[Congressional Record Volume 157, Number 158 (Thursday, October 20, 2011)]
[Senate]
[Pages S6854-S6855]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                      TRIBUTE TO EDWARD J. REINKE

  Mr. McCONNELL. Mr. President, today I wish to pay tribute and respect 
to an accomplished Kentuckian and photo-journalist, Mr. Edward Reinke 
of the Associated Press. Mr. Reinke tragically passed away on October 
18 after an accident several days earlier while he was covering the 
IndyCar race at Kentucky Speedway in Sparta, KY. He was 60 years old.
  Ed Reinke was a mentor to countless photographers throughout his 
illustrious career and leaves behind him a legacy in the photo-
journalism industry that is admired and respected throughout the world.
  Edward J. Reinke was born and raised in Howard County, Indiana, and 
was a graduate of the University of IN. Ed began his photo-journalism 
career as an intern with the Cincinnati Enquirer in 1972. Ed worked as 
a full-time staffer until 1979 when he left to work for the Associated 
Press in Cincinnati. Ed also spent several years in the Washington, DC, 
bureau and on August 31, 1987, he came to Louisville, where he became 
the Associated Press's first staff photographer in Kentucky in 25 
years.
  During his 25-plus-year career, Ed built an impressive network of 
Kentucky AP-member photographers who encourage and help each other to 
this day by contributing pictures that can be shared among all AP-
member newspapers. ``He was the hub of a very close-knit community,'' 
said John Flavell, Ed's personal friend of 25 years and photo editor at 
the Daily Independent in Ashland, KY.
  Ed was driven by the philosophy that good photographers make 
themselves better by making pictures that mattered over long periods of 
time. He spent each day attempting to fulfill his motto: ``You don't 
just take pictures, you make good pictures.'' And Ed did just that.
  He was often selected for special events around the world such as 
Super Bowls, World Series championships, Final Four tournaments, Summer 
and Winter Olympics, Masters and PGA Championships, President Bill 
Clinton's first inauguration, and Hurricane Andrew. In Kentucky, Ed was 
the Associated Press's lead photographer for almost every major event 
in my State's modern history, including the 2006 crash--of Comair 
Flight 5191, the 1988 Carrolton bus crash the Nation's deadliest drunk-
driving accident--and the Kentucky Derby every year since 1988.
  In stark contrast to covering these somber and significant events, Ed 
had also had the remarkable ability to find the ``quiet dignity'' in 
tobacco farmers, racetrack workers, and short-order cooks. Ed was a man 
of passion and compassion, and his life revolved around his commitment 
to his family and his work. ``His family was most important to him and 
he wasn't shy about telling it to those who understood,'' said Flavell. 
``It was his family that made him.''
  ``There's a big black hole in my soul and at the center of the photo-
journalism universe with Ed Reinke gone, but it's his influence that 
will shine the brightest,'' Flavell says in remembrance of his friend.
  Mr. President, I would ask my Senate colleagues to join me in 
extending my greatest condolences to Mr. Reinke's mother, Margaret L. 
Harmon Reinke, his wife, Tori, and his two sons, Wilson and Graham, for 
their loss. Edward J. Reinke was a true inspiration to the people of 
our great Commonwealth, and photo-journalists throughout Kentucky and 
the rest of the world owe him a debt of gratitude for the work and 
legacy he leaves behind.
  Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that an article appearing in 
the Ashland Daily Independent highlighting Ed's life and achievements 
be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the article was ordered to be printed in 
the Record as follows:

                 [The Daily Independent, Oct. 19, 2011]

                           A Great One Passes

                           (By John Flavell)

