Executive Edits is an online publication that “lies at the intersection of insight and inspiration; delivering snapshots of culture, and individuals with fully charged mojo. An editorial narrative celebrating an eclectic mix of creative people leaving an indelible mark through their work and contributions”.

In August I was asked to join the editorial staff of the publication. My column, Eyeful, appears under the magazines Culture Observed features section and seeks to unearth raw, found, everyday narratives.

Since then, I have published two features in Eyeful . One captures the ongoing tale of a graffiti emblazed wall in New England. The other highlights the renascent enthusiasm surrounding the letterpress tradecraft. I am also a contributing writer for the In Conversation & QA features section under the Staff of Executive Edits umbrella.

Look for more updates via my bio on Ee or subscribe to my Eyeful column feed.

The documentary film The Way We Get By is a moving narrative about three senior citizens in Bangor, Maine who greet U.S. troops departing for and arriving from the war in Iraq. Cinematically filmed by award winning photojournalist and co-director of photography, Dan Ferrigan, The Way We Get By captures the emotion and sentiment about growing old, solitude, war, and mortality.

In a phone interview I conducted for Longshot! magazine, Ferrigan talks about the one narrative that escaped his lens throughout the entire film. He shares his personal perspective on the untold story in The Way We Get By, the ultimate Comeback—returning home from war. Alive.


All photograpy Copyright © Dan Ferrigan

What was it like to experience firsthand, to witness through the lens of a camera, a soldier’s return home?

At first it is hard to soak it all in when you are working through the lens. That first time you capture the troops leaving or arriving, you are concentrating on the film. Determining the look. Finding the best angle. You become pre-occupied with how best to capture what is happening.

The Way We Get By was filmed over three years and we had developed some comfort with filming over time. You learn what to expect and look for, recognizing the important elements for the film (e.g. when the greeters provide cell phones to the troops upon arrival).

Once you move beyond how you want to capture the film, the perspective changes. You start to feel as though you have been let in on a secret. Or more accurately, you have let yourself in on a secret. It is like when you were a kid lifting up a rock and find a bunch of insects underneath. You think, holy crap there is a lot going on here.

When you take a step back and look at what is happening, you become aware of a very big idea. Bangor International Airport, where our three greeters were filmed, represented a significant piece of U.S. soil for the troops. If you were arriving from Iraq, it was the first bit of U.S. soil that you set foot on. For those leaving, it was the last piece of U.S. soil you stepped on. If you deployed from Bangor International Airport and never made it home, it was the last patch of U.S. soil you set foot on—for the rest of your life.

Looking under the rock of The Way We Get By is a surreal experience. The airport was like a crazy sci-fi portal and the three greeters were the gatekeepers to that portal. You felt emotionally invited and thankful to not be excluded from witnessing what was happening. These incredibly intimate moments for the troops that were either a first, or a last.


All photography Copyright © Dan Ferrigan

U.S. Troops were flying in at all hours of the day and night. Did you get a sense they expected anyone to greet them?

The soldiers never expected to see anyone. Even though many had heard about the phenomenon of greeters at airports where U.S. troops would arrive or deploy. If they had an idea beforehand, it was quieted by the fact that U.S. troops had been coming and going for a long time. At some point the rest of the country had returned to their lives, so it was easy to not think anyone would be there to greet their arrival or see them off.

Greeters, however, are relentless. At Bangor, they never missed a flight. Troops were met with cheering. A lot of times the soldiers would be looking behind them, down the line to see what celebrity was following. For the greeters, the soldiers were the celebrities. They would exchange hugs and hand out cell phones so the soldiers could contact their loved ones.

It was a phenomenon that transcended all political beliefs and affiliations. It didn’t matter how you felt about the war, or decisions made by the government. All of that was out the window. The return or departure of troops from Bangor International Airport was larger than political biases.

The narrative of the film centered on Joan, Bill and Jerry—the three greeters, did you have an opportunity off camera to speak extensively with the soldiers coming home from Iraq?

Yes, we did. The soldiers had a strong sense of what they were getting into. Regardless of their reasons for enlisting, each of them made a choice to serve their country. The older soldiers in particular, some who had even served in Vietnam, were interesting.

They seemed to have something like a haunting burden. When you consider all their years of service, the burden makes sense. Their lives seemed to sum up the weight of the situation. One soldier in particular said that in all his years of service, “this is the first time I have ever been greeted by my country”.

It was a powerful emotion. You find yourself immersed. Draw in by the soldiers and the weight of their experiences.


