Harry Adams

Harry Adams didn't call himself a photojournalist--had never even thought of the word until someone mentioned it to him. His photographs, which chronicle African American life in Los Angeles over 30 years, represent journalism in its humblest form: community news. Here are long-forgotten receptions, banquets and balls. There are group shots, women posing at garden parties, trophies being held aloft. They are like Adams himself--workmanlike and of-the-moment.

Harry Adams didn't call himself a photojournalist--had never even thought of the word until someone mentioned it to him. His photographs, which chronicle African American life in Los Angeles over 30 years, represent journalism in its humblest form: community news. Here are long-forgotten receptions, banquets and balls. There are group shots, women posing at garden parties, trophies being held aloft. They are like Adams himself--workmanlike and of-the-moment.

Harry Adams didn't call himself a photojournalist--had never even thought of the word until someone mentioned it to him. His photographs, which chronicle African American life in Los Angeles over 30 years, represent journalism in its humblest form: community news. Here are long-forgotten receptions, banquets and balls. There are group shots, women posing at garden parties, trophies being held aloft. They are like Adams himself--workmanlike and of-the-moment.

Harry Adams didn't call himself a photojournalist--had never even thought of the word until someone mentioned it to him. His photographs, which chronicle African American life in Los Angeles over 30 years, represent journalism in its humblest form: community news. Here are long-forgotten receptions, banquets and balls. There are group shots, women posing at garden parties, trophies being held aloft. They are like Adams himself--workmanlike and of-the-moment.

Harry Adams was a preeminent African American community photographer of Los Angeles for nearly three decades, until his death at age 66 in 1985. His first work was as a free-lance news photographer for the California Eagle and the Los Angeles Sentinel. Later, he was better known for his portraits of politicians, entertainers and society figures. According to Libby Clark, longtime food editor at the Sentinel, Adams was known as "One-Shot Harry" for his ability to get it right the first time.

Cal State Northridge officials have taken up the task of cataloging several hundred thousand photographs taken by African American photographer Harry Adams in an effort to preserve this pictorial history of Los Angeles. The university will exhibit Adams' work at the California Afro-American Museum in March. At a brunch Saturday, dozens of his friends, family members and former colleagues will view some of the photographs in an attempt to identify the subjects.

Science-fiction thrillers are like children with a secret: They want to hold off revealing what they know for as long as possible. With "Sphere," that reticence has a reason: The more the movie explains itself, the more ordinary it becomes. As the umpteenth entrant in the We-Are-Not-Alone sweepstakes, "Sphere" feels awfully familiar because it is.

Bart Giamatti, baseball commissioner and president of Yale in 1978-86, was laid to rest Wednesday after a private graveside service attended by his family and close friends. Burial was in the Grove Street Cemetery, traditional burial site for Yale presidents. Entrance to the cemetery was closely guarded during the service, and the gates were locked immediately after the mourners left. At least 50 relatives and friends, including Yale President Benno C. Schmidt Jr.

Harry Adams was a preeminent African American community photographer of Los Angeles for nearly three decades, until his death at age 66 in 1985. His first work was as a free-lance news photographer for the California Eagle and the Los Angeles Sentinel. Later, he was better known for his portraits of politicians, entertainers and society figures. According to Libby Clark, longtime food editor at the Sentinel, Adams was known as "One-Shot Harry" for his ability to get it right the first time.

It was a motoring mystery. Several callers complained of backups in both directions on the San Diego Freeway approaching the Sherman Way exit the other night, said traffic reporter Richard Turnage of KFWB-AM (980). "But," he added, "none of the agencies we monitor for traffic info was reporting any problem. I speculated on-air that there might be police activity or possible road repairs, but didn't really know."

It's getting dark and Bob Oaks, the jazz man of Ocean Beach, is puttering around the cramped living room of his aging oceanfront cottage at the foot of Niagara Avenue. He has spent most of the day cleaning up after the previous night's jam session with a bunch of fellow jazz musicians, and now it's time to relax. He puts an old Lockjaw Davis album on the turntable and plops down into an overstuffed armchair next to the sofa.