       Chances are you don't know the name Ed Reinke, but you've 
     seen his work grace this newspaper for decades as a venerated 
     photo-journalist with the Associated Press. He passed away 
     early Wednesday morning after suffering a brain injury at 
     Sparta Racetrack two weeks ago.
       Ed taught the lesson that good photographers make 
     themselves better by making pictures that mattered over long 
     period of time. Within that wisdom is his credo: ``You don't 
     just take pictures, you make good pictures.'' All within the 
     confines of journalism ethics.
       Even though he covered great events like the Olympic Games, 
     World Series, and Super Bowls, Ed could quickly find the 
     quiet dignity in tobacco farmers, racetrack workers, and 
     short-order cooks.
       Ed was a great teacher. A college student approached Ed and 
     wanted to know why she couldn't get the nice close-ups with 
     her normal lens, pointing to his long glass. He told her she 
     was lucky, with her short lens she could get really close to 
     her subject, saying, ``The rest of us don't remember how to 
     do that.''
       And to see him work was like watching a master's class in 
     photo-journalism far beyond the classroom or textbook. During 
     a break one Derby Week morning at Churchill Downs, Ed struck 
     up a long conversation with an elderly African-American 
     gentleman who wiped dew off the seats around the paddock. 
     After the conversation, Ed said, ``makes me wish I worked for 
     NPR.'' The photo he filed of the worker put the guy in 
     exactly the dignified light Ed brought out in the 
     conversation.
       I repeated that story to Ed last year after he asked about 
     audio recordings I made for slideshows. He wanted to know why 
     so much effort went into the audio track and I reminded him 
     of his paddock conversation and the influence it had on me. 
     He was genuinely touched. And I was touched when he once 
     drove from Louisville to Morehead to see a show I had at 
     Morehead State University, where we had the gallery to 
     ourselves. He looked at the seemingly endless row of images 
     and said, ``You probably should have edited tighter, but I'm 
     glad you didn't. We should talk about these.'' It was a nice 
     afternoon.
       That's the way our relationship grew over the 25 or so 
     years. Conversations were long in-between, but lasted long as 
     we caught up with the professional and personal sides of our 
     lives. We started with the utmost respect for our ingrained 
     craft and took it to the personal level as we learned--
     through maturity--that our photography was made by what we 
     are.
       As Ed's family grew, so did Ed. We rarely see a man of his 
     stature in photo-journalism stop in the middle of talking 
     shop to talk about his wife and sons. When they hurt, it 
     showed in his voice and mannerisms. Most of the time, though, 
     times were good and his eyes would light up. His family was 
     most important and he wasn't shy about telling it to those 
     who understood it was his family that made him.
       When Ed and I last spoke, he called to ask if I would be 
     attending a reunion at our alma mater, Indiana University's 
     School of Journalism. We both had other commitments

[[Page S6855]]

     that weekend, and the conversation settled into a former 
     teacher there. Although we attended the school at different 
     times, we had similar stories about the Pulitzer nominee, who 
     had photographed the desegregation clashes in Arkansas. After 
     the obligatory words of praise for our mentor, we went 
     directly to the obligatory stories about him that made us 
     laugh the most.
       Probably what I'll miss the most are those phone calls out 
     of nowhere that started with the words, ``I sure enjoyed that 
     picture you made.'' When I told Ed I'd miss the reunion 
     because I was taking a 45 field camera to the coast, he said, 
     ``I'd sure like to see those.'' It rarely mattered what the 
     pictures were about, we had reached a point when we knew the 
     pictures were about us. I'll miss that.
       There's a big black hole in my soul and at the center of 
     the photo-journalism universe with Ed Reinke gone, but it's 
     his influence that will shine the brightest.


                             More on Reinke

       Ed used to wear a bright red jacket, which is how people 
     could quickly find him. Early one morning at Churchill Downs, 
     Ed spotted a former Kentucky Derby winner on the track on a 
     workout. He took off the jacket, stuffed it in his camera 
     bag, and snuck away from the crowd. A couple of us watched as 
     he stalked the backside to wait for the horse to come back 
     around. Ed wasn't particularly competitive, but he didn't 
     like finding a situation only to have another photographer 
     crash in.
       The Kentucky Derby brings in photographers from all over 
     the world. During an early morning meeting of photographers, 
     Ed spotted a well-known group standing together. ``There 
     isn't many people I really dislike at the Kentucky Derby, but 
     they're all standing right there.''
       During a conversation at a recent Kentucky Legislative 
     session, I commented to Ed his pictures were getting better 
     with age. After the obligatory expletive, which is what I was 
     after, he said, ``Well, if it has my name on it, I'm going to 
     keep trying.''
       Ed liked using a Wild West vocabulary. The cameras were his 
     shootin' irons. Film rolls and the cards that came later were 
     his bullets or ammo.
       Whenever asked if he got a dunk at a basketball game, Ed 
     would point to the stands and reply, ``Nah, but you see that 
     guy up there in the stands with the white shirt? Tack 
     sharp!''

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