Eighteen years ago, I had just left my car parked near the State Department building in downtown Washington, DC, when my Blackberry vibrated with an two-work, urgent message. “EXPLOSION! PENTAGON!!” the message read. I ran back to my Wrangler, dropped my cameras in the passenger seat and headed towards 14th Street, NW,to drive over the
For the first six years of our time in Washington, DC, I worked for the Republican party in one form or another. My first job in the nation’s Capital was press secretary to longtime GOP Congressman Paul Findley of Illinois . It was a change from being a newspaper reporter who wrote news stories
September 11, 2001: A clear, crisp fall day in Washington, DC, and New York. I was shooting a routine photo assignment in the District when my Blackberry went off. “Explosion: Pentagon” the message read. I walked out on the street and looked towards Virginia. Smoke snaked into the air from the direction of the Pentagon.
The morning of September 11, 2001, dawned clear and crisp. A bright, blue sky overhead as I drove into Washington, DC, headed for the State Department for a routine assignment shooting a ceremonial function: a quiet day. Or so I thought. Shortly after 9:30 a.m., the Blackberry on my belt, vibrated, signalling the arrival of