worry:  my chatting up  of young Riley the Beertender (college senior and future grade school teacher) quickly moved to half-serious inquiries whether she and her mom look much alike — and whether her mother was single.

 

 

The Class of ’83

Vian High School’s Class of ’83 hadn’t gathered for a reunion in two decades.  I brought cameras, but quickly realized that the point and purpose of the weekend was to spend the time chatting, hugging, laughing and catching up with my old classmates, rather than obsessing with a camera as I too-often do.  So forgive the modest set of pictures.

 

There’s a famous biblical quote that ends, “Time and chance happen to them all.”  The Vian High School Class of ’83 is no exception to that principle.  We had our 30-year reunion last weekend.  Those years had surely aged us, and sent us all down some very-different paths.  But to a surprising degree, most of us were pretty much the same people we were when we graduated.  In many ways, it seemed like nothing had changed, even though pretty much everything obviously had.

If you believe the conventional wisdom about high school reunions, they’re infamous as angst-ridden affairs where grown men and women return to their hometowns to revive all their adolescent insecurities and pettiness.  And it seems way too many people dread or avoid them for exactly that reason.

But ours wasn’t like that at all.  In fact, it was exactly the opposite.  There was a lot of hugging and sincere handshaking.  It was an opportunity to travel back in time and laugh like a teenager.  A time to remember our friendships, our teenage antics, and our common past, and to forget most everything else.  An opportunity for each of us to experience a couple of days of what high school might have been like if you could extract the awkward immaturities and replace it with the perspective that apparently requires another 30 years to develop.  A comfortable mixture of things that had changed completely and things that hadn’t really changed at all.

The only disappointment of the whole process was for (and about) those who weren’t there.  I know several just couldn’t make it, but several surely just chose not to come.  It’s a shame – for them and for the rest of us – that they weren’t there to be part of it.

Everybody looked pretty good, so I’m sure some folks had probably lost some weight or bought new clothes or got their hair done just right before showing up in front of their classmates.  But once we were all gathered up, no one much cared about your waistline or your hairline, or what you were wearing, or what jobs you’d had.  Nobody cared much even about how many kids or grandkids you had (or didn’t have).  They were just happy to see you.  Which is how a reunion should be.

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Oh!  That’s me in some of the group shots.  In the light bluish shirt (kneeling) in the indoor group shot above, for example.  So obviously I didn’t take all the pictures.  Thanks to Dan Murdoch and whoever else it was that helped me out and pushed the button for the pics that included yours truly.

Amen Corner: Angels on the Santa Fe Plaza

Saturday afternoon on the Santa Fe Plaza isn’t all turquoise and silver.  Each corner had a duo dressed like this.  A little creepy, for sure.  Those angelic, silver-faced kids did not seem very happy to be out there in the Saturday sun of Santa Fe (or to have their pictures taken).  I felt like maybe I should have rescued them.

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Santa Fe September

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I spent last week in (and around) Santa Fe learning photography from Nevada Wier.  She’s a National Geographic veteran photographer and a true world adventurer who lives in Santa Fe when she’s not in places like rural China or India or Myanmar.  I came here because her photographic ‘style’ is very much what I TRY to do.  My images here are a seemingly random group — the product of several smallish ‘assignments’ we did last week.  The goal was not so much to gather perfect images of Santa Fe, but to practice some ideas that will work in the rest of the world.  I learned a lot.

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One of the assignments is in a separate post from the New Mexico State Fair.  Another was to go grab a local and take some on-the-spot portraits that might reveal a little of their character — much as you might do in a more-exotic global destination.  I drove to the small town of Cerillos and vowed to just grab the first person I saw and see if I could make the best of it.  I wound up working instead with the third person I saw — the young cowboy’ you see in the handful of pictures below (and the big close-up above).  Zach makes his living on his family’s horse ranch.  I found him unloading firewood at a house near downtown Cerrillos.  He was a great sport and, as it turned out, a fine impromptu model.  In that last super-close-up shot, I asked him to just think about his family and his horses and his ranch, and how those things made him feel; that’s my favorite shot of the day.

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Finally, a huge thank-you shout-out to my former law partner Kathy Patrick and her husband, Art Murphy.  They let me spend the week in their adobe swankienda on the northwest side of Santa Fe.  I was living it up with the whole place to myself!

 

 

 

 

Turquoise Midway: The State Fair of New Mexico

I went to the fair in Albuquerque on a photo project.  I’d missed the pig races and the calf scramble, so I was left to wander around the vendors and games and midway.

Regular followers of this blog will recall my post from a few weeks back about the police department raffle of an assault rifle I saw in northern Texas.  Thus I was especially amused to see that even in New Mexico, your five-year old can play a carnival game and win an inflatable AK-47 in the colors of the American flag.  Stating the obvious:  New Mexico isn’t very far from Texas.

I wound up spending so much time at the “Spin Out” ride (below) I forgot to get myself a corndog.  The efficient, solo ride operator was moving loads of passengers safely onto and off of the ride like clockwork.  I watched about 15 cycles, so I had the whole process memorized.  Predictably, he was way too busy to stop and let me take a real ‘portrait.’

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I ran across this guy on the way back to my car as the night was winding down.  He was sitting there counting money.  He said his name was George Jones.  When I asked if he could sing, he said everybody always asks him that.  He also said that he coudn’t sing worth a damn.