Greg Latza’s Blog

Here’s the newest issue of Progressive Farmer, a magazine I’ve freelanced for since the mid-1990s and for whom I’ve shot over 20 covers. This shot was taken at the Poet Energy ethanol plant near Chancellor, South Dakota, just as dusk was settling in. It’s a nice tie-in with Poet, who is another of my more active clients.

Ethanol has always been a hot topic in the upper midwest…it is either our salvation or our demise, depending on which coffee shop you’re sitting in. I think it’s a good thing, but I also welcome the constant advances made in developing cellulosic processing for ethanol…will we be raising huge tracts of sugar cane or switch grass someday in South Dakota? Or just creating corn that will yield 300-400 bushels per acre? The future will be extremely interesting in this industry, and I’m glad to have a front row seat.

I was pleased to get an assignment recently to shoot South Dakota State University basketball player Jenn Warkenthien for a USA Today profile. It was great to work in Frost Arena again, the site of many good times and wonderful memories from college. 

Jenn’s story is both heartwarming and heartbreaking. She is a star basketball player who has endured the loss of both of her parents, and her post-graduate intentions are to settle back down in rural South Dakota with her high school sweetheart. It’s a very good example of the wonderful brand of people we have in our state, and I’m very proud of Jenn and her accomplishments. Have the kleenex ready when you read this!

It’s not the flashiest ornament on our tree. 

Formed in the shape of a snowman, made of green clay and splashed with some faded red paint, it is obviously the work of a young child. It’s been hung with delicate care on our tree for 13 years, and it never fails to draw tears for the brave young lady who made it for me. 

I met three-year-old Jazmine in the early winter of 1995, just after I was assigned to make a portrait of her for the Sioux Falls Argus Leader. Her story was unique, and tragic. She was living with AIDS, and her mother had just died from the disease that November. Unknowingly passed to her at birth, AIDS was ravishing her young body, keeping her mostly in the hospital and in confusing pain. 

As I listened to her story, I couldn’t help but think that this situation demanded more attention than the Argus was planning to give it. I went back to the newsroom and successfully bargained to photograph Jazmine for a couple of weeks, the intended result being a tidy little photo essay about a sick child and her family. 

But nothing about Jazmine’s story was tidy. I followed her and her aunt Gretchen for several weeks as they dealt with numerous setbacks to the girl’s health. I endured Jazmine’s cries for her mother late at night, and listened to her moans of pain as AIDS attacked her body. I also experienced moments of pure joy. I watched her blow out the candles on her birthday cake. I watched her smile as she saw a mountain of presents waiting for her under the Christmas tree at her house. I smiled as she handed me the newly minted green Christmas ornament, and got a little weepy when I turned it over and read the simple words, “For Greg. From Jazmine.”

Jazmine’s photo essay finally ran in the Argus on February 27, 1996. We got a lot of positive feedback about it, and I think the Borgum family felt good about allowing Jazmine’s story to touch others in the community. I went about my work, but never really forgot about Jazmine. 

I wasn’t prepared for the inevitable phone call. Gretchen called a few months later to tell me that Jazmine’s battle was over, and would I like to come and photograph the funeral? All of those emotions came rushing back in full force as I hung up the phone. 

It was a nice funeral, and it was a relief to see Jazmine at peace. No more hurt, no more crying, no more disease. Just peace. She was buried next to her mother as her two young brothers and the rest of us watched in silence.

Every now and then, my kids will ask about the funny-looking ornament as I hang it on the tree, and I tell them the story of a young girl who was wise beyond her years and willing to share her painful story with a stranger.

I miss her, and I hope that somewhere she is having a wonderful Christmas season.

(Click here for the Argus photo essay)

Oh, what a great day it was. 

Running around Lambeau Field in Green Bay, shooting the Packers shredding up the Colts, with good light and everything. 

I managed to piggyback the game onto a job for a crop insurance company in Wisconsin, shooting with my buddy Matt Kryger from the Indianapolis Star. Nothing too fancy, but fun nonetheless. View the photos here.

And the best part? I had the privilege of planting part of Lee McManus at the 20 yard line. Lee was a rabid Packers fan and good friend who passed away in February, and his son Erin and I thought it would be fitting to bring him to Lambeau one last time. A few ashes right between the hashes, just inside the red zone on the south end.

We figured Lee would like to be right where the action got interesting on any given Sunday. 

It was an emotional moment, that’s for sure. I waited until the game was finished, said a few words, and Lee became part of one of his favorite places in the world. 

It happens every time. 

Whether it’s the anniversary of September 11, 2001 or simply a special on TV or a documentary from that day, the images always stop me in my tracks. 

Tonight it was the History channel airing an incredible blend of video from 9/11. Just plain, raw footage and the flood of memories returning with every view from that awful day. 

Everyone here in the heartland knew it was awful and we could feel some of the pain from afar, but it was nothing compared to what the spouses, children, parents and friends of the victims felt, and still feel. We all tried to put ourselves in those shoes, and in a strangely ironic way, it brought us closer to the mourners. 

As a photographer, I just wanted to take pictures of something. There were no destroyed buildings or elaborate shrines to the 9/11 victims to photograph here in South Dakota, but if you paid attention, there were plenty of ways that 9/11 showed itself visually way out here in middle America.

For me, it came three days after 9/11. The huge celebration to unveil a new WWII momument in Pierre was to go on as planned on 9/15, and I made my way west to cover the event and gather photos for our upcoming book, Blue Stars. As I sat watching the endless news coverage of 9/11 late that Friday evening, I got up and started to head for bed. But something strange happened; I had the sudden urge to throw the cameras in the car and head over to Pierre to see if anything was going on at the monument site. To this day I don’t know why this urge came over me…but I’m glad it did.

As I neared the Capitol building, I saw a huge crowd gathered at the football field. It was Pierre’s homecoming game, and as the scoreboard ticked down to zero, I saw that they had gotten clobbered by the Sioux Falls Lincoln Patriots. I thought there might be some photos there, so I parked and started to walk down to the field. 

As I entered the gate, nearly all of the lights in the stadium went dark. The players stood in long lines on their respective sidelines, and slowly the stadium filled with the distinctive pinpricks of light that candles provide. I had unknowingly stumbled into a candlelight vigil. 

I got shivers when I realized that this was why I was prodded out of that warm, comfortable chair and into the cold drizzle. I instinctively started to shoot. 

The Pierre players walked across the field where they had just been beaten, and proceeded to silently light the candles of their opponents in a show of solidarity. It was an incredible moment, and even without the photographs I doubt I’d ever forget that sight. 

When I returned home, I had an email from a photo editor at USA Today asking if I’d found anything interesting to shoot over the weekend that pertained to 9/11. They ran a double-truck photo spread of post 9/11 memorials from across the country the next day, and the shot above was one of them.

What got me out of that chair? I have no idea. I’m just glad I was able to play a small part in showing South Dakota’s own mourning to the rest of the world.