Apparently, I wasn't unemployed long, because I was now a photographer assigned to the State Department beat. It's a comedown for a former government worker, I suppose, but a paycheck's a paycheck.
This particular episode, while not putting me front and center as before, was definitely a lesson in TV magic. It was a blustery, overcast November day in Farmingdale, Long Island, where Republic Airport was standing in for Andrews Air Force Base. The Secretary of State and Vice-President, along with their entourages and security, were arriving on the airfield in order to fly to Moscow. We journalists were following in our own van.
This Google photo of the airport is similar to what we saw:
As someone referred to it, "a rich man's airport" -- private planes and jets coming and going; no room for commercial airliners. What this photo doesn't include, however, was the large green screen in front of the airstrip. When the episode aired, this is what it looked like:
Not just a jumbo government-issued airplane, but a blue sky as well. If God had been able to get that kind of technology back in the day, He'd have saved Noah a lot of grief.
"Hey, Madam Secretary! Over your shoulder, in the back.
Remember me? I used to work for you!"
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But thanks to the now-famous "bomb cyclone" we East Coasters experienced recently, it worked out perfectly by airtime two months later. Thank you, polar vortex!
But there was even more magic to come. The following morning, we were bussed to the Westchester Country Club:
As Curly Howard would remark, "Reminds me of the reform school." But in Madam Secretary, it stood in for:
No golf course, but the vodka can't be beat.
"Yo, Madam! I'm still available!" |
The Secretary of State and Veep were meeting with the leader of the unfree world. Ink slingers and shutterbugs were on the left side of the ballroom.
I was placed at the beginning (or end, depending on your point of view) of the photo line. We all wore official-looking press badges, printed in Russian, around our necks. My wife wishes I paid attention to half that kind of detail when I clean the bathroom.
Put a moustache on me, and I could be Alfred Stieglitz. Minus the talent. |
Unlike the others in the photo, this fellow was playing an unidentified "Kremlin official". Maybe he can get me a job in his State Department.
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