Been shooting with this new digital camera (AGFA 1280) for a few months now... Putting it through its paces, learning how it works, getting familiar with its microelectronic ways. Pulled in over 1200 shots, and until just a few days ago, hadn't lost a frame yet. I guess I was a little skeptical at first, when I looked at the machine's tiny memory cards. You mean that little thing can hold 8 Megabytes worth of encrypted images suspended in a microscopic electrical pattern even while it's sitting there in my hand? Incredible. But so far, the system has been rock solid, refusing to corrupt an image even when crashing on low batteries. So let me tell you about the one that got away.... The assignment was to do a photographic cover for the Free Weekly relating to an article on underage drinking and the recent crackdown on such activities. We were throwing some ideas around at the office, and my editor suggests that I get a picture of the bike cops, since they are highly visible and are involved in the whole situation. I cruise on down Dickson street and see a pair of bike cops (I wonder if it's more polite to say "bicycle police officers?" Anyway, no offense fellas, that's just what we call you) hanging out by Jose's Streetside. I park and walk back up to them. The older cop seems willing to talk, so I tell him that I'm with the Free Weekly and what I'm up to. When I asked about the picture, his answer was no but yes but no. In other words, no, but if you talk to the lieutenant up at the station yes, we'd be happy to, but no. I explained that I had a tight deadline, but it was no use, and he had to go. Oh well, I thought, I guess there won't be any bike cops on the cover... I turn to look down the street, and the cops have a guy with his hands up against the wall. They appear to be searching him. I been sitting here pondering how I want to say things, tiptoeing through the minefield of easily offended sensibilities. This I mention because I think it may have added an extra charge to the situation, and because it made a strong image upon the visual sensors of an artist. The guy with his hands against the wall was black, and the guys checking him out were white with white helmets and white bikes and black clothes. So what would you have done? Almost without thinking, I slid my camera out of its pouch, watched it boot up and held it at my side as csually as I could while I walked past the scene toward my car. The cops had the sidewalk blocked off, so I had to walk out into the edge of the street to get around. There were some trees, parking meters and maybe a trash can along the curb, so I didn't see a clear shot until I was on the sidewalk walking away from them. I rotated the camera's head around to point rearward, zoomed it up a little, slid it back down to my side, held it as steady as I could and took one shot without looking. I'm about ten yards away when I hear quick, purposeful steps coming at me from behind. I turn, and it's the younger cop telling me that I had better stop and that he might have to take my camera for evidence. I don't know what he was feeling, but I got the impression he was pretty pissed off, so I tried to be extra cool. He took me back to the scene while I hurriedly explained that I had only been able to take one shot and that was probably too blurry to be of any use anyway. I pulled up the picture on the camera's screen and showed it to him. Then I showed him in thumbnail mode so he could see that it was the only shot I had gotten. Now, I'm not going to say that he actually forced me to delete the image. I will say though, that I have had prior experience with Fayetteville police evidence, which has had two small (legal) items of mine for several years. Even a week without my camera could have been a severe inconvenience for my career, and in that time the papers would have barely begun the initial processing in their long and arduous journey through the bloated intestines of the bureaucratic machine. Always conscious of the fact that HE'S GOT A GUN, I decide in this case, this little dog was going to let the big dog have the bone, so I pressed the button that sent the image to the place where discarded bits go. Bust number one had come to a standstill. I looked over at the black guy and caught his glance for moment as the cop ran my ID. "White male..., " he said into his microphone, followed by my name and number. He wrote my name in his little book and scolded me for distracting him during a potentially dangerous situation. I apologized, saying I had no intention of interfering or making his job difficult. Fortunately, I have been a peaceful citizen who doesn't believe in cheating people or stealing stuff, so I was free to go... You may sleep easier now, knowing that the streets are safe from renegade image gatherers such as myself, or you may wonder as I do why, if he is legally doing his job to uphold the law, a little glimpse of the truth should be such a problem.... As I crossed the street, A kid whom I'd never met before came up to me and asked me what had just gone down. I told him the story. Then another kid came up and said, "You're not busy are you? Think you could go to the liquor store and get us some booze?". No! I've had enough trouble with the law for one day! Later, as I'm putting the cover together, Another kid I've never met before sees me working at my computer and asks, "Hey, you think you could make me a fake ID?What! I couldn't believe it! Guess I'd forgotten wipe the words 'felon for hire' off my forehead... The fourth of July comes a few days later, and on the editorial page of the Northwest Arkansas Times, there is a letter that asks the question, "Independence from what?" The guy goes off on how the independence we fought for has been steadily eroding over the past couple of hundred years. Beside it is a somewhat generic editorial that starts out with the old, Well of course we all know that America is the greatest nation on earth, rah, rah, rah. I am amazed at the seditious tone of the one and the naïve, propaganda sound of the other.... Some friends and I celebrate our independence by grilling some marinated tofu and veggies while discussing independence. Independence from the power grid, from the hormones and chemicals of the agri-system, From the scary greed corrupted medical system, from unfair harassment by law enforcement, And there's a guy who wants to be mayor of Springdale who suggests putting up a wall to keep all the druggies and queers (and artists, I presume) of Fayetteville from poisoning the good, pure righteous citizens of Springdale with their filthy thoughts. This, we decide, might actually be a good idea as we were not so fond of the 4x4 drivin', tobacco juice spittin', epithet shoutin', trailer park brawlin' red-neck types who venture down here from up that way. Maybe the two cities could get together and make the wall twice as high... C'MON, I'M KIDDING, GIVE ME A BREAK. Geez, everybody's takin' everything so seriously. Then there’s the story of the Nazi skinheads in Texas who dragged a black man behind their truck until he was in pieces. MAYBE WE SHOULD BE AFRAID, MAYBE WE SHOULD BE VERY AFRAID. I’ll close with a quote from Rodney King that I think says it all,