Capturing resilience in a man scarred by gun violence
By Anthony Vazquez
My first encounter with James Bell was in January 2021. We met in a parking lot as he prepared for a stellate ganglion block procedure, a treatment for PTSD. Nervous about the procedure, James didn’t talk much. Our connection stemmed from a friend of his, whom I had previously covered in a story addressing the realities of post-traumatic stress disorder in gun-prone neighborhoods. James seemed like another compelling story to explore.
Over the next few hours, I stood by James’ side, waiting patiently in the reception area, observing as they checked his blood pressure and prepped him for the procedure. I was in the operating room as they administered the shot on the operating table. My initial interaction didn’t provide many hints about the troublesome story James had lived through. I only knew on the surface that he was suffering from PTSD due to a traumatic event.
Several months passed after our initial meeting, and I finally found the time to sit down with him and delve deeper into his story.
What he revealed was a lifelong narrative of various traumas. As a young boy in Louisiana growing up in a poor household, issues with his parents prompted a move to his grandparents’ home in Chicago. He faced troubles as a teenager, engaged in street drug sales, became a victim of gun violence and experienced the heartbreak of losing the love of his life and the mother of his children. Amid all his trauma, one constant remained — his love for football.
Football was his refuge as a child and the anchor that pulled him away from the streets. It provided him peace and led him to his calling as a coach. Unfortunately, an act of gun violence left him blind, ending his coaching career. He descended into depression but slowly found his way back onto the field through his sons and as an assistant coach.
From our initial meeting and through the next year and a half, I followed James. I witnessed him as a coach, a single father and a man grappling with PTSD. I joined him during family holidays, training sessions with his oldest son, football practices and everyday moments. More than two years after our first meeting, I wrote about his epic tale of loss, resilience, family and an enduring love of football.
The photo above captures just another training day. We had spent the morning at the park as he ran his sons through various agility drills.
The reason this photo is my favorite lies in its depiction of what James embodies. It was taken immediately after a set on the bench press when James struggled to finish his last reps. Catching his breath, he epitomized resilience. Despite the physical and emotional traumas he faced, he persists in pushing himself to become better, not only for his sake, but for the sake of his children. His desire for a better future for his kids propels him.
Covering an armed standoff
By Tyler Pasciak LaRiviere
During my tenure with the Chicago Sun-Times, I’ve covered a lot of breaking news. I was initially hired to do that — and only that — on overnight shifts. I’ve seen and captured a lot over the years, but no image to date comes close to what I captured in June when John Litsiardakis, armed with a gun, got into a standoff with Chicago police and SWAT officers while atop a makeshift tower with a swastika on it.
When I arrived at the standoff, I had no view of the tower. But after checking out streets nearby, I stumbled down North Karlov Avenue and saw another news photographer on the block and dozens of neighbors on the sidewalk and on their porches.
At the corner of the block I could see this man who’d been standing off with police for hours just sitting in a lawn chair with what appeared to be a shotgun. I found cover behind a car’s engine block and sat there with neighbors and the other news photographer for hours capturing Litsiardakis as he climbed up and down the tower, flipped off police, grabbed different guns, sat back down in his chair and so on.
At one point he grabbed the weapon you see in the image and walked out on a ledge in his tower fanning the gun at police. At that moment I captured the image you see above. Then he saw me, the other photographer and the crowd of neighbors and onlookers and swept his weapon at us. We ducked and took cover.
I stayed behind cover for hours after that point not knowing how this would end, but also making sure to stay as safe as possible. SWAT, who was only mere feet away from us, made sure we were OK, and suggested different places to take cover.
Eventually Litsiardakis retreated inside the building, and we heard what sounded like a gunshot or two a little while later. Police blew off the building’s door, but after that it went eerily quiet, other than the sound of music and Litsiardakis’ ramblings playing in a loop from a loudspeaker.
As the day turned into twilight I made my way back to my car to file my images and knew not only was that the most dangerous situation I’d ever put myself in, but I’d also taken one of the most unique and dramatic images to date of a breaking news story.
Witnessing the most intimate moments in people’s lives
By Pat Nabong
This photo of Sherrif Polk and his 1-week-old son Sherrif Polk Jr. is one of my favorite photos this year. I had been assigned to photograph Chicagoans who were receiving monthly stipends from the city, the county or nonprofit organizations for Elvia Malagón and Esther Yoon-Ji Kang’s story about how guaranteed-income programs were having an impact on Chicagoans’ lives. Polk received $500 a month from Chicago Future Fund, which gives monthly allowances to formerly incarcerated people. For Sherrif, most of his stipend went to buying clothes and toys for his kids, he told me as I photographed him by the lake in May. We started talking about his kids, and he mentioned that he had a newborn at home. I asked if he would be willing to be photographed with his baby for the story. After calling his fiancee to make sure, he said yes.
When we arrived, his fiancee brought out Sherrif Polk Jr. As I approached, Polk carried his son and brought his tiny hands to his lips.
It is one of those instances where we are invited to witness people’s lives in a more intimate way, which we don’t always get to see as photojournalists and as readers. I was struck by the tenderness of the moment. It reminded me of why I love to photograph: because of photography’s ability to make visible and give importance to the fleeting and fragile moments that make up our days — like the way light bounces off a person’s face, a small hand to the lips and the warmth of a father holding his child. Working in the news industry can often feel loud and frenetic, with our weeks filled with protests, politics and heavy stories. But I come back to quiet photographs like this that allow me to connect with Chicagoans through the simpler moments that make up their lives.
Cherishing the animal assignments, especially in hard moments
By Ashlee Rezin
I have to admit, when it came time for me to pick my favorite photo of 2023, I struggled quite a bit. For a lot of reasons, many of which I won’t get into, this year has been one of the hardest years of my personal life.
In June, a family of federally protected peregrine falcons made themselves at home in the Loop. They were dive-bombing pedestrians passing below their seventh-story nest at an office building on Wacker Drive near the Chicago River.
This was my first assignment after my mom died.
“How about an easy day?” I remember my editor, Rich Hein, saying in one of our usually innocuous morning chats.
“Want the bird assignment?”
Rich knows that, for me, animal assignments can be a welcome reprieve from the day-to-day grind of daily news, which is often emotionally heavy. I jump at an opportunity to photograph endangered piping plovers at Montrose Beach; a baby animal’s debut at a zoo; therapy dogs making people smile at the Dirksen Federal Courthouse; or a herd of deer finding refuge in a city cemetery.
Falcons fly very fast. This was not an easy assignment. But it brought me joy in that moment.
In a year full of pain and struggle for me, I am grateful for empathetic editors and co-workers. Life sucks sometimes, and every once in a while, everyone deserves their equivalent of an animal assignment.
