ALCOHOL WAS A FACTOR: Weekly Newspapering in Rural Alaska
Fred Shields. Artist. Former Mayor. Raconteur.
That seems like an odd statement, but it’s true
For starters, the staff is hyper-small and believe it or not, lots of things go on in a small town. So you’re always on the move.
Last night, Haines had its First Friday event, where artists show their wares to locals, who put on their ski caps and walk around to each shop. My colleague was in Juneau getting her Jeep fixed (she went by ferry) so I was on my own for the evening’s assignments.
There were two of them, but I only needed to take pictures at each: a First Friday mixer and a dinner event at the local library.
At a small weekly, pictures are your editorial life blood. The idea is to take as many as you can at events over the weekend. They make people happy to see themselves and their events. And it fills space at a paper with two contributors, and 12 weekly pages with no wire copy.
So, everybody’s happy.
At other newspapers, I used to work begrudgingly on nights and weekends, but I headed out into a falling snow whistling a happy tune. In my short time here in Haines, the more work I do, the more people I meet and the more I learn, so I can be a better and more tuned-tuned in faithful Facebook poster.
I had a few choices for pictures. Just two doors down from the newspaper office was a display of gingerbread cakes made by locals, many of them modeling local buildings. The competition is fierce. Last year, the winning entry was disqualified when it was learned that the cake maker used a foreign substance that was very un-gingerbread.
I don’t know if the ruling was the result of a tipster, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Not here in Haines.
I also could have walked down to the local museum, where a new display was opening. They’re marking the 25th anniversary of the filming of the only movie fully shot in Haines. It was called White Fang, from the Jack London story and apparently it was very forgettable, both for the theater audiences and the people in Haines.
Apparently, there were civic battles between the filmmakers and the powers that be here. A story in the Anchorage paper started with the lead that read, to the effect, “There’s a movie-shooting battle going on between Hollywood and Haines. Right now, Haines is winning.”
Things went wrong. Apparently, that was a rare winter in Haines, and there wasn’t much snow. The producers resorted to suing potato flakes for snow, but they were eaten at night by the local dog population.
The battle raged so loudly that the New York Times even stepped in with a story that began:
“Having done the South Seas,” Randal Kleiser said, “Alaska seemed like a good idea.”
A good idea, that is, if you don`t mind sleeping in a house with a broken window in 30-below-zero weather; or working with wolves; or a gigantic bear.
Or, having gone all the way to Alaska for outdoor authenticity, finding yourself in the middle of a warm spell and having to truck in snow from Canada.
Many people here were extras in the film. The newspaper’s ad salesman and layout guy, Russ Lyman, was the body-double for actor Ethan Hawke in the scenes where he paddled a canoe. Russ was a river guide at the time and performed flawlessly.
Anyway, I’d planned a late story on the exhibit so I decided to take my third option.
Fred was a former mayor here and has lived a lot of places. He has a photographic memory of street names and quickly after we’d met had quickly recited the names of bars that I drank in as a college student back in Buffalo. As it turns out, Fred had lived in Buffalo for a spell.
Fred’s been everywhere. He’s studied numerous Eastern religions looked for The Answer. So far, he’s found it here in Haines. But there’s been heartache in his life. He lost his wife to cancer a few years back and a few weeks ago we sat at his kitchen table, drinking beers and talking about crazy-love and hammering loss.
I took some pictures outside of Fred’s place and went inside. He was wearing a red shirt and he had a local artist in residence for the month, showing her oils and water colors. I took off my winter clothes and got my camera out.
Fred had set out a spread of red wine and crackers. I dove into the cheese crackers that I never allow myself to buy at Costco. And I guzzled from Fred’s bottle of Kirkland wine. We talked about how good that off-brand tasted.
Fred waited on customers and showed me a few pieces of Baltic amber as a gift for my wife.
I felt warm and at home there. But I had to go.
The library waited.
I walked the mile or so in the wet snow. My camera bag had turned white with flakes. My borrowed rubber boots had begun to cut blisters into my feet.
It became more of a slog than a walk to the library.
When I walked in, a somewhat officious looking woman with gray hair rushed up to me.
“You’re late,” she said.
Apparently, other photo-takers have been more prompt. I was slightly buzzed after the wine at Fred’s. I apologized, and blamed the snow and those black boots.
The event was a fundraiser in the town’s gorgeous library made of Alaska wood, with big windows. It’s the pride of the community. There was a big tree set in the reading room, surrounded by tables with nice china and silverware.
Maybe 100 people had paid a lot of money for this meal. The owner of the bookstore was playing his guitar that night. We said hello and I wandered the room looking for a hot.
Then a diner flagged me down. I’d seen him somewhere in town but couldn’t remember where.
But he knew I’d lived in San Francisco.
“You have to have some of this sour dough bread and crab chowder,” he said. “It’ll make you think you’re back in San Francisco.”
Someone handed me a Styrofoam cup with a large piece of hot bread.
There wasn’t a place to sit and I’m not sure the gray-haired woman would have wanted me mixing with her guests anyway. She’d already come by early forcefully suggesting people I should photograph.
So I walked over to the library doors, where people had stored their coats. And at the book checkout desk, I ate the most wonderful meal of my time here in Haines.
My friend was right: the chowder was delicious, and the bread was first-rate.
I dipped the crust in to get the last bit and spilled a few drops of chowder on the book counter.
I thought of cleaning up my mess, but decided to let the gray-haired woman take care of that.I loaded up and, after headed over for a pint of Black Fang stout at the local brewery, where I ran into the Feltist, who always seems to pop up in my life here at the right times.
We had a cold one and then I headed home, trudging through the building snow, slightly drunk; my feet hurting from my borrowed boots.