Book Preview: The Shot I Never Got

One of the many memorable stops of the Cannonball Run—North Carolina Highway Patrol. An officer stepped forward and asked, “Mind if I say a prayer?” Heads bowed. Arms linked. Silence fell. If you look closely, you’ll spot me in the back—camera up, heart full—capturing a moment I’ll never forget.

Sometimes the biggest moment in your film is the one you never get to capture. And it haunts you.

The Cannonball Memorial Run is a cross-country tribute—part road rally, part rolling vigil. Officers travel from agency to agency, honoring those killed in the line of duty with handmade plaques and department patches. The journey ends in Washington, D.C., where those patches are handed off to the U.S. Attorney General.

That’s where I came in.

I was there to document the entire trip—nearly 3,000+ miles across the country. Ten cops. Three vehicles. Countless stories. Each stop mattered. Some were quiet and intimate. Others came with full motorcades and aerial escorts. My job was to thread it all together.

And then came D.C.

The final stop. The moment. The patch handoff. The culmination of everything.

I was ready.

But when we reached the Department of Justice, I was told I couldn’t film. No room for negotiation. A dismissive wave. A quiet apology from the security detail. My camera stayed down, and I watched helplessly as someone else’s lens captured what I couldn’t.

I stood there, angry. Exhausted. Watching another photographer document the very moment I’d chased across the country. And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

I smiled politely, shook hands with the Attorney General, and tried not to let it show. But in the group photo we took afterward, you can see it plain as day—I wasn’t okay.

This is just one story from The Story Comes First—my latest book about filmmaking, failure, resilience, and why the story always matters more than the shot.

You can grab your print copy on Amazon or Barnes & Noble, or digitally on Apple Books.

If you would like more information about Cannonball Memorial, they have since changed their name to the Valor Legacy Project.

Outside the conference room at the Department of Justice—camera in hand, nerves in check. I wasn’t allowed to film the meeting with Attorney General William Barr. But I was allowed to capture useless shots of an empty hallway. Sgt. Grant Ward snapped this shot for me.

Moments before we took off on a 3,000-mile journey across the country for the Cannonball Memorial Run. Eight states. Dozens of cities. No second chances. We filmed from moving vehicles, roadside tributes, and hotel parking lots—honoring fallen officers with every stop. I planned for everything. Except the shot I never got.