Remembering ‘Westman Scenic’ days

When Dirk Aberson was nearing the end of a slow day without any good catches in his camera bag, he would take a landscape photo. Sometimes just of a farmer’s field. Just sitting there. Growing plants.

He would deposit the subsequent print in the inbox for the newsroom and say, “Here’s a Westman scenic for you.”

He knew what the readership would appreciate. Brandon was land-locked on all sides by endless swaths of agriculture. And livestock.

Dirk knew if The Brandon Sun published a photo of a field in growing progress up by Onanole, for example, he knew it would be of some interest to the farmers gathered in the coffee shop in Killarney.

If it was a really nice day, he might wheel out his vintage aircraft from the small hangar out at his house on Grand Valley Road for some aerial Westman Scenics.

But then, on many mornings over the five years we worked together, he would show up looking a bit rough, with a wry smile on his face.

A few of the Sun staff also would show up looking worse for wear on some mornings. But it had nothing to do with news gathering.

Alas, I digress.

“There was bad fire out in Kemnay overnight,” Dirk would say, or, “I was already at that crime scene in the east end.”

He would then sit down at the photo department’s old Remington, cigarette dangling from his lips, to type out a lengthy caption or maybe a story on what happened.

A photographer getting a byline? Unheard of at the time.

Dirk had many, many friends all over Westman, and deep sources in the official places that mattered.

When I arrived in Brandon at the age of 23 in 1983 from downtown Toronto, I was steeped in paparazzi-ism, having just interned for almost a year at the Toronto Sun.

Dirk had been running the show for decades as the pre-eminent photojournalist in western Manitoba.

He used basic gear — a mechanical winding Nikon with a 50mm lens was his favourite — but had an unmistakable ability to be in the right place at the right time.

Unless it was a Westman Scenic day. Then he would create his own opportunity.

He taught me how to better interact with the people who kept the agricultural region ticking. Chill out, let the reporter break the ice with the understandably leery farmers and don’t show up looking like a war photographer.

Back in the Sungeon’s darkroom, I was as big of a narcissistic jerk as anyone could possibly be.

Dirk and managing editor Paul Drohan — who had interviewed me for the job in the Toronto Sun’s cafeteria — did what they could with carrots, but also needed a couple of substantial sticks to keep me employed.

Dirk remained nonplussed. He had seen dozens of newsroom staff start their careers at The Brandon Sun and did sit me down a few times to explain what working in the business entailed — not about the gear, but about the ethics, emotions and sensitivities required to be truly successful.

Dirk was a classic piece of Canadiana. Or, Westmaniana. Just a very good man.

Hearing of Dirk’s passing brought back a flood of memories. All of them good.

Peaceful rest, Dirk.

» James O’Connor worked at the Brandon Sun from 1983 to 1988 and later returned to be managing editor from 2004 to 2014. He now works at CKLB 101.9 FM, an Indigenous radio station based in Yellowknife, serving the Northwest Territories.