From: Richard W. Adkins, WRAL-TV Raleigh, NC
I learned a lot about my coworkers last week or maybe I learned nothing. But one thing is for sure, I have a new perspective on some of them. You see, last week was my week on Lighthouse duty.
Way back in February the News Director called me in to his office. With a sort of crooked smile and a half-shake of the head he told of the plan. I was to create a schedule of photographers to live on North Carolina’s Outer Banks. The subject of this assignment: The Relocation of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. Each photographer would stay one week, I ended up with nine photographers (all men) to rotate. Everyone would get two weeks, one at a time, some would end up being there three.
I was first up on the rotation, it was a ten day stint with the first few days devoted to finding a house for the photographers to live in. Oh sure, I spent a lot of time shooting at the lighthouse, but this little missive is not about that.
The little “fisherman’s cottage” in Cape Hatteras, NC (Photo: Richard Adkins)
You see, the house I found is what they call a “fisherman’s cottage”. It’s just a small two bedroom, 1 bath, house with a small kitchen. Not much, but enough to call home for a week at a time. Like I said, that was back in February, its now July and I finally got my second week at the coast.
When I left after that first week, I was kind enough to leave a few beers in the fridge for the next photographer serving his coastal duty. That’s it. Just a few beers. When I returned last week I opened the fridge to see what the person before me had left behind. What I found was a future archaeologist’s refrigerated riches.
The kitchen of a photog house can be a scary place. (Photo: Richard Adkins)
On the top shelf we had milk. Three plastic jugs. All three stamped with dates of weeks past. They stood like tombstones, listing only their name and date of expiration. I sent them on to the local landfill.
Interestingly, there was lunchmeat, cheese, and bread, but not a vegetable to be found in the place.
Like I said, nine photogs. All men.
There was three kinds of beer, two kinds of wine, three kinds of soda, orange juice and one lone can of Slim Fast. Yes, Slim Fast.
There was a pack of Jello Snack Pack Pudding and three snack packs of Motts Applesauce, Strawberry flavor.
Nine photogs. All men.
In the door we had Ketchup and Catsup, three plastic squirt bottles of French’s Yellow Mustard, two kinds of steak sauce, salad dressing and mayo. And two kinds of Smucker’s Strawberry Jelly. One was low sugar.
In the freezer six Lean Cuisine. Nine photogs. All Men.
On the counter top I found three bags of chips and a bag of pretzels, all with just a half-handful of leftover crumbs. To the left of the stove top Wesson Oil. I don’t want to know more.
To my satisfaction, the house was still standing, there were a few other assorted additions, at least one subtraction, from the way I had left the house so many months ago. But the one thing that really disturb me as I continued to look around was two small pieces of yellow plastic blowing on the laundry line just out front of the cottage. Written in bold black letters were the words “Fire Line” and “Do Not Cross”.
Nine photogs. Hmmm?