JO: I’m not sure if this is the full-text of the print piece, but here’s what you can find online of The Oregonian’s short profile of me in the Business section of today’s paper. I met this reporter while shooting the crime scene photos.

–
Monday, November 27, 2006
ALEX PULASKI

Freelance filmmaker Josh Oakhurst used to chase his dreams around a mountain on a snowboard but now looks for success behind a camera.

Fade in: Storyteller grabs a camera
In the screenplay of his life, he avoids a “typical job” and works toward directing feature films.

Josh Oakhurst struggles to find an easy definition of his career choice, but one word might capture it all: storyteller.

He has studiously avoided what he calls a “typical job,” instead freelancing video work, editing movies and designing Web pages. In September, he landed under contract at Portland Center Stage, primarily shooting and editing video interviews that play on interactive screens in the newly opened Gerding Theater at the Armory.

The stories he is telling these days are someone else’s.

Jeff Cone, for example, stands before the camera in the theater’s costume shop, surrounded by boxes of shoes, racks of clothes and spools of thread. Oakhurst cradles the camera, rarely speaking, letting Cone describe how he designed a prim black dress to suit the thin frame of a man playing a transvestite’s role.

“That’s great, that’s perfect, that’s all I need,” Oakhurst pronounces, ending the session.

The hard part — the magic, he calls it — will come when Oakhurst sits down before a computer to edit the images.

At 24, Oakhurst keeps edging closer to the feature-length filmmaker he wants to be. Three years ago, he was managing a snowboard shop, until a knee injury slowed him down and forced him to focus on something other than snow.

In April, he moved to Portland, sight unseen, to escape Denver’s sprawl. The work with Portland Center Stage has provided a steady income, but all the while he dabbles in other projects.

He shoots television ads on spec. Grabs his new Nikon digital camera to record images from a crime scene. Mouths off — usually with a dollop of youthful profanity — about cool camera gear, the cops, the guy with a ponytail on the bus.

All of it wins electronic immortality on his Web site. The stories he wants to tell — documenting sprawl, the social stratification of young boys — haven’t found their way to the big screen yet.

“I want to direct feature films,” he said. “But I don’t have any delusions of grandeur. It’s a losing battle in many ways.”

Alex Pulaski

Families who lose loved ones to violent means morn. Everyone else gets free entertainment.

–
Yesterday, police officers shot and killed a man outside a hotel near my apartment. 52 years-old; outstanding warrant for burglary, arson, and weapons possession. According to official reports, federal marshals were looking for the man. They knock on his hotel room, he barricades the door, jumps out the second story window, cops are waiting below, they tell him to stop, he reaches for his jacket pocket - S H O T S F I R E D.

And a life ends.

When we see this on the news, typically we have little passing emotion or feel relief knowing the good guys won. We see images, “it was just like a movie…”, cop cars blazing, snipers on the roof, bloody shirts.

But who was this guy?

The news tells us he was very passionate about his dog. He was divorced. And that’s it - thats all we need to know.

But he also drank Squirt.

And liked pizza.

And behaved like most people do at a continental breakfasts by taking some fruit back to the room only to leave it behind.

–
Maybe it was the TV crews. Ruthless. Bored even. Weathered for sure. Disgusting. I saw four cameras making mockery - it pissed me off.

So I started snapping.

Sure, if you live in Baghdad, violent death happens around you everyday - but not in my neighborhood. Breaking into this guy’s hotel room was an attempt to REsensitize myself to tragedy. To violence. To blood, to pain, to death. To horror, to fascination.

To respect.

Not everyone saw this guy as evil. Not everyone wanted him to die. Not everyone, not even the cops are glad he’s dead.

So why run from this? Why hide and gloss over? Why not get up-close and uncomfortable with it? Why not get squeamish, examine the reality, look for emotions, a connection, a fucking message, a reason our heads croon when we see the ambulance gurney?

Why not? Why don’t we feel a bit raw every now and then?

“Oh quick. American Idol is on.”

–

—
*NOTES*
1.) I declined to be interviewed for the cameras, but luckily for the TV stations - there were many willing participants.

2.) The cop in this photo (click to enlarge) was a D I C K to the front desk clerk. She was clearly overwhelmed with many different cops pulling her in different directions looking for keys, maps, and master plans of the building. We felt bad for her.

Right after I shot the McDonald’s picture (POLICE LINE: MC RIB IS BACK - click to enlarge), he pulled up and told me to “Get out of [there]. Move! Faster!”. I was polite, but ignored him. I was behind the police barrier anyway; I know my rights.

After I took his photo being rude to the poor girl, we had this exchange:

COP: And, exactly who are you?
ME: I live in the neighborhood. Family is visiting and staying in the hotel.
COP: smartass Oh. So you’re just a concerned citizen?
ME: Among other things.

3.) There was a kid of about 17 staying in the hotel with his family. After the shooting, he found a window in the hotel looking right into the breezeway where the man was shot. I was out back taking photos of the cop on the roof, and Kristine called my phone to let me know “there was something I should see”.

Enter bloody shirt.

I include that image, not for horror, but for respect. This is where the man lay dying. This is what happens when bullets fly. It’s not pretty (Grand Theft Auto should teach us that, shouldn’t it?). In any case, the news media won’t show anything like this - because it’s too graphic. Sensationalize they may - but to a point. No reason for tooo much detail - lest someone get upset and call the station.

After I snapped that photo, the kid’s dad entered the room and yanked him out. Then this happened:

DAD: Son, why weren’t you at church with us this morning? Did you forget we had church together?
SON: Dad! When are you finally going to get that I don’t believe in that GOD STUFF!
DAD: %&*S %$#^* #!@^#^^&* [ head begins to explode ]……….

4.) For the record, I didn’t break into the guy’s (former) hotel room - the cops already busted down the door, and when they were done collecting evidence, the room sat open in plain view. All I did was duck the hotel’s blue tape “barrier” and flip on the lights.

No doubt - that room was creepy. If I believed in ghosts and Jesus and things, I’m sure I wouldn’t have lasted long. The window was letting in cold damp air - busted too by the cops I believe. The curtain would fly open and glass would continue to fall and shatter - a draft would circle the room [shudder]. Jeepers.