Many Thanks To You, Brian Lanker
By Bruce Thorson
LINCOLN, NE (April 1, 2011) – Brian Lanker’s recent passing has left us saddened, stunned and shocked.
I was Lanker’s lab tech, joining the Eugene Register-Guard in July 1981. He was really my first photojournalism mentor and teacher. He was meticulous and demanding. He was a thinker first and a photographer second. As his lab tech I was on the periphery of his influence and teaching. Still, he had a profound effect on me as a photojournalist. Many thanks, Brian Lanker, for the lessons I learned from you.
I arrived in Eugene, Oregon about May 1981. I had been accepted into the University of Oregon and began my journalism studies. I wanted to be a photojournalist.
I needed a part-time job to help with rent, utilities, food and the other miscellaneous college expenses.
Jumping on my bike, I rode down to the Eugene Register-Guard. Going inside, I made my way past the front desk, through the newsroom and down to the photo department. I still remember that photo enclave, set off from the features and sports departments by its windowed walls.
I opened the photo department door and walked inside. Standing in front of me was a large and heavy man. I said I was looking for Brian Lanker. He said, “You found him.”
Going quickly through my introduction, giving him my name, explaining that I had just moved from Central Oregon where I had been a ski instructor, student and a part-time photographer for the Bend Bulletin, I asked Lanker if he had any part-time jobs. He responded with, “No, I don’t.”
“Okay,” I said, and asked if he would look at my work. We moved toward his office, stepped inside and sat down, with him on the opposite side of the desk, facing me.
Now, up to this time in my fledgling photojournalism career, I had had no teacher, mentor or anyone to give me any advice on how to be a photojournalist. With the exception of a basic photo class, everything I knew about making photographs and learning about cameras, lenses and photojournalism, I had learned on my own. I owned a Minolta SRT 101, a 50mm lens and a Vivitar 70-210mm lens. And a vinyl camera bag with a broken zipper. I believe all vinyl camera bags came with the standard issue broken zipper.
I knew nothing about what a portfolio was supposed to look like. Sitting in Lanker’s office, I reached for my portfolio and placed it in the middle of his desk. My portfolio was a brown paper grocery bag.
I remember a rather perplexed, yet inquisitive look on his face.
Inside the bag were about 30 tear sheets. Lanker spent several minutes, not saying a word, going over each one several times. Then for the next 45 minutes or so, he slowly went over each image. He would point to different places within an image and ask questions like, “Why is this here? What were you trying to do here? How did you create this effect?” He was very thorough and very interested in my work.
When he was finished, he said, “I like your work but I still don’t have a job for you.” I asked him if it would be okay to keep in touch. He said, “Please do.”
For the next few months I never let more than 10-14 days go by without either a phone call to him or stopping by in person to say hello.
One afternoon, riding my bike home from school, Lanker was pulling out of a grocery store parking lot and spotted me. He pulled over, rolled down his window and said he had an opening for a lab tech. He wanted me to get my application in right now.
I turned my bike around and headed for the Register-Guard. I walked into the photo department, sat down at the desk and typed out my application and resume. The next day I was working as Lanker’s lab tech.
Sometimes naïveté and ignorance are bliss. Previously, all I knew about Lanker was that he was the Register-Guard photo boss. It wasn’t until after becoming his lab tech that I found out he was on contract with Sports Illustrated and Life magazines, was a two-time Photographer of the Year award winner and had won a Pulitzer Prize.
I was stunned. I picked my jaw up off the floor and went into the darkroom to scrub out the trays.
In retrospect, and I’ve thought a lot about this over the years, if I had known ahead of time about his awards if it would have changed how I approached him that first time.
Working as his lab tech was demanding. My duties were to roll film and put it into the film cassettes using a bulk loader, keep the chemicals fresh in the darkroom and in the black-and-white developing room. In addition to that, I had to keep everything spotless. Lanker demanded it.
It was fun, too. I took advantage of trying to make photographs for the newspaper, even though it wasn’t part of my job. Each weekend, and for whatever sport was in season, I’d try to get a football, basketball or track and field credential. Every now and then I’d get a photo in the paper. I also started stringing for the Associated Press.
