My first job came right after I turned fifteen: working at KXCR 89.5 FM, “The Heart of El Paso,” a cozy community jazz station in El Paso, Texas. On air, I went by Steve Young, spinning records and soaking in the music. The station also hosted the Latin American News Service, which sparked my early passion for journalism and set me on a path toward storytelling.
When a new program director shook up the format, it was time to move on. Needing work quickly, I landed a spot at The Popular Dry Goods Company, a beloved local department store that had been a cornerstone of El Paso since the early 1900s. Founded by visionary merchant Adolph Schwartz and his family, it grew from humble beginnings into a grand six-story landmark designed in the Chicago School style, complete with white terra-cotta tiling and a sense of timeless elegance. It was the kind of place where generations shopped, full of local pride.
But what truly captured my imagination wasn’t the polished front— it was the back of the building. Those zigzagging fire escapes climbing the weathered brick walls, tangled with pipes and ironwork against the sky, looked straight out of a New York City alley. At fifteen, staring up at that industrial maze, I felt a pull toward something bigger. It whispered of bustling streets, towering buildings, and endless possibility. I carried a photo of that rear view with me everywhere, right alongside one a pen pal from Brooklyn had sent of the real New York skyline. Those two images kept a quiet dream alive: one day, I’d live and work there.
Years later, that dream came true. I made it to New York City and worked as a stringer photojournalist, chasing stories for local newspapers. The city’s electricity coursed through me every day: the constant hum of energy, the rhythm of footsteps on crowded sidewalks, the blend of languages and laughter echoing off the buildings. New York has a unique beat: urgent and alive, like a heartbeat that never slows. Its pulse quickens in the subways, in the steam rising from manholes, in the way strangers connect over a shared hot dog or a street performer’s tune. And the culture? It’s a glorious mix of artists in lofts, jazz spilling from clubs, food from every corner of the world, and that unbreakable spirit of people who’ve come from everywhere to make something of themselves.
Walking those streets with my camera, capturing moments that landed on news pages, felt like the perfect payoff to a teenage daydream sparked by a department store’s back wall in faraway El Paso.
Looking back, I smile at how a simple view of fire escapes could ignite such wanderlust. I’d love to return someday, camera in hand, to feel that electric pulse again and snap a few more shots of the city that still calls to me.
