I don't know how manifestation works. All I know is that a little over a year ago, I became obsessed with the idea of becoming a better photographer and in May, I had the opportunity to photograph the 150th Kentucky Derby, probably one of the top opportunities for any Louisville-based photographer.
It is likely the best day of my working career. I started work at 6 a.m. on Friday, arriving at Churchill Downs some time after 9 a.m. By 7 p.m. I had walked over 17,000 steps and taken some 300+ photographs, and I didn't want to stop. On Saturday, Derby Day, it was about the same. I came to the track some time before 8 a.m. and wore myself out by 5 p.m. I was still working until after 8:30 p.m., albeit not at the track. (I slacked on this day, by the way, logging just a little over 16,000 steps.) But it took hours for the rush of being at the track to wear off. I could've stayed both days until they turned the lights off and cued up Semisonic.
Just to be clear — I am not a professional photographer. It's amazing what being in the right place, at the right time and expressing your interest in doing something can do. I work in the news, mostly on our website, but come Derby time, we look to a lot of photographers to capture the event and I expressed my interest in helping out. Next thing I knew, I found myself standing on the track, watching magnificent thoroughbreds thunder across the finish line at the most historic horse racing course in the U.S.
I've thought and thought about how to best summarize the experience and I'll be honest — it's difficult without writing something that just stretches on for pages and pages. So instead, I have just some snippets and little fragments of thoughts from throughout the day that I want to share. And, of course, some of the coolest photos I've ever taken, if I do say so myself.
Setting the scene
Derby Week is a massive operation. For this one week a year, Churchill Downs becomes host to thousands of workers, vendors, media and security, in addition to the thousands upon thousands of guests.
I guess I never really thought about what it takes to get all those people in and out of the race track each day. Basically, it involves a massive, semi-chaotic kitten-herding operation, using lots and lots of buses — school buses, coach buses, tour buses, buses for sports teams, all the buses. When I show up at the media lot for my first outing on Oaks Day, there was already a massive line of people being huddled onto buses to be ferried over to Churchill.
It was a precursor for the giant sea of humanity we would soon be dumped into and forced to learn how to swim through. And it was the first glimpse of what makes Derby time spectacular and peculiar all at the same time. Besides I guess the A-list media talent, it didn't matter if you were a national reporter with NBC or a bartender or a bathroom attendant; we all had to squeeze in, shoulder to shoulder on the same buses.
Just about an hour later, I've successfully managed to make the 1.5-mile journey to Churchill Downs. The day is just beginning, though there's already a flurry of activity all around. Spectators are already in line for gates to open at 10 a.m. Vendors standby, ready to sell food, alcohol, cigars and souvenirs of all kinds.
Act like you belong here
There's nothing that can set off your imposter syndrome like having to ask complete strangers at Churchill Downs, on its biggest week of the year no less, "Hey do you know where the media room is?" But that's what I had to do. I wasn't exactly given a "Derby week media for dummies" guide. And I've learned sometimes you have to pretend like you belong here and know exactly what you're doing, and other times, it helps to play the dummy.
After asking no less than six different people, I finally find my way to the media room — a nondescript door hidden just next to the Grandstands. When I used to fantasize about becoming a journalist, I imagined something like the way political journalists covering presidential campaigns are portrayed in the movies: a mess of journalists crammed into tight quarters, hunched over computers and pouring over notes, cursing and making crass jokes as they type their fingers off to make a deadline.
This scene isn't exactly that, but it's the closest I've ever witnessed. I walk into a dimly lit, open room with picnic tables and folding chairs set up anywhere there's room to fit them. There's at least a few hundred media members outlets ranging from the Bowling Green Daily News to NBC. They're talking to editors on the phone, clicking their keyboards and fighting for desk space and extension cords to keep their all-important devices juiced. It's mostly cordial, but when I first walk in, I feel like I've stepped into the Hunger Games, and I might have to reach for a crossbow in order to secure an electrical outlet.
As I look for any sign of my fellow news team members, it's hard not to feel some level of star struck. In the back right corner is two eight-foot tables with about two dozen Courier Journal writers and photographers. I mean, this is the newspaper I've been reading since I was 13 (okay, it was just the sports section back then but I still read it). Right next to them is another stack of journalists from the Herald Leader, the other Kentucky news giant. NBC, ABC, Associated Press, the gang's all here.
Somehow, I am too.
