EDITOR'S LETTER

"No instrument so faithfully records our lives and the land we live in as the camera. Through the printed page and the reproduction of the photograph the whole world is brought into our living room. The most remote places become as familiar as our backyards."

Jack sent Jeff an email.

"You've gotta talk Robert into this. These little guys are being reintroduced in farming areas. They're nature's natural insecticide. I have a collection of images, should Roberto have interest."

When Jack Dykinga casually mentions a "collection of images," it's like Bob Dylan saying: "Oh, hey, I've written another song. I call it Blowin' in the Wind." Another song. Another collection.

I think Jack could pitch us a portfolio of papier-mâché pinecones and we'd send him a contract. Not because of the Pulitzer that sits on his mantel. But because of the way he approaches a subject. "What sets Jack apart is that he's always looking for a narrative," says Photo Editor Jeff Kida. "He tells stories with his images. Because of that, there's an added layer of interest to his work."

He's also a master of lighting and composition. He understands the balance between art and technology. And he studies his subjects the way Galileo studied Orion and the Pleiades. No one does it better than Jack. Nevertheless, as a freelancer, he still follows a protocol that goes back to the earliest days of this magazine. Thus, the email to Jeff. He was pitching an idea about burrowing owls.

There are two ways we work with photographers: stock calls and story assignments. The difference is simple. Story assignments are made with individuals; stock calls go out to a pool of photographers.

We're doing a portfolio on fall color. We're looking for verticals and horizontals. Subject material can cover all parts of the state. We'd love to see anything you've shot recently. That's a stock call. They work best with general subjects — autumn leaves, red rocks, waterfalls, saguaros, sunsets. Story assignments usually have a tighter focus, such as Jack's burrowing owls.

Although we get a lot of queries, only a handful make it into the magazine. Most of our assignments are based on stories that we come up with. And who we choose to shoot them depends on the subject. If it's a story about the backcountry, we might call Dawn Kish, John Burcham or Bill Hatcher. If it's a story about a cowboy, we'll probably call Scott Baxter. For food, Paul Markow. Photographers tend to have a beat, and that helps us zero in. Sometimes, though, we're looking for a new perspective, so we take a chance. Adam Schallau, Joel Hazelton, Jessica Morgan ... they're among the talented newcomers who are now in the rotation, getting both stock calls and story assignments. They're frequent contributors. But not this month. Everything inside is from a fellowship of pioneers we call "the early photographers."

Many of their names will be familiar: Chuck Abbott, Ansel Adams, Bob Bradshaw, Carlos Elmer, Laura Gilpin, Barry Goldwater, Esther Henderson, Charles W. Herbert, Ray Manley, Jerry McLain, Herb McLaughlin, David Muench, Josef Muench, Tad Nichols, Willis Peterson, Allen C. Reed, Norman Wallace. Another pioneer was Hubert A. Lowman, who made his debut in July 1942. He grew up in Kansas City, but as soon as he was old enough to buy a car, he started making road trips to Arizona. "After a particularly successful trip in 1941," he wrote, "I dared for the first time to submit some of my stuff to several publications. I was overjoyed when I won the annual cover contest from Desert magazine, the prize shot of Betatakin ruin being published on the June 1942 cover. Then I was delirious indeed when I saw myself on the cover of Arizona Highways the following month, with several pages inside, as well."

The cover shot for us featured the Grand Canyon, and the story inside was about the North Rim. After that, the new guy became a regular. "In these pages, quite often in the past, has the name Hubert A. Lowman appeared," Editor Raymond Carlson wrote in February 1954. "He has been one of our faithful contributors. We are pleased herein to present a folio of his pictures and an article in which he tells of the trials and tribulations of a photographer, particularly one whose camera is his tool of trade and with which he has been able to make a living for himself and his family. He has no studio. The whole West is his studio. Interpreting its beauty is, for him, a business and a pleasure. We don't know of a nicer way to make a living. If you aspire to make your living taking pictures, we think you might be interested in his 'confessions of a freelancer.'"

