By Marie D. De Jesús
NPPA President
June 28, 2022 - It is in times of great loss and grief that we reflect on our legacies and how we want to be remembered: For our photos? For the contributions we made, or didn’t make, to the National Press Photographers Association? For me, the answer is now clear. I want to be remembered the same way I remember Steve Gonzales: as a kind and radically empathetic person. It goes without saying that he was a brilliant photographer, mentor to many journalists and a beloved member of the Houston Chronicle and the NPPA. So if I follow even half of Steve’s blueprint, I’ll be walking on solid ground.
About nine years ago, I received a call from Steve, affectionately known as “Gonzo,” while on assignment at the Eastman Business Park in Rochester, New York. Security guards were encircling me as the phone rang, demanding I stop taking photos of the facility’s exterior. If it had been anyone other than Steve calling me at that moment, I would have deferred that person to voicemail.
But Steve was the Houston Chronicle’s director of photography and a longtime NPPA member. When he called, you picked up the phone. I asked him to excuse me for a brief moment while I made my Fourth Estate case to the overzealous guards, and he listened while I calmed them down. Apparently, Steve was impressed. By the end of our conversation, flights were arranged for me to travel to Houston to interview for the job. From the beginning, he was one of my biggest advocates.
So when Chronicle Photo and Assignment Editor Jill Karnicki called Saturday morning to inform me Steve passed away, my mind drifted back to the Kodak assignment and the first time I heard my jefe’s friendly voice on the phone.
Steve, 60, battled cancer for several years, but throughout the journey, his spirits, attitude and faith remained strong. His strength allowed everyone around him to remain positive as well, even when we witnessed the intensity of the medical treatments, surgeries and frequent trips to MD Anderson Cancer Center. He always seemed to recuperate and come back to work. He’d strap his camera gear on and eagerly venture out to assignments in Houston.
We knew he was determined to live, at least to see all his children graduate from high school. Miguel Gonzales, his youngest and one of five, gave his father this gift last month, when he walked across the stage and accepted his high school diploma.
Steve grew up in Topeka, Kansas, one of three children born into a Latino family. He started his career as a photojournalist at the Topeka Capital-Journal in 1979. But he soon left the Capital-Journal to become assistant managing editor for photography at The Kansas City Star, previously known as the Kansas City Times. He was always looking to go where he could have the most impact and contribute the most value to his team, especially when it meant advocating for fellow Latino photojournalists. Even in 2005, there still weren’t that many of us.
The Houston Chronicle hired him as director of photography in 2005, and he continued diversifying spaces. When few newspaper managers were giving opportunities to Latino still photographers, he was not only hiring us, but preparing us for long, meaningful careers. Today, those same photojournalists are now some of the most influential voices in the still photo world. They’ve been nominated for prestigious journalism awards; lead and contribute to major professional journalism and photography associations; and continue to contribute valuable, diverse perspectives to critical local and national news coverage.
The same day Steve passed away, two of his former mentees, Associated Press photographers Marcio Sanchez and Julio Cortez, were in New York accepting the Pulitzer Prize for Breaking News Photography. Without Steve’s mentorship, they and many others would never have received their first big shot. That’s what he did. He opened doors for others so they could come in and completely remodel the space.
I am so very pleased he was able to witness me, one of his professional hires, become president of NPPA, the first Latina in the association’s history to hold the title. I hope it made him proud, because I held his opinion high.
Steve was the kind of boss who, when his team needed support, he went the extra mile. Like when Jill was undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer and was losing her hair, he arranged to have a barber come to the office for what Jill described as a “head-shaving party.” Steve and other members of the photo department shaved their heads bald. Jill remembers that what could have been a traumatic experience Steve turned into a party. He became her “wingman.” That’s what leaders do.
During the unexpected Memorial Day floods in 2015, Karen Warren, a Houston Chronicle staff photographer, was heading home after covering a Rockets playoff game when her vehicle was suddenly trapped in high waters. Seeing the water rising inside her vehicle, Karen called Steve at 2 a.m., and he talked her through the crisis. He advised her to use her monopod to break her window and to feel for uncovered manholes as she waded through high waters to a nearby home.
In 2015 after more than a couple of decades behind a desk, Steve traded his tie and title for cargo pants and camera gear and returned to his love of being a photojournalist. In this role, away from management, is where we became friends.
It was entertaining to see him shopping for new photo accessories as he transitioned back to the field. Like a child on Christmas morning, he found boundless joy in fancy camera straps, rain covers and flash modifiers. He even carried a Captain America action figure he would photograph in the different locations he was assigned to report from, just for the fun of it.
Steve was a brilliant photographer, but an even better human. He documented Houston with empathy and accuracy, but his work also showed the quirky side of Houston that few take the time to notice and celebrate. He was always a delight, and similarly kind to everyone, whether he knew you well or just met you on the street. The same warmth he had for his colleagues, he had for people he photographed. People felt safe around him and his camera.
As the news of his passing spread, I began receiving text messages conveying support.
“Steve was a gem, he believed in me,” wrote Shaminder Dulai, NPPA board member. “Steve was a key player in getting me the Hearst Fellowship – rarely given to photojournalists. Steve advocated for me.”
As these notes poured in, it was even more clear he was not only a gem, but he made it his life purpose to believe in others — to support their careers, to make others feel empowered to be better, achieve more and support one another in and out of the office.
Steve taught us many life lessons, but among them is this: Sometimes being an effective boss, mentor or friend doesn’t mean performing grand gestures or coming in and saving the day with perfect advice, instruction and know-how. It means being present, engaged, paying attention to the little details and caring what they are. It means showing confidence in your people’s abilities, sharing your knowledge when they need and ask for it, and offering it kindly when they don’t. It means embracing your team’s independence and providing independence to be creative and fail if necessary. It means not forcing any one of them to perform all tasks exactly as you may have done. It means seeing your team as human beings with real lives, unique personalities with unique goals. It means fostering a team environment where people know they can lean on one another, and don’t ever question whether that team will be there for them.
In the end, it is not any one of his spectacular photos or the many professional accolades that I’ll treasure most. It’s his kindness, his joyful constitution, his superhero strength. I’m convinced he used this superpower to will his body to live, so he could be near his family one more day. One more day.
I see his legacy as a treasure, a gift to the field of photojournalism. He made this world, his people, his office, better and more beautiful. And that’s not something I or he or anyone else could ever capture in a photo.
His gift was that he saw us. He heard us. And he trained us how to see and how to hear others.
That’s your legacy, my friend. Thank you for everything.
Marie D. De Jesús is the first Latina president of the NPPA. From Arecibo, Puerto Rico, she is a staff photographer at the Houston Chronicle. Follow her on Twitter at @mariedennise where she comments about life as a Latinx photographer, and about Houston’s awful drivers. She has been an NPPA member since 2007.