For how new our news team is, I'd like to think we punch above our weight in a lot of ways. But if you want to know where we fall in the pecking order, when I finally find where we're camped out, we have a four-person table squeezed in between the betting machines and the coffee, where between eight and 12 of us will spend a good chunk of the next two days stacked on top of each other.
The golden ticket
This is another thing that might seem self-evident but it didn't dawn on me until I was actually doing it: When you have a media credential, you have the golden ticket to go almost anywhere in Churchill Downs.
I know this because within 10 minutes of getting to the media area, I remember my colleague Jonathon asking, "Oh, you want to go down to the track?" I don't recall what I said that precipitated his question; all I know is that minutes later, I was following him through a maze of hallways, nondescript doors and passageways to get down as close as possible to the action. And when Jonathon said "down to the track," he didn't mean in the stands; no, he meant ON the track. Next thing I knew, security for Churchill Downs was lifting a gate to the mud-soaked track and asking me if I wanted to cross or get on the very dirt that horses would soon come thundering down as they dashed to the finish line.
I didn't oblige at that moment — I was wearing my squeaky-clean, most comfortable pair of tennis shoes possible — but soon I would be crossing back and forth, up and down that track, in awe as these beautiful beasts beat their hooves into the dirt and then paraded around in celebration.
From the paddock to the backside, from the grubby infield to the sophisticated Grandstands, from the parking lot to the steeples, and yes, even to the track where I could literally feel the thunderous beat of the horses under my feet, I cram as much of this singular and curious spectacle as my legs can take me.
There is no shortage of people watching. It sounds weird, but there is nothing better for a documentary photographer than to be at an event of this magnitude with a press pass, where people just let you fade into the background and you can try to capture things as they are happening. And there are plenty of scenes, people, oddities and curiosities to capture.
I heard a photographer say if you see something interesting happen and you miss it with your camera, just wait; chances are good it will happen again. Though I spend a lot of time and energy hoofing it around the maddening crowd this cathedral of horse racing, I'm spending just as much time hunkering down in a corner, waiting and watching for a scene I'm imagining in my head to present itself before me.
For example, the image above is from an area I believe is called the "Grandstand Terrace," an open area on the second level with a stunningly broad view of the final turn. It's a tight squeeze, but I found a perfect little corner there to be able to view the stands, the crowd below and the track, all the way to the first turn. I parked myself there for about 40 minutes, waiting for the next race to begin because I just knew I'd be able to catch some good shots of horse racing fans caught up in the excitement. Lo and behold, when the horses rounded the final turn and sprinted for the finish, I was able to capture this image, making it well worth the wait.
The pros call this technique "pre-visualization." I call it playing the odds. It's rare that I can pop up my camera when something exciting or interesting or unique happens and nail the shot. It usually takes me quite a few tries to get it. Luckily, there are loads and loads of chances to get it right, experiment and try to grab all kinds of photos.
"Decadent and depraved"
That's the way Hunter S. Thompson infamously described the 1970 Kentucky Derby when he visited the signature event of his hometown on assignment. His phrase rightly captures the contradictions of Derby, even though he opted to use the story as an excuse to embody the depravity rather than indict the decadence, as he was prone to do.
The Derby is at once large, lucrative and laudatory enough to hold together so many realities at once. The everyperson comes dress to the nines to live out fantasies about bumping elbows with the world's wealthiest. The world's wealthiest come to display their affluence as obscenely as possible, putting the everyperson's fantasies to shame. Still, for one moment in time, the two share this one historical experience together. It doesn't matter how good or bad your seats are, how much you could or couldn't actually see of the horses cross the finish line, both can say "I was there."
And yet, it's also a celebration of indulging one's worst vices. Gambling, drinking, smoking, wealth, gluttony — all on full display, all a feature of the regal event.
For me, what is most interesting is how much Derby has leaned into its decadence, especially in the last decade. Fifteen years ago, I waded through a mass of humanity as track-goers ventured to the Downs. Central Avenue was a mess of people — redneck party-goers, dance parties, people selling cheap t-shirts, street preachers and more. Derby week was Mardi Gras with horses. You didn't have to have much money to partake in the spectacle, you could just wander out into the street or buy a $30 general admission ticket and have a front-row seat to the madness.
