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Since my final year as a student at Art Center College of
Design, I had hung around Dan Gurney's place, photographing
anything and everything the guys at All American
Racers crafted in their magical Santa Ana, California, shop.
My love of photography and racecars, along with the aforementioned
access, parlayed itself into a little profession.
Former F1 racer Richie Ginther was a friend of Dan's
and, in late 1969, was asked to manage a car for actor Steve
McQueen who was preparing to make a racing movie, "Le
Mans." McQueen needed to get some actual racing experience-
enough to enable him to compete at Sebring.
Two former Gurney mechanics, Dick Weber and Haig
Alltounian, had signed on with Richie to modify and run
the Porsche. Word came down that Porsche wanted to photograph
the operation, but wanted a photographer it could
count on to not sell pictures of the actor "out the back door."
Weber and Alltounian knew my loyalty to Dan-I had
photographed many of his "new innovations" that stayed
new-and they recommended me to the Porsche PR
department. The next call was from Porsche's West Coast
PR guy, who explained that while Porsche did not want a
"dog and pony act" surrounding McQueen, it did want
pictures of this venture.
I signed on without hesitation and the next thing I knew I
was blasting down Hwy 86 out of lovely Mecca, California,
racing past the seemingly never-ending Salton Sea in my
clapped-out VW bus. I headed for a rendezvous with
McQueen, his family, the Porsche and its mechanics at
someplace called Holtville-a name I only knew from reading
about a Cal Club race.
Even if today's paparazzi types had existed in that era,
they would not have ventured out to Holtville to harass
McQueen. Picturesque it was not, but it was my introduction
to the man and the machine; and it was my own rehearsal
for the two subsequent assignments that were to come
my way.
I managed to get my pictures, blending in with the typical
Cal Club assembly. Most of the racers treated McQueen
like one of the guys and, in my recollection no one ever
made a pest of himself, allowing the actor to go about the
business of turning himself into a racecar driver.
The next test outing was to be at my "home track,"
Riverside International Raceway. Having cut my teeth there,
I felt quite comfortable since I knew the spots around the
course for the better action shots. McQueen's presence,
however, was suddenly more of an issue at Riverside, as
we were now only a little more an hour's drive from
Hollywood.
In the meantime, McQueen had decided he would actually
enter the Porsche in the 12 hours of Sebring and a third
test event was deemed necessary-Phoenix International
Raceway in March for another club event.
With the advent of increased exposure in mind, the
Porsche PR guy asked me to accompany the team to
Phoenix for the expressed assignment of getting pictures for
the sports section of the Phoenix newspaper. We made a
deal with the newspaper: I would shoot McQueen in the
race, drive the film into Phoenix that night and, using the
paper's lab, process, edit and print two pictures that showed
our hero and the car. The PR guy had not been much of a
race fan prior to this project, but took great pains to tell me
the paper wouldn't run a standard picture of the racecar-I
needed to come up with something unusual. He had seen a
photo of a tired race mechanic at an endurance event, looking
exhausted, stirring his coffee with a screwdriver. This
was the type of photo he wanted.
Great. I racked my brain for a real grabber, something
that would both satisfy the newspaper, showing the editor's I
wasn't giving them the standard press handout, while promoting
McQueen and Porsche. Having observed McQueen's
ritual of sitting in the car, then methodically pulling on his
balaclava, then the open-faced helmet, I realized if I could
mount my camera behind the steering wheel, I would have
my shot. Oh, is that all! I remembered a trick my buddy
Pete Biro had shown me, which involved a remotely wired
Nikon and a very wide-angle lens.
A little Italian fellow shielded McQueen from unwanted
public attention; he was quite good at discouraging anyone
from bothering the star. I knew protocol required I start with
him to get permission for the shot. Long story short, he said
no, in fact, not only no, but absolutely not! I started to
panic; I needed something out of the ordinary and I needed
it right then or my name would be mud with Porsche.
My experience with mechanics had always been that if
they trusted you, they'd do anything to help you get a picture.
I told my story to Alltounian and Weber, and the next
thing I knew I was in McQueen's trailer explaining the shot
to him. If anybody in the group understood camera angles, I
guessed it would be McQueen. He gave me a thumb's up,
with the warning that the camera was to be out of the car by
the time he started the motor.
The accompanying picture attests to the fact that I got my
shot. The unusual-angled photo and a very nice (if I do say
so myself), long-lens action shot of the Porsche on a rainslicked
racetrack made the paper…and my day.
For more on this article and much more grab a copy of Auto Aficionado Magazine on newsstands nationwide!
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