Do you believe in signs?

Most mornings I wake around 5 am, head to the bathroom, and then crawl back into bed. I’m 51, just a part of life. I typically fall quickly back to sleep and many times dream. Sometimes I remember them, sometimes they are a weird mixture of images that make no sense.

Today, well, today was one that made me cry, more when I woke up than the actual dream. In the dream, I was walking to catch a train in an unknown foreign location. I had a massive backpack, slung around one side in a bag was Sawyer, the other arm held my camera and somehow riding on the top of the backpack behind my neck was Charlie. Obviously, this is a feat I can not accomplish. Charlie was 30 lbs.

I felt a tug on my backpack, two unknown guys were stealing things from my pack, including my phone. Attempting to chase them down, (backpack now magically lightweight both dogs safe, somewhere? I have no idea, somehow the dogs are no longer with me. I caught up to the would-be thieves and tripped one, I then proceeded to sit on top of him, grabbed my phone, and then grabbed him by the collar lifting his face to mine and screamed.

Intense. My eyes flew open.

The dream was odd. I’ve never caught a train in a foreign country, I wouldn’t carry my dog or my gear that way and my phone would have been in my purse or bra.

What made me cry was that as I woke, I remembered that today (30th) was Charlie’s birthday. He would have been 16. That realization and that it’s been just over a year of having to say goodbye made me cry.

Coincidence? Did my mind remember a picture? Did Facebook show me a memory and somehow it became a dream?

I can’t recall but it made me think of odd coincidences, or moments in my life when something has happened. Moments of near misses. Seconds of split decisions that could have gone the other way, where in my mind I can see with extreme clarity, and recall every visual detail in slow motion.

My brushes with death.

Here are a few times in my life, when a different choice would have changed my future. (in order of occurrence)

Blue Pill or Red Pill?

I spent 4 and a half years at Akron University. The first year I lived on campus, Gallucci Hall. It was the only co-ed dorm at the college. It was also an old Hilton. Which meant EVERY dorm room had a bathroom. It also happened to be next door to Folk Hall, which is the art building and where I spent most of my college career. It was a highly sought-after dorm.

While my mom’s job paid for my tuition (Thank you NEOUCOM), my art supplies, and costs of living were not. This meant I needed to work. I had a job in ticket sales working at EJ Thomas Hall to cover some of my expenses, but it wasn’t enough and I knew that I needed a job that would allow me to work later in the evenings.

My freshman year also coincided with my mom’s attendance at the same college while she was obtaining an associate’s degree in commercial art. Those days she was up at campus and had classes, I used (borrowed) the car. I would run errands to the art store and grocery store with my friends and college roommate. I would also use the car for photoshoots and assignments.

It was a 1989 white Ford Escort, with a red interior. Literally looked like the color of blood. It was “my” first car. My dad, not wanting me to have a POS car that could potentially break down, chose to finance a newish car while I was in high school. I made the payments, they covered the insurance. It wasn’t really my choice on the make/model, it was economical and efficient with gas. It was the deal he could get through a friend who had a car dealership in North Canton.

Deciding that having my car and more vehicle independence was more important (freshmen were not allowed to have cars on campus) I chose to move off campus for my sophomore year. This meant commuting from my parents to classes.

While 77 North is a pretty straight shot, it’s also known to always be under construction. Even today. So I found an alternative way to get to class and events. This typically meant I was taking Highway 91 (aka Cleveland Ave) all the way to Akron. It wasn’t a bad drive, somewhat scenic-ish. No sidewalks, mostly farms, homes with lots of land, and businesses. It’s a total of four lanes and very few lights as you get past some of the small towns. Two lanes north, two lanes south.

The speed limit for most of it is 55mph. I was probably doing 60mph. I’m on the outside lane, closest to the grass. There are quite a few driveways that are along this section of the road. One moment I’m trucking along the road in my escort probably singing a song, the next a driver decides to back out of his driveway, 25 feet in front of me. I watched in slow motion as his head turned towards me, mouth open in surprise.

I had two options. Hit him and really find out how airbags work or take my car into the ditch, miss the mailbox, the light pole & the telephone pole on the left, and the line of 10-foot-tall bushes on the right.

I chose the red pill and I jerked the steering wheel to the ditch. The mailbox and poles flew past me on the left. The massive bushes on the right. The car bounced up and down through the ditch, over their driveway, and past another pole. I jerked the wheel left when I saw an opening and drove between two apple trees. The car landed back on the road and I finally smashed the brakes. Slamming the car in park, I unbuckled, jumped out the car and screamed, WTF and a few other explicatives.

He sat there. Didn’t move. Didn’t even get out of his car. His mouth hung open.

I was livid. In that moment when you think you are going to die, you don’t see your life flash before your eyes. You see in absolutely vivid, colorful detail EVERYTHING around you.

Surprisingly, I had no damage to my car. No marks, dents, or scratches. The tires were fine, bumpers were still attached. Not a mark. I screamed FUCK — got back in my car and continued my drive to campus.

Greenbay Packers vs a Photojournalist

In 1993, I was working for the small local newspaper, the Massillon Independent. I covered mostly local stories and events as a part-time photojournalist. During the summer one of my assignments was the Pro Football Hall of Fame game; Greenbay Packers vs Los Angeles Raiders. In the early 90s, the HOF was nothing like it is today.