All photography Copyright © Dan Ferrigan

Did you find yourself later reflecting on the troops experience of safely returning home?

Reflecting on the experience later was unavoidable. You go into it trying to find the best way to capture and share the story. In the beginning you have somewhat of a work mindset. In a way, that mindset can give you blinders. It allows you to film. You start with a blank canvas and every time you film, it gets splattered with an image from the story.

Later, you go home with a picture of the canvas in your head and you reflect on the story. You start to think about how you were actually a part of it and it stays with you in your quiet time. In a way the troops are a lot like close family. You find yourself asking, “Why did they have to leave? Will they return safely?”

In the end you feel appreciative as it makes you reflect on your own life. A lot. In comparison to the troops in Iraq, my life isn’t in the same ballpark. On every level you can see the sacrifice they are making and you are aware of what they are giving up for their country.

Is there any greater ‘Comeback’ than returning home from the war, alive?

The troops who never return have an even greater Comeback story. Even though they never made it home, we are reminded of their contribution. We remember and honor them. Their sacrifice comes back to us. Like the older soldiers with the heavy burden of a lifetime of war, we are burdened by the responsibility of making sure the troops did not die in vain. We are burdened by the responsibility to ensure we make their sacrifice count.

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About Dan Ferrigan Award-winning photojournalist Dan Ferrigan has worked on four films including The Way We Get By, Getting Rid of Libby, and BLUR. In 2007, Dan traveled to India where he worked on India: A New Life, commissioned by PBS-Frontline World. Dan currently is a photojournalist for New England Cable News (NECN). In 2006, he worked on The Long Journey Home, a 30-minute documentary on the “Face of America 2006” bike ride for able-bodied and disabled veterans that aired on New England Cable News (NECN) and had showings across New England. Dan worked for ABC affiliates around the country as a photojournalist before settling down in Boston. He has won an AP award, an American Heart Association award and was the photographer on an Edward R Murrow Award winning project.

About Longshot! Over a 48 hour period from noon August 27, 2010, through noon August 29, 2010, hundreds of writers, editors, artists, photographers, programmers, videographers, and other creatives from all around the world came together via the Internet, and in offices in Los Angles, Portland, and San Francisco to make a magazine from start to finish.

Recently I received a piece of sample range from Rapha—the high-end cycling performance clothier based in the UK. They were interested in my thoughts on one of their undergarment offerings, so a member of Rapha USA forwarded some of their riding stock . Below is an excerpt from my review at Freeman Transport,

“When you consider the upper echelon of cycling performance wear—I am far removed from a riding clothiers target audience. When I mentioned this notion to brother Ferencz, he captured the sentiment by stating that I am a, “big brother trying to hustle in a small man’s world.”

Please click through for more on my latest contribution at Freeman Transport.

DYKCTV (D)Rain

Posted: August 7, 2010 in Uncategorized
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(D)Rain is available in HD on Vimeo.

Image Source: © ROBERT CAPA © 2001 By Cornell Capa / Magnum Photos

The life of Ernest Hemingway is often portrayed as one romanticized adventure after another. From Hemingway’s exploits as a writer, sipping coffee in the café’s of Paris and London with the artistic elite of his day, driving ambulances in the first world war, and game hunting while on safari in Africa—any one of Hemingway’s moments are an adventure to which many have aspired.

Ernest Hemingway’s last notable feat, committing suicide, was far removed from his romanticized lifestyle that is so revered. A single shotgun report in 1961 had sounded Hemingway’s farewell. In death, he had achieved what fellow writer J.K. Rowling once emphatically proclaimed, “…to the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.

Clarence Hemingway, an accomplished physician and father of Ernest Hemingway, embraced death with grand expedition. Depression and escape from physical ailments provided Clarence Hemingway the muster to dare the great adventure. His pursuit ended in 1928 at the barrel of a Civil War era pistol that once belonged to his own father.

Ursula Hemingway, the youngest sister of brother Ernest, was a celebrated artist in Honolulu who ultimately sought refuge also in the last great adventure. Her arduous bouts with cancer and depression came to a close in 1966 by drug overdose.

Plagued by diabetes like his father, the sixth and last progeny of Clarence Hemingway—Leicester Hemingway, chose death as the greatest adventure over a life absent of self-propelled motion. With the possibility of losing both of his legs looming on the horizon, Leicester aimed true with a .22 caliber pistol, ending his life in 1982.

Margaux Hemingway, granddaughter of Ernest Hemingway, was a fashion model and actress. In 1996, nearly thirty-five years to the day of her grandfather’s death, the actresses swan song brought full-circle the Hemingway spirit of adventure. In true celebrity fashion, Margaux Hemingway had chased the great adventure—having been spirited away by a drug overdose.

