Thorsten Overgaard

Hole no 10 should be approximately here…

Anyway, back to the espresso machine. The funny thing is that all the excitement has gone away. Everybody is relaxed and chatting, even the security guys just outside his suite. It’s like after you have been chasing this blond girl for six months and finally one day you get her in ways I won’t describe here and see her in as little clothing as only her mother has seen her. Then you relax.

That is the type of relaxation we’re talking about here.

The Harley has gotten a signature of Clinton. I didn’t see it, but Oliver told me the owner came out the hotel looking like a sun, both thumbs up and smiling from one ear to the other.

We chat, Secret Service and police is also hitting the espresso machine (it’s free espressos courtesy of the hotel, reason being that no cares to charge for espressos during a Clinton visit) and the hotel even brings white bread with butter and cheese.

A very casual moment, at the center of the known universe, watching the most important person alive. Are we in control or are we not.

We are.

Drinking coffee and eating bread with cheese while Clinton is doing whatever he is doing behind closed doors with loads of security on all sides of the room.

Oliver and I am planning our next step:

Should we get on the press buss that will be following Clinton to the venue (Nordens Hus) where he will be speaking? Or should we take a cab so we are already there when he arrives, thus getting another Clinton-arrival-scene?

We decide for the cab, but destiny makes another choice for us: When we get out, the cab we had ordered is empty. Apparently the driver went to see what the fuss was about. We have a cab but no driver. Not very useful.

Clinton anyhow decides to move earlier than expected why we line up outside to get the “Clinton-leaves-the-hotel-moment,” then jumps on the bus with the other press.

We’re already behind when we get onto the main road down to Thorshavn. It’s a three kilometer drive to the venue but Clintons cars continue and pass by them. He’s going for the city.

Faroe Islands have three traffic lights and we happened to jam in one of them (they are all within a radius of 500 meters). So some of us jump out the bus and run across town (1,000 meters I would say) with all gear flying around. We find Clinton bit up a street with a tale of security people after him. I’ve overtaken all press people but one at this point so I continue my run up that street, overtaking all security people on the way too.

I run a big circle around Clinton to be able to be in front, in the direction they are walking.

I’m like ruined. All the way running I remember thinking “I can’t do this. I must do it. I can’t. I must.” What a ridiculous thing to do.

Anyhow, Clinton is walking with the Prime Minister of Faroe Islands and they are entering the bookstore next to the tourist office and opposite the Town Hall. I was here the day before.

We wait outside and I guess everybody is speculating what’s the deal and what will happen next. It’s quite unexpected; also Clinton should be at the speaking venue in few minutes, according to schedule.

I shoot the growing crowd outside.

I shoot the security people and particular like this where a Danish police agent and an American Secret Service agent, they seem to have a moment. Maybe they just now discovered they have the same tie.

So Clinton finally comes out after a few minutes. It’s a great light but it’s hard to move around because there’s security and a crowd in a relatively small space divided by trees and fences.

Oliver tells me he would like a shot of the whole scene from the other side of the street. I do that, but in retro perspective I was divided in two. I wanted to do a good portrait of Clinton, preferably with the Leica R using slide film camera to obtain the optimum quality. On the other hand I wanted to show the event from an outside perspective, using a digital Leica to shoot many pictures and be able to move them by newswire quickly.

I do a lot of running in and out.

What starts now is what has become known as the famous “Fellini moment” (that’s Olivers expression).

Oliver told me, and in retro perspective it’s completely true, that during the next 60 meters Clinton walked, there was completely silence. It was like a ballet in slow motion.

Secret Service agents used the one arm to keep a crowd back, then turned their head to look up the street and use the other hand to get another crowd to stay there. Security guys doing this, forming a narrow path – almost like a security zone – for Clinton to walk. Meanwhile faroe people gathered in the street, waiting for Clinton to pass by, stretching out their hands to shake hands.

A Secret Service guy later told that he had never experienced anything like this: You reach out your arm and people just moved back voluntarily, by them self.

It really was quiet. It was elegant, civilized, nothing I’ve ever seen before in that manner. The traffic stopped and people stood out their cars and looked at the scenery as in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” They just stood there and watched.

The only real movement was Clinton, the Secret Service and the press. The crowd was just standing there and looking. I ran ahead, jumped up in some flowers to get the scene from above when Clinton would be passing by below me. Fortunately he would stop and talk with people, which enhanced the slow-motion-advantage.

I never understand why people prefer to put their attention into a camera or camera phone to capture an event rather than experiencing it in full (look who’s talking – I know I miss out a lot of stuff to get it on film; you can’t look through a camera and ‘be there’ at the same time).

Clinton actually stops to let this kid get a photo. He’s userfriendly, that’s for sure.

I’m moving parallel to Clinton in my flowerbed elevated above him. After 6-8 meters there’s no more flowerbed and the street turn left. I’m at the same level as Clinton now and he’s right in front of me. There’s a guy on the right who just shook hands with Clinton and there’s a guy on my left ready to do the same. Clinton looks at me, I look at him, I look at his hand. I shake hands with Clinton.

His handshake is comfortable, professional. It’s not hard. It’s kind of soft but firm.

I don’t know why I didn’t use the camera and the wide angle from in my left hand and from my left shoulder to capture what would have been a rare picture showing the viewpoint of a person shaking hands with Clinton. I didn’t. I should have.

It was truly a moment of unprofessionalism!

Another thing about this was that Oliver and I had discussed earlier in the day how funny it is that when you deal with the level of celebrity as Clinton and Tom Cruise, it’s not a professional event anymore. Journalists want autographs, handshakes and even bring their own digital cameras to take photos of the guy.

We agreed one had to decide beforehand if one was attending for professional or personal reasons, and then act accordingly.

Now, here I was photographing and shaking hands.

Hmm…

Oliver later commented this with “Yes I saw that. ‘That’s Thorsten shaking hands with Clinton.’ But it was like there was missing a person, good that you were there. It would have been odd if there hadn’t been anybody. He would have felt unwelcome.”

“It felt very natural that you were there to shake his hand. Good of you.”

Thanks Oliver.

You have your way with words.

The walk seemed to have come to the cars and I ran a bit away to get out of the crowd and prepare for leaving.

The moment we all dram of is the Clinton-coffee-moment because that was what he did when he visited Copenhagen years ago as a president. In a totally packed city square he delivered a real Clinton speech, amongst other good things crediting Denmark for being so right: “When we the Americans are in doubt about a situation in the world, on which side to choose, we look to Denmark. If we choose the same as Denmark, we usually come out right.”

Big applause.

After that speech, moving back to his limo in an overcrowded square, he suddenly changes direction and walks toward a coffee bar to get a cup of coffee.

That was the story of that year.

So anytime you say Clinton, I dream about him making an unexpected turn and follow a basic humanoid instinct such as wanting a cup of coffee, stop the limo and look at a lake, walk in a stranger’s house by the road … or something.

Anyhow, here I am in the middle of cars and a crowd, trying to locate a way out when I see a sign 20 meters away saying “coffee.”

You know, I don’t know. I haven’t gotten the faintest idea how. But I just move myself towards that thing in warp speed, get in, even have time to measure the light manually and find a good spot – still not really knowing anything – looks out the glass and then I see Security Service in front of the door.

Bingo.

If there’s anything worth calling intuition, that was it. Coffee is Clinton. Clinton is Coffee.

Then Clinton comes in.

I’m already in. What a great spot to be in.