The stadium, which is a part of McKinley High School and The Pro Football Hall of Fame, sat inside a hill. One side of the stands was originally built into a hill, this was connected to the high school. The other was an actual stadium which was somewhat connected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Parking for the press was at the top of the stadium. A small utility road circled the back section behind the goalpost and led from the top of the hill to the bottom to the football field.

The grassy section of the hill was also where you would find most of the high school students during their games. The other end and goal was open and you could see a view of Interstate 77.

This was not my first football game, it was however my first Pro football game. I loved it. I’m in my early 20s, had two good knees, and somewhat agile. The sound when you are in the bowl and field of the massive football stadium can be deafening and the intensity can be felt in your chest. It’s a deep vibration.

In all football games, photographers have designated areas they are allowed to stand, behind the players is off limits. You can be to the left or right of the team. If you are the only photographer covering an event, you are also following the action. Meaning you will be walking back and forth as the plays advance the field. Lots of back and forth. The reporter is typically above in the box so they can have a view of the entire field.

Needless to say, I got my steps in when I was a photojournalist.

Many times, unless required, you are not needed nor do you have to stay for an entire football game. Sometimes, you may be required to cover a couple of games.

I had another assignment later that day, so I was provided a couple of hours to get to the Hall of Fame game, find parking, get into the stadium, get the updated stat sheet, get on the field, and get ready to cover the first part of the game through halftime, then leave and head to the next assignment.

It’s about 30ish minutes into the game. During a timeout, one of the players (not playing), comes over to ask me a question about my camera. This was not uncommon. I have a friendly face I guess because it also happened once in the pit next to the dugout at Jacob’s Field. Bartolo Colón used my camera to find his family in the stands.

The game starts back up. I say goodbye to the player and get back into position. Most of the time I watch the game through the long zoom lens. One eye watching the action while the other is closed so I can focus on getting the shot.

The ball is snapped, the quarterback takes a few steps back to look for an opening, his arm falls back and with skills that still amaze, jettisons the ball towards a player I don’t see. I snap a shot.

I was shooting film, this was not a digital camera. Knowing the exact moment to press the shutter, takes skill and practice. It always required a couple of games before I felt like I was ready for the season. Resting on a monopod, the camera requires me to advance the film to the next frame, so I can quickly grab the action as it’s happening. I never needed to move my head to do this, so my eyes never had to leave the small eyecup and window.

I pan the lens and zoom back to try and follow the ball as it lands in the open extended arms of a player in the air 5 feet in front of me. My head pops up and I jump to the right as he lands on his feet in the exact spot I was standing.

Ever get hit by a freight train?

I’m fairly certain it would have felt like that.

Patience and a Green Light.

I needed to pick up my car before work at a service center in Canton. Dad picked me up at my apartment and dropped me off at the business we’ve always used to service our cars, Getting in my car (a forest green Honda Civic), I drove around the block to get to a light that would allow me to turn left onto Market Ave and head downtown to the Canton Repository, a newspaper where I was a photojournalist. I worked the later shift that day. It’s the beginning of spring, slightly gray and rainy. Civics while fantastic on gas, sit low. There are bushes to my left that block the view.

This neighborhood is one of my favorites. Colonial Heights, not only are the homes brick, some are old with fantastic architecture, and many of the streets were also brick. I spent a large portion of my childhood in this neighborhood. My parents' best friends had a home here and we spent most weekends/evenings at their home.

At the light across from me is an off-ramp for Route 62. There is one car waiting. The light I’m patiently waiting for has no arrows, no indication that I can turn left without the oncoming traffic impacting my turn. The light turns green. I wait for the other car, expecting it to drive straight (it has no turn signal on). They don’t move. I then realized they still had a red light, which meant I should have turned left when the light turned green.

I remove my foot from the break, lightly press the gas pedal and as the nose of my car gets to the street, a car going 40ish mph flies by my windshield in front of me. I slam on the brakes and my heart skips. I watch them as they continue on to the highway entrance without once pressing the brakes. Shaking, I make my turn.

I would have died. That was my first thought.

Any other choice, I and probably the driver of the other car would have had a really bad day.

Is it luck?

All I know when it happens, each and every time, I probably swore.

It takes a lot to scare me. I don’t jump at loud noises. Unless I think someone has fallen. Horror movies as of late - are crap and extremely predictable. What scares me, is not much. Spiders I can kill when needed (aka brown recluse, widows). Ask my friends, many used to call me to come over and handle it.

When it’s one-on-one, me vs spider. I’m bigger than it is. Even tarantulas I find fascinating. What scares me is when there are multiple or when one crawls down on its web in front of your face while you’re driving. Or when a massive bee flies in your open window and lands on your shirt and you have to flick it off with a shaking hand all while saying, “please don’t sting me, please don’t sting me”.

The only reason I will go to a haunted house is to watch my friends react and I am always the one they shove up front.

Life has been challenging and there have been some slightly scary moments in which I thought I was going to die, but I didn’t.

I’ll chalk it up to luck.

Hope everyone had a fantastic and happy Charloween as it was once called among friends. I miss my sweet boy. He was a good dog and if I could I would have carried him on my back anywhere we ventured in my dreams.

Fate, coincidence, or luck?

Do you believe in signs?