The highs and lows of life as a journalist
It’s not everyday you open the paper to such a dramatic photograph as
the one that ran Sunday. I’m sure readers were startled to see such a
powerful display of desperation and determination, from both the
suicidal man and the officers who were trying to save him.
Photographer Sean Hiller did a phenomenal job of capturing the
event in one still frame, which managed to tell the story for all who
were not there.
Imagine being there.
It was my turn to work the Saturday shift (each reporter takes
turns to ensure there is always a reporter on duty) and the events I
had planned to cover did not start until 4 and 5 p.m., so I was
waiting for my workday to start.
Around 3:20 p.m. Hiller, who we have nicknamed “Scoop” because of
his unrelenting desire to be on top of breaking news, (he sleeps with
the scanner on) tells me, “C’mon, let’s go. There is man threatening
to jump off the freeway.”
We weren’t exactly sure where the man was positioned, or if we
could even get there, but we knew we had to get out there. Instead of
wasting time in the office, I jotted down our contact numbers for the
California Highway Patrol and Costa Mesa Police Department and made
those calls from the car.
(Thank goodness for cell phones.)
The CHP public information line went unanswered and the Costa Mesa
Police Department watch commander could not tell me how to get close
to the jumper. So Sean, who was driving, made the executive decision
to get on the northbound Costa Mesa freeway, which we immediately
exited at Baker Street because we saw nothing but break lights ahead
of us.
I saw a Caltrans truck blocking the entrance to the Costa Mesa
Freeway northbound. (You can get right back on, after you’ve gotten
off at Baker.) I told Sean to drive up and see if would let us
through. I jumped out of the car and asked the man to move some
cones.
The seemingly helpful worker proceeded to call for permission and
talked for more than five minutes while ignoring me standing in front
of him. As I was walking back to talk to Sean, who was anxious to get
on that freeway, I heard the man tell his colleague, “I don’t want
the press getting in your way.”
I knew he was stalling us, so Sean parked the car on the dirt and
we walked in up the onramp -- even though we still weren’t sure
exactly where to go.
The surly Caltrans man called after us but we ignored him and
maintained our brisk pace. Along the way, Sean was struggling to hold
two large camera lenses and a battery pack, while preparing his
camera for the event we were hoping to stumble upon at any moment.
As we got closer to the intersection between the onramp and the
Baker Street connector to the San Diego Freeway, we saw, in the
distance, what we thought was a man on the overpass. We hurried our
step and walked on the shoulder of the Baker Street connector (which
was still open to traffic) while cars passed.
A man in a white car stopped and his female passenger asked if we
wanted a ride. We ran to the car, jumped in the back seat and thanked
them repeatedly. After maybe two minutes in the car, we saw on our
left the man clinging to the overpass, his arms and legs hugged
around the railing.
“Let us out right here, please,” Sean said and we jumped out of
the car.
(We never did find out their names but they made all the
difference. Thank you again, if you are reading this.)
We were on the edge of a dirt embankment that overlooked the
eerily empty San Diego Freeway. We knew we were in the right place
when we saw the two Costa Mesa fire engines and about a dozen
emergency personnel standing there.
Sean and I literally ran down the muddy hill, avoiding rocks and
holes, and ended up on in the middle of the San Diego Freeway. We
split up. Sean went to find the perfect angle for his photograph. I
went over to talk to the police officers, who were about 100 feet
from the clinging man.
I was deserted by Costa Mesa’s finest when the man let go of the
railing but was caught by the Highway Patrol officers on the
interchange 50 feet above. They ran over to the site, while I inched
away.
Slowly putting one foot behind the other, I tried to scribble the
details unfolding before me. I wrote the colors of the man’s clothes,
the actions of the officers and the looks on their faces as they
strained to save a man who fought so hard to die.
It was surreal. It was exhilarating. It was frightful. It was
awful. It was intense.
Contradicting emotions swirled through my head as I stood there
for what seemed like forever. As a journalist, I was extremely proud
of the quick reaction time Sean and I had, our willingness and
persistence to get on the scene and get details of the event no one
else would have.
I was also horrified to watch this man fight so hard to end his
life. I wondered what could be so horrible that he would try so hard
to kill himself. And it turned my stomach to see him try and slice
his own throat.
I was awestruck by the determination of the patrol officers who
strained to hold the man. I saw their muscles bulge and faces twist
with a combination of emotion, frustration and fatigue. They fought
relentlessly to do their job, even though the person they were trying
to save was working against them.
As the man pulled himself out of the grasp of the officers, I
watched in horror as he fell to what I presumed would be his death.
It sounds weird but after all seeing these movies where falls are
cinematically slowed down to capture the drama and facial
expressions, I was shocked at how quickly he hit the ground.
I screamed when he fell but didn’t turn my head in time to miss
it.
Before he dropped, time seemed to move in slow motion. But once he
hit the ground, time sped back up as emergency crews rushed to his
side. He is still in critical condition at Western Medical Center in
Santa Ana.
When I snapped back to reality, I realized I was shaking. I also
realized I was still moving backward, while still scribbling in my
notebook. I reread my chicken-scratch and saw I had repeated the
“desperation of the officers,” and “struggling to hold on” about five
different ways.
In reality, we were only out there about five minutes before the
man dropped. A series of split-second decisions, lucky guesses and
the kindness of passersby made it possible for us to be the only news
media on the scene of a breaking news event. I was proud, shaken,
tired and excited. I was a journalist coming down from the adrenaline
high of getting a remarkable story.
I will never forget what I saw, did and wrote about Saturday
afternoon. That one event perfectly captured the best and worst parts
of this job.
And it is the unpredictable roller coaster of the news business
that makes it easy to get out of bed every morning, despite
nightmares from the night before.
* LOLITA HARPER writes columns Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays
and covers culture and the arts. She may be reached at (949) 574-4275
or by e-mail at lolita.harper@latimes.com.
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