The Hemingway family lineage was wrought with emotional and physical travails. With five deaths, four generations of the Hemingway’s had solidified the act of suicide as a worthwhile family pursuit.

Conceivably to his organized mind, for Ernest Hemingway, death was but the next great adventure. Great in the sense that Hemingway appeared to not have any fear of death. Instead he embraced the finality of its release. To romanticize his lifestyle, to revere it, is to ignore the raw humanity that emboldened the man who in death became an American legend.

Porter is available in HD on Vimeo.

The Ride Journal is a literary and lifestyle magazine that covers many different aspects of bicycle culture. Published in the UK, The Ride features creative essays, photographs and illustrations from contributors who know their way around a bicycle. Personal accounts from people like Greg LeMond, Paul Howard, John Tomac, Tim Jackson, Chris Hoy, and Mark Cavendish are among the diverse stories within the journal.

Last Thursday, Ride issue number four published and I am pleased to note the magazine includes a select feature of my own on black history and our impact on the culture of bicycling. Our contributions have been significant and as many blacks have done in the past, we continue to have a lasting effect on the present and future of bicycling.

The Ride Journal, Issue Four

The Ride Journal is one of the best publications in circulation focusing on the art of the bicycle. It is published by Own It! and features nearly 200-pages, printed by Cambrian Printers on 50 per cent recycled paper with soya-based ink—and is available via online order and select stockists around the world.

Last December I wrote about an artistic collaboration with my friend, artist and illustrator Chris Piascik; my contribution to the project was a narrative introduction that would reflect the sentiment of Chris’s work within the self-published zine, Daily Drawings.

Both Chris and I were hopeful about the prospect of future collaborations and in the months that followed, we were able to come together for a tribute to one Massachusetts’ favorite sons — Marshall Major Taylor, a velodrome world champion in the early 1900’s from Worcester, MA.

Chris’ latest zine entitled, Good Habits, Clean Living, captures the ethos of a world champion, using the very words penned by Major Taylor himself in his autobiography, The Fastest Bicycle Rider in The World — I am excited to have written an introduction for this tribute and Taylor’s rules are depicted with a typography flair that truly embody them as words to live by.

Whenever Black History is mentioned in everyday conversation, on television, or in a newspaper or magazine — history is reminisced to the familiar tune of King Jr having a dream, Parks at the front of the bus, and X by any means necessary.

Black History, however, goes far beyond the names of those we learn during our childhood and it goes far beyond the struggle of Blacks that has been watered down into made for television movies on BET.

History is a narrative. A story of acts, ideas, or events that will or can shape the course of the future; and there are so many stories in Black History that have yet to truly be shared.

While doing research for a journal article, I discovered a narrative about the 25th Infantry Bicycle Corps; the original Buffalo Soldiers. From Fort Missoula, Montana (a place familiar to me as it is home to my friends at Freeman Transport) — the 25th made history by simply riding a bicycle.

Written as a memorandum, my recent contribution to the Freeman blog takes a brief look into how the men of the 25th Infantry Bicycle Corps rode into Black History with the turn of their pedals.

SAVAGE NEGRO, Milestone

Posted: January 31, 2010 in Writing
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Last September, I wrote about a new endeavor I was undertaking — a narrative serial experiment that when completed would be the first draft of a novella, which I call SAVAGE NEGRO.

Since then, I have been publishing a single page every day, Monday through Friday; although I had a vague idea of the overall story, I had no plot defined beforehand. Instead, I decided to choose my own adventure and let the story and the characters reveal themselves to me as I wrote each day.

At the end of last week, I reached a significant milestone after publishing the 100th page of the story — I have written every weekday, one hundred days, about the tales of the SAVAGE NEGRO and I am pleased to have made it this far.

Honestly, there have been a number of times when I thought the story had hit a dead end (but as I hoped, SAVAGE NEGRO has been an adventure where the characters drive the story — and that allows me to turn a new page each day).

Every page, every scene, has been enjoyable for me write and hopefully a worthy pageturner for anyone who has been reading so far. The story itself is at an interesting point right now and I look forward to how it will all play out. I have my suspicions, but I have been surprised more than once while writing this story!

In many ways, SAVAGE NEGRO has been a crazy journal of discovery for me through the characters in the story. I have no idea what will happen tomorrow and whatever comes up, whatever comes out — I trust that the journey will continue to be worth the effort.