The highs and lows of life as a journalist

It’s not everyday you open the paper to such a dramatic photograph as

the one that ran Sunday. I’m sure readers were startled to see such a

powerful display of desperation and determination, from both the

suicidal man and the officers who were trying to save him.

Photographer Sean Hiller did a phenomenal job of capturing the

event in one still frame, which managed to tell the story for all who

were not there.

Imagine being there.

It was my turn to work the Saturday shift (each reporter takes

turns to ensure there is always a reporter on duty) and the events I

had planned to cover did not start until 4 and 5 p.m., so I was

waiting for my workday to start.

Around 3:20 p.m. Hiller, who we have nicknamed “Scoop” because of

his unrelenting desire to be on top of breaking news, (he sleeps with

the scanner on) tells me, “C’mon, let’s go. There is man threatening

to jump off the freeway.”

We weren’t exactly sure where the man was positioned, or if we

could even get there, but we knew we had to get out there. Instead of

wasting time in the office, I jotted down our contact numbers for the

California Highway Patrol and Costa Mesa Police Department and made

those calls from the car.

(Thank goodness for cell phones.)

The CHP public information line went unanswered and the Costa Mesa

Police Department watch commander could not tell me how to get close

to the jumper. So Sean, who was driving, made the executive decision

to get on the northbound Costa Mesa freeway, which we immediately

exited at Baker Street because we saw nothing but break lights ahead

of us.

I saw a Caltrans truck blocking the entrance to the Costa Mesa

Freeway northbound. (You can get right back on, after you’ve gotten

off at Baker.) I told Sean to drive up and see if would let us

through. I jumped out of the car and asked the man to move some

cones.

The seemingly helpful worker proceeded to call for permission and

talked for more than five minutes while ignoring me standing in front

of him. As I was walking back to talk to Sean, who was anxious to get

on that freeway, I heard the man tell his colleague, “I don’t want

the press getting in your way.”

I knew he was stalling us, so Sean parked the car on the dirt and

we walked in up the onramp -- even though we still weren’t sure

exactly where to go.

The surly Caltrans man called after us but we ignored him and

maintained our brisk pace. Along the way, Sean was struggling to hold

two large camera lenses and a battery pack, while preparing his

camera for the event we were hoping to stumble upon at any moment.

As we got closer to the intersection between the onramp and the

Baker Street connector to the San Diego Freeway, we saw, in the

distance, what we thought was a man on the overpass. We hurried our

step and walked on the shoulder of the Baker Street connector (which

was still open to traffic) while cars passed.

A man in a white car stopped and his female passenger asked if we

wanted a ride. We ran to the car, jumped in the back seat and thanked

them repeatedly. After maybe two minutes in the car, we saw on our

left the man clinging to the overpass, his arms and legs hugged

around the railing.

“Let us out right here, please,” Sean said and we jumped out of

the car.

(We never did find out their names but they made all the

difference. Thank you again, if you are reading this.)

We were on the edge of a dirt embankment that overlooked the

eerily empty San Diego Freeway. We knew we were in the right place

when we saw the two Costa Mesa fire engines and about a dozen

emergency personnel standing there.

Sean and I literally ran down the muddy hill, avoiding rocks and

holes, and ended up on in the middle of the San Diego Freeway. We

split up. Sean went to find the perfect angle for his photograph. I

went over to talk to the police officers, who were about 100 feet

from the clinging man.

I was deserted by Costa Mesa’s finest when the man let go of the

railing but was caught by the Highway Patrol officers on the

interchange 50 feet above. They ran over to the site, while I inched

away.

Slowly putting one foot behind the other, I tried to scribble the

details unfolding before me. I wrote the colors of the man’s clothes,

the actions of the officers and the looks on their faces as they

strained to save a man who fought so hard to die.

It was surreal. It was exhilarating. It was frightful. It was

awful. It was intense.

Contradicting emotions swirled through my head as I stood there

for what seemed like forever. As a journalist, I was extremely proud

of the quick reaction time Sean and I had, our willingness and

persistence to get on the scene and get details of the event no one

else would have.

I was also horrified to watch this man fight so hard to end his

life. I wondered what could be so horrible that he would try so hard

to kill himself. And it turned my stomach to see him try and slice

his own throat.

I was awestruck by the determination of the patrol officers who

strained to hold the man. I saw their muscles bulge and faces twist

with a combination of emotion, frustration and fatigue. They fought

relentlessly to do their job, even though the person they were trying

to save was working against them.

As the man pulled himself out of the grasp of the officers, I

watched in horror as he fell to what I presumed would be his death.

It sounds weird but after all seeing these movies where falls are

cinematically slowed down to capture the drama and facial

expressions, I was shocked at how quickly he hit the ground.

I screamed when he fell but didn’t turn my head in time to miss

it.

Before he dropped, time seemed to move in slow motion. But once he

hit the ground, time sped back up as emergency crews rushed to his

side. He is still in critical condition at Western Medical Center in

Santa Ana.

When I snapped back to reality, I realized I was shaking. I also

realized I was still moving backward, while still scribbling in my

notebook. I reread my chicken-scratch and saw I had repeated the

“desperation of the officers,” and “struggling to hold on” about five

different ways.

In reality, we were only out there about five minutes before the

man dropped. A series of split-second decisions, lucky guesses and

the kindness of passersby made it possible for us to be the only news

media on the scene of a breaking news event. I was proud, shaken,

tired and excited. I was a journalist coming down from the adrenaline

high of getting a remarkable story.

I will never forget what I saw, did and wrote about Saturday

afternoon. That one event perfectly captured the best and worst parts

of this job.

And it is the unpredictable roller coaster of the news business

that makes it easy to get out of bed every morning, despite

nightmares from the night before.

* LOLITA HARPER writes columns Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays

and covers culture and the arts. She may be reached at (949) 574-4275

or by e-mail at [email protected].