Telling people you’ve sold photos to a tabloid off your blog is a pretty good way to break the ice at social gatherings.

This is me holding a copy of the National Enquirer.

I’m in it.

That sounds a little juicer than intended but it’s true-I’m in this edition. Or, rather, my photographs are.

Yup.

My very long-time readers will remember the time that I sold photos from this blog to a tabloid. I’ve already posted about it, but very few reading me know now about it. I think it’s a great story and more then a little hilarious that I’m the shittiest photographer I know and I have a national photo credit under my belt.

I know, right?

Three years ago, I was traveling home through Logan Canyon after a girls weekend at Bear Lake with my friends Karen, Michelle, Brigitte and Cricket.  We saw a man on a riding lawn mower with a sign on the back that said, “NEED FOOD”.

We had plenty of food, so we stopped.

The man in the filthy Army jacket on the lawn mower introduced himself as Paul Woods, an ex-Dead Head roadie that was making his way from Alaska to Virginia because his mother died and left him a house.

He was covered from head to toe in chimney soot after doing odd jobs in Logan to make some pocket change and get some supplies. He was down heartened because one of the local motels (that shall remain nameless, tempted as I am to out them) had turned him away, even though he had the money to pay.

Paul was 44 years old.

His traveling companion was an adorable terrier named, Yoda. I was the only one who had a camera and I asked if I could take photos of him and his dog and post his story on my blog. He laughed and said, “Sure thing, pretty lady. Yoda loves having his picture taken.”

Paul loves to talk, mainly about the Grateful Dead, and it was difficult for us get on our way. He doesn’t get the chance to really talk to people that often. He had a love named Annie that he was with for fifteen years. He met her at a Grateful Dead concert and he said that much as he loved her,  Jerry Garcia is the biggest influence in his life. He has a sister who owns a cafe and his dream is to rent out rooms to the disabled and disadvantaged and to open a commune for “Dead Heads” and lovers of Janis Joplin on the 12 acres his family owns in Virgina.

He doesn’t like bananas.

He was polite enough to inquire if he could tell a “Dirty redneck joke” and took the decline with a sense of humor. The seat of his lawn mower was completely held together with duct tape and he hugged the jug of fresh milk we gave him to his chest.

We left him with food, gloves a jacket, some cash and a hope that we made his way a little easier. He left us with a hearty appreciation for the warm car we drove off in and the lives we were traveling back to.

A few days later, he was on the front page of our local paper, wearing the jacket I gave him. His mower broke down at a ski resort up the canyon and he attracted local attention.

The story hit the wire and got national attention.

I beamed because I realized that I scooped EVERYONE with this story. Which is why I got a phone call a week later from my parents telling me that the National Enquirer called and asked for my information because they wanted to publish some of my photos and I was the only person they could find in the country that had photos of Paul that were privately owned.

When the editor and I finally talked I told them I was amazed that they tracked down my parents and asked however did he manage to find me?

“We’re the National Enquirer, ma’am…that’s what we do.”

DUH.

We negotiated a price and he said that he’d involve me in the process.

After I hung up the phone I realized that when it came right down to it, ignoring the squee and the cool and weird of it all… I had just agreed to sell photos of a homeless guy to a tabloid.

Umm…I was young? I needed the money???

(Yes, it’s probably just one more reason why I am going to burn in hell. That list is getting pretty long.)

The mock up came and I liked it.

I was really happy with the way the story turned out. And that the name in the right hand corner was MINE.

Even better? A reader named Dave made this for me about things I blogged around that time and it STILL makes me laugh:

I get the occasional email from people around the country who have run into Paul. Last I heard he was on the east side of Montana.  I love hearing about him and I hope he and Yoda are doing well and got to their destination safely. At the end of the day, I knew that Paul would probably be thrilled that his story made it to print and that people knew about him and Yoda.

As for me?

Although, I am a little jealous of Karen, Brigitte and Michelle that they were actually IN the photo and I was behind the lens it’s still the BEST. STORY. EVER.

Now, I just need something else cool to happen to fill up my wall space.

Given the way my life goes, I’m sure something will come along.

Heh.