Jim Mahoney on Window Trail in Big Bend National Park (Photo by Robert Hart)Instinct, perception and experience
When Jim Mahoney, my friend and colleague for more than 40
years, died this past weekend, he left behind a body of work that testifies to
his position at the apex of the photographic profession he served so well.
As a photo editor at The Dallas Morning News, Jim was
an integral part of the team that made The News one of the best
photographic newspapers in America.
A perfectionist forced to live in an imperfect world, Jim
was a world-class photographer who during a long newspaper career nurtured,
mentored and worked alongside a generation of prizewinning photographers.
He was a master at capturing “The Moment,” using instinct,
perception and experience to identify the single image that best represented
his assignment – be it car crash, city council meeting or intimate interview in
someone’s living room.
As a young reporter, I worked with Jim at the Denton
Record-Chronicle, where he was chief photographer. After covering a story
together, Jim – as a courtesy – would show me the photo he planned to turn in
to the news desk.
Invariably, without any discussion between us, his photo
illustrated the central theme, the basic idea, the essence of the story I
hadn’t finished writing yet. He was, in every sense, a photojournalist, a
marvelous combination of photographer, journalist and – most of all –
storyteller.
A wizard of his trade
He was a master of composition and a wizard at the tools of
his trade. His photographs were not the products of “darkroom magic.” Most were
printed full frame, just as he composed them through the viewfinder. The
decisions Jim made in milliseconds in the middle of chaos became beautiful, insightful,
startling, shocking and, occasionally, horrifying moments frozen in time.
For years, I displayed a framed Mahoney photograph from
those years. He took it at a Denton High football game. It was a wonderous –
yes, even magical – image. In a single, wide-angle shot, Jim captured every
aspect of Friday Night Lights, at least a decade before the term was even
coined. The photo had everything: the marching band, prancing drill team,
jumping cheerleaders, cheering fans and both teams running on the field at the
same time.
Sadly, I lost track of the photo in one of my many moves.
What I wouldn’t give to have it back.
Jim never did anything half way. His darkroom, back in pre-digital
days when such a thing existed, was immaculate. Not a speck of dust anyway,
chemicals lined in exact rows, countertops gleaming, negatives organized with
loving care.
Even outside of work, he was meticulous and obsessive. He
mowed his lawn twice a week during the summer because he thought it looked
“shabby” if he didn’t.
He also was an excellent, if unimaginative, cook. He
insisted on following any recipe down to the letter. I remember one Saturday
afternoon when we went to a half-dozen different stores looking for a
particular Mexican pepper specified in the recipe he was using to make – wait
for it – chili.
After no luck at the second store, I made the mistake of
saying, “Jim, let’s just get some damned jalapenos!” He gave me a withering
glare and didn’t speak to me for an hour. When we finally chased down the
elusive pepper, he shot me a triumphant smile and announced, “Now, we can
proceed!”
More than a hobby
Jim was a largely self-taught photographer. It was a hobby
that became something more after he returned home from serving two years in the
U.S. Army.
Drafted when he left
North Texas State in 1968, Jim expected to be sent to Vietnam. But because he
had played trumpet for his high school band, he was sent to West Germany to serve
in the U.S. Army band stationed in Wiesbaden.
At the height of the Vietnam War, Jim spent his Army career
playing at Octoberfest celebrations and in goodwill concerts across West
Germany, an ironic twist of fate that was not lost on him. He later said his
greatest honor came when he was selected to play Taps during the primary
Armistice Day commemoration at Verdun, France.
At the Record-Chronicle, he presided over a
three-member photo staff, including himself. His reputation extended beyond the
R-C’s modest circulation area. Talented young photogs beat a path to his
door for a chance to work with him, among them Robert Hart, Lon Cooper and Bill
Clough.
He persuaded R-C managing editor Frank Kelly to
create a showcase for the work of his photo staff. It was called Kaleidoscope,
a weekly full page with no ads devoted exclusively to photos of a single
subject or event.
Devoting such an extravagant amount of space solely to
photos was rare in newspapers of the day. For small dailies like the R-C,
it was unheard of.
No explanation needed
But Jim and his staff eagerly took advantage of the
opportunity and produced marvelous photo essays on a dizzying array of
subjects. Text was kept to a minimal. Jim believed if a lengthy explanation was
needed to explain the photos, the photos weren’t good enough. Mostly,
Kaleidoscope photos spoke for themselves.
When The Dallas Morning News inevitably came calling,
Jim accepted a job as its first photo editor, leaving behind his days as an
active shooter. His years on the photo desk coincided perfectly with The
News’ rise and reign as a premier photographic newspaper, staffed by some
of the best shooters in the nation. That was no coincidence.
Although he took his work seriously, bringing a
single-minded dedication and intensity that made some less-focused colleagues
squirm, Jim possessed a droll, well-honed sense of humor that he often kept
well-hidden. When he shared it with you, it was something special.
I sat next to the photo desk for years, and every so often –
as the newsroom on deadline careened and buzzed around us – Jim and I would glance
across at each other. With a raised eyebrow or a slight shrug, we would confirm
what the other was thinking. “This is a damned crazy way to make a living,
isn’t it?”
After years on the photo desk, Jim returned to active
shooting, and some of his friends wondered how he would adjust. Turns out, he adjusted
quite well and took up where he left off, producing terrific photos regardless
of the assignment.
Keeping pace
He employed the same instinct, skill and attention to detail
that he had at the front end of his career, easily keeping pace with his
younger colleagues. He demonstrated, day in and day out, on every assignment no
matter how routine, that the old dog already knew all the tricks.
The photo below was taken by Robert Hart, who worked on the DMN
photo desk for years with Jim, on Window Trail in Big Bend National Park, a
place where both traveled together several times over the years.
Jim hired Robert at the Record-Chronicle in the 1970s
after the latter’s dismal first job out of college at Dean Singleton’s Fort
Worth Press.
“Jim was editor, teacher, mentor and friend to an entire
generation of young photojournalists,” Robert says. “He led by example – by the
way he approached every assignment and by the care he took with every photo.”
Jim, dear friend, your journey is at an end. Rest in peace.