Turns out, it wasn't any easier in the early years. "A file bulging with presentable material will not earn a freelancer a dime unless he can find customers," Mr. Lowman wrote. "Newspapers, magazines, manufacturers of calendars and postcards, publicity organizations, advertising agencies, printers and publishers ... all are logical prospects, but how to reach them?” He went on to discuss the pros and cons of having an agent. Like most contributors, then and now, he chose to skip the middleman. “While there are notable exceptions, many freelancers, including myself, feel they are better off dealing direct with their customers.” Ray Manley was one of the exceptions.

“There are two courses open to the would-be professional,” he wrote. “To submit direct to the magazines and other markets on approval, or to turn his material over to an agent, who usu-ally charges about forty percent of the gross. This fee sounds like a lot, but it will ensure more sales and usually at a better price than the inexperienced individual can command for himself.” The strategy seemed to work. Among other things, his agent was able to repurpose a lot of Mr. Manley's images. One was a photograph titled Land Without Beginning or End, which featured a Navajo couple named Willie and Happy Cly, who rode their horses more than 40 miles to get to the photo shoot.

“After it appeared in Arizona Highways in December 1954,” Mr. Manley wrote, “my agent placed it with Trans World Airlines for use on a scenic calendar. Then, on the strength of the Arizona Highways display, National Geographic bought a similar view taken the same day. This picture will continue to have a market value for years to come, after the provisions of the 'first rights' sales have been fulfilled.” He had some thoughts on dealing with editors, too. “Just keep in mind that the editor who examines your transparencies will not be very interested in how long it took to get the picture, or the tribulations you suffered for the shot, or what make of camera you used, or how much you paid for the film. The result and its application to his plans are alone significant to him.” True. But it was Chuck Abbott, another early photographer, who offered what might be the best advice. “The would-be photographer,” he wrote, “should start by taking the photographer's oath. Is there one? Not that I know of, but if there were, it should go something like this: 'From this day forward I hereby do swear that I shall arise when all others are sleeping. I shall dash from my warm house without flinching and I shall drive miles before sunrise. I shall be ready to shoot at sunup, and if the scene is not best rendered at this time, I shall return home unperturbed. I shall tramp the mountains in chilblain weather and I shall stagger over the desert in midsummer. I shall do without water because I shall not be able to carry a canteen in addition to my other equipment. I shall inform my wife of my absence from dinner and I shall return home after a glorious sunset. The next day when I have developed the results of my labors, I shall maintain equanimity of soul and expression when I find the results far short of my expectations. I shall not browbeat my models. I shall not brag to my friends. Yea, verily will I share the secret of my locations with my competitors.” He was being facetious about the secret locations. Photographers are big on covering their tracks — like cattle rustlers and the inventors of Coke. We do, however, know where Jack Dykinga's burrowing owls live. In another email to Jeff, he let us in on the secret. He also shared his collection of images. Five minutes later, we bought the story. Of course we did.

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS

Arizona Highways® (ISSN 0004-1521) is published monthly by the Arizona Department of Transportation. Subscription price: $24 a year in the U.S., $44 outside the U.S. Single copy: $4.99 U.S. Call 800-543-5432. UPDATED PRIVACY POLICY: Our privacy policy has been updated to reflect the new changes in data protection laws, including the EU's General Data Protection Regulations. To read our updated privacy policy, go to www .arizonahighways.com/privacy-policy. Subscription correspondence and change of address information: Arizona Highways, P.O. Box 8521, Big Sandy, TX 75755-8521. Periodical postage paid at Phoenix, AZ, and at additional mailing office. Canada Post international publications mail product (Canadian distribution) sales agreement No. 40732015. Send returns to Quad/Graphics, P.O. Box 456, Niagara Falls ON L2E 6V2. Postmaster: Send address changes to Arizona Highways, P.O. Box 8521, Big Sandy, TX 75755-8521. Copyright© 2019 by the Arizona Department of Transportation. Reproduction in whole or in part without permission is prohibited. The magazine does not accept and is not responsible for unsolicited materials.

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS JULY 1942