That's not true anymore. Derby now is tame, in comparison, and mostly slanted toward those with means. The streets are blocked off; no more ocean of people buying, selling, drinking or wandering. The only ways in and out are meant for the paying customers. And any chance for madness, protest or proclivity has been reduced to a minimum. Derby week is now a rich people's playground. The more you pay, the more fun you will have. And if you're going to survive the thousands of people making their way in and out of the gates, you're going to have to pay.
All that is to say, I don't know how to hold that contradiction within me as I document and witness the historic event. It is a moment in time that appeals to so many across Kentucky and yet is, increasingly, less and less accessible to them. I think if he were still alive and writing, Thompson would only have half an essay to write today.
Conclusion
I really don't know how to wrap this up with a neat bow. I spent weeks in disbelief at the opportunity I was given. Then, when I finally had the space to put words and thoughts to what I had done, I had already forgotten some of what was prescient and otherwise struggled to fit things together in a way that would make sense to others. Derby is full of contradictions, and so too are my reflections, I guess.
I'll offer just a few things, from my experience as both a professional and a photographer, for whatever help they may be.
When the opportunity is right, keep saying yes
Would you like to go photograph the Derby? That was an easy yes. It was followed by questions like "Can you work long shifts for Oaks and Derby?" "Can you go find this scene to photograph?" "Can you make your way to this part of the track?" "Will you work six days in a row?"
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
I struggle just as much as any working person with how to draw boundaries, how to make the most of your work while still keeping your sanity and sense of self, how to make sure you don't just become a doormat for your employer. These are battles you must wage on an ongoing basis.
When the opportunity of a lifetime comes along, just say yes.
As I stated at the beginning, I couldn't stop myself from working on these days. They were the most fulfilling and rewarding professional days ever for me, I think. Good God, if we could only find ways to make work this meaningful, day in and day out. So when the day does come, all I can say is: Say yes and don't stop. Say yes to working more. Say yes to whatever tawdry task comes up. Say yes to helping, even when it isn't needed.
I stayed an extra two hours late one day because I thought maybe I could learn something from our tv reports and meteorologists doing their 5 p.m. show live at the track. I have nearly nothing to do with our tv reporting, but the opportunity presented itself and I said yes. And I know that I benefitted from it.
Lean into the scary
As I've indicated throughout this reflection, imposter syndrome hounded me in those brief moments when I wasn't completely absorbed in what I was doing. Luckily, I didn't have time to let it stay long. I had a job to do, and that meant stepping up and standing firm, even when I felt that creeping feeling that I didn't belong.
Maybe I've discovered some sort of super power when I have the camera in my hand and a purpose. Because for some reason, when I had my camera, and I worried I might be in the wrong place, or a little nervous about what I was doing, I found the power to plant my feet and lean in to the scary. I just took a deep breath and started snapping.
I'm making it sound easy. It's really not. But when you find yourself in this kind of a situation, you have to try to summon all the fake-it-til-you-make-it energy you can to make the most of it.
You never know what or who you might find yourself face to face with if you can lean in and act like you're right where you're supposed to be.
The magic of waiting
Sometimes, you have to chase down what it is you're looking for. Other times, it pays to find a spot and wait for it to come to you.
That sounds like some fru fru, self-help mantra, I admit. If it's true for photography, it's gotta be true for other things, right?
I think I'll just stick to the photography. I did a lot of running around, and a lot of what photographers call "spraying and praying" — pulling your camera up to fire as many shots as possible and hoping one turns out alright. Derby Week is, as I've said, a teeming river of human activity. If you don't keep your wits about you, you can just as easily get swept up as you can get swept aside.
At the same time, I found one of the most interesting vantage points was to just stay put, let the flurry of activity swirl around me, waiting and watching for the scene to develop before me.
It's not just a practice reserved for Churchill Downs on Derby Week, or any other sort of chaotic, mass humanity event in the world. This is an art I've been learning and practicing as a photographer, even when I'm just going out to the empty streets of downtown or taking a photo walk on the beach or capturing pictures of my family. Sometimes, your best images come from embracing the magic of waiting.
I think what I'm learning is that's the job of a photographer — to go against the flow in many ways.
To sit and notice things, when everything around them whirls madly.
To pause and wait, while those around them move frantically, hither and thither.
To look at what everyone else is looking at, and then at times, to turn the camera the other way and see what's going on from a different vantage point.
To let the great world spin, and capture it for others to see in all its wildness and wonder.
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