Spring 1982, Oregon hosted the Pac-10 Track and Field Championships. The only credential I could get was a perimeter credential. That meant I could not go on the track infield or the track. I had to stay outside the low chain-link fence surrounding the track, essentially mingling with the spectators, having the same vantage point as they did. I wasn’t particularly thrilled, but wanted to make the best of it.
Lanker taught me to think first about storytelling pictures.
The 200-meter dash was coming up next. I started thinking the men in this event were supposed to be the best of the best. I figured even after coming out of the blocks they’d still be even with each other a little way down the track. I was thinking, too, that if I could get up high, looking down on the track, it would make a good graphic background. I climbed up to the top of the stands, overlooking the turn. Sure enough, coming out of the blocks, the runners were still even with each other as they came into the turn. The photo I was able to think about and see in my mind came to fruition. It ran six columns, leading off the page inside the sports section.
The next day I was cleaning the darkroom. Lanker walked in. “Hey, that was a great picture you had in the paper today,” he said. He went on to say, too, how he guessed that’s why there are such things as perimeter credentials because you can get good pictures. Getting that compliment from Lanker was my “Pulitzer.”
I found a picture story to pursue. A woman in the church I was attending was doing sign language for the deaf during the sermon. I spent several weeks following her and making photographs. One night, until about 3 a.m., I stayed in the darkroom making about 60 work prints. I left them for Lanker to look over when he came in.
Later that same day, in the afternoon, I came into work. Lanker came bounding out of his office with my stack of prints held high over his head.
“What would you do if I told you these were some of the greatest pictures I’d ever seen?” he said. I thought, “Oh great, he likes my pictures!”
“I’d drop dead,” I responded. “Then I’m about to save your life!” Lanker bellowed, grinning like a Cheshire cat. And I thought, “Oh, no. He doesn’t like my pictures!” The story and photos ran. He was pleased with my work.
I asked Lanker to critique my work and, in retrospect, wished I had asked more often than I did. He always obliged. He always critiqued the photograph and not me, never shamed me or made me feel stupid (well, maybe a little stupid sometimes). When he was finished with the critique, I always felt about two inches tall but always wanted to go back out and make the photographs better.
Lanker left the Register-Guard to pursue freelancing in October 1982 and I left in the spring of 1983. I had my first full-time job as a newspaper photographer. The Ashland (Ore.) Daily Tidings was a a 5,000-circulation newspaper that published six days a week.
About every three or four months I’d pack up my tear sheets and drive several hours to see Lanker for a critique. During one session he started telling me how a certain image needed to be better. My excuse was that I only had five minutes with this person. “Then you make it the damn best five-minute picture you ever took!” he said.
He would go on to say, “Somewhere in the world today, someone is going to make a great picture. Why shouldn’t it be you?”
After about 18 months at the paper, I decided to get a graduate degree. I applied to Ohio University, as it had one of the best photo-school reputations in the country. I asked Lanker to write me a letter of recommendation, which he did. I received a full-ride scholarship.
I spent about 25 years working as a newspaper photographer, photo editor and director of photography. As newspapers started to decline, I moved from the newsroom to the classroom in 2004. I now teach photojournalism at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln College of Journalism and Mass Communications.
Over the years I kept in touch with Lanker. He was proud of the varied career I have had.
Along with teaching two photojournalism classes every semester, our college has a $2 million endowment for photojournalism for two international photo projects each year. Following our project in Kosovo, I sent Lanker the photography book we produced.
Lanker sent me an eMail and wrote, “I think the level you have those students working at is really wonderful. It is a testament to your ability as a photographer but also to your ability to teach and nurture those students. I'm sure you realize just how important someone in your position is to their development. I'd say keep it up ... but I've seen you already are.”
I had spoken to him in the last year or so about having him come to UNL, talk to our students and give a presentation. He had wanted to do that but always had such a busy schedule.
His passing leaves a huge hole for photojournalism but he has also left us a legacy. He set the bar high for all of us to direct our hopes and achievements.
Every semester I begin again, teaching photojournalism to another group of students. Not only do I pass along my own knowledge, experience and, hopefully, some of my wisdom, but also I pass along all the lessons I learned from Lanker.
Over the years, I often think about what he told me about photojournalism but the one saying that comes back to me frequently is, “Somewhere in the world today, someone is going to make a great picture. Why shouldn’t it be you?”
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