George Lane made me cry on my first day of work at the Independent Record 16 years ago, when he refused to take a photo to go with a story I wrote.

Outwardly, George is a curmudgeon, a big guy with a booming voice, a goatee, and deep-set, steel-blue eyes. He intimidated the hell out of me, and I was crushed. Was this life at the IR?

It took only seconds, as I fought back tears, for the inner George to emerge, the George Lane who always has a kind word for the scrawniest high school athlete, the George Lane who quietly cares for an ill neighbor, the George Lane who can be as brusque as a buffalo yet softer than a baby's behind, steady as a stone when times get tough.

George is the guy who spontaneously dropped his thousand-dollar camera and lens in the bushes below Canyon Ferry Dam to jump in the Missouri River and rescue a bald eagle with a broken wing.

George is the guy who drove with rookie reporter Laura Tode into the mouth of the Maudlow/Toston fire in 2000, before being chased out by flames.

George is the guy who always addresses former Gov. Judy Martz "Hey, trouble," and for decades made legislators sit up straighter when he entered the room.

And next week, after 30 years of shooting photographs at the Independent Record, George is hanging up his lenses and will "just" be the loving husband of Debbie, the father of two, the grandfather of six, the biker guy in leathers, and the gentleman rancher who's a wiz on the mandolin.

He'll also be a man missed by many.

"George is one of the most thoughtful, dedicated and professional news photographers I've ever had the pleasure of knowing," said Sen. Max Baucus, whose congressional career began around the same time as Lane's tenure at the IR. "From football games to political rallies to parades, George's distinct belly laugh, good nature and remarkable nose for news are a fixture in the Queen City. If news is happening, George and his camera are there.

"He has served the readers of the Independent Record well and I hope now he finally has time to perfect his fishing technique."

George grew up in El Segundo, Calif., the baby of the family with two older sisters. His dad was a mechanic and his mom worked in the school lunchroom.

He recalls a childhood of playing outside until dark and never worrying about locking the doors. He took up surfing in 1960 when he was 9 years old; it took both he and a buddy to carry his 11-foot-10-inch, 30-pound board to the beach.

He met his wife, Debbie, at a party in the summer of '69.

"I had gone to Europe for 11 weeks, and when I got back we threw ourselves a welcome-home party," he said. "She came with a kid I knew from school. We just started talking and I ended up taking her home."

They'll celebrate their 38th anniversary on Aug. 1.

Once their two children were born, the Lanes moved to Montana, where Deb had relatives. George had a job lined up with Mountain Bell, but in the 36 hours it took them to drive from California to Montana, the company had instituted a hiring freeze. George ended up stocking shelves at night at Safeway.

He heard about a job for a darkroom technician at the Independent Record, and even though he didn't know anything about photography, he applied and was hired by Gordon Warren, who was the Sunday editor at the time.

"I showed Gordon some photos from my Hawaii vacation," George said, laughing at his lack of experience.

Mike Voller was the head editor, Dave Shors was the lifetime editor, and Gene Fischer was the head photographer when George was hired. Newspapers were only using black-and-white film, which photographers would buy in bulk and load into canisters themselves. They'd develop film in a darkroom, then help out with layout and paste-up of the newspaper.

One of the favorite George stories for longtime IR insiders involved the annual St. Patrick's Day picture, which often was shot at O'Toole's bar downtown.

"I had told him that if you shoot from behind the bar, you'll get the shot you need," Fischer said. "Now, you have to remember that George isn't a drinker."

But the bartender wouldn't let him behind the bar unless George had a shot and a beer -- or two, or three.

"George comes back and is swacked!" Fischer says, laughing heartily. "He says 'I don't feel too good' and asked if I would call Debbie to come get him and if I would develop the film. Then he went out the back door and puked his guts out.

"Deb loads him into the car and he barfs again near Memorial Pool. Every one of his pictures was out of focus. When George came back, Voller told him he would never shoot another St. Patrick's Day photo."

Other shots George took are more sobering. He vividly recalls the early morning telephone call in 1988 sending him to the plane crash of Secretary of State Jim Waltermire near East Helena. At the time, Waltermire was running for governor.

"As the sun came up, I could see half an engine sticking out of the ground ..." George says quietly, then describes finding an upper torso. "At that time, I didn't know whose plane crash it was. Then I found a wallet and flipped it open. There was Jim Waltermire's license, with a big splotch of blood on his face.

"That pretty much freaked me out. I think I've covered more tragedies than any person in his life should have to see."

Those devastating moments forced George to use his camera as a way to separate himself from the scenes he shot. He vowed to always accurately portray life, death and everything in between to the public, but with tenderness and discretion.

Martz appreciated that trait.

"You never had to have your guard up with George, unlike with some other people," she said. "He is a class act. He's not intrusive and very considerate of people and of the event.

"And if I can get the last word in -- he truly was the trouble maker between the two of us."

What George really enjoyed shooting were people. He started out with sports, and eventually the Legislature became his bailiwick.

"He got some shots of the Legislature at its proud moments, and not-so-proud moments," said longtime legislator Hal Harper, who is now Gov. Brian Schweitzer's chief policy adviser. "George knew the individuals and their politics, and quite a bit about their issues. He brought a different dimension to the photography at the IR.

"Sometimes nothing would snap a legislative committee meeting to attention more quickly and completely than George Lane showing up with his camera."

Schweitzer is the seventh governor George "shot." He's also "gone through" seven or eight publishers, four editors, four senators, one Unabomber and dozens of reporters. Yet of his thousands of people pictures, the most exciting portrait was of activist Abbie Hoffman, who spoke at Carroll College after years of being a fugitive from the law. George says he enjoyed meeting folk singer Joan Baez too, but it was Bishop Desmond Tutu who touched his heart.

"I got the greatest photo of him before he went into the Montana Club, shaking hands with a little boy," George said. "He was just such a nice man.

"But even though I've met many famous people, so few impressed me. The average person in town is much more enjoyable to talk to and photograph."

That kind of attitude caused George to become an ambassador for the newspaper, a kind of celebrity on his own even though he could be temperamental at times, notes Shors, his former boss. He adds that in small newspaper markets like Helena's, the public didn't need reporters to tell them the news; it often sufficed with a single, stand-alone image taken by people like George and other IR photographers.

"George is a man of many talents," Shors said. "And for those of us who worked with him on a daily basis, we'll always miss his generous heart and his willingness to stretch himself and share his talents."

Those comments are echoed by current IR Editor John Doran and Publisher Pat Schlauch, who noted that George is an institution who will be hard to replace.

"He has captured the moments of our community in photos that include people, events and scenery that becomes our history and his legacy," Schlauch said.

George is leaving the news business, he said, because he feels like a product of a previous era, and as the newspaper moves into the multimedia arena, it's not where he wants to go. George likes to participate in reporting in a way not allowed with video cameras. He doesn't want every word or nuance recorded; he likes to interact with his subjects, to get them comfortable enough to let down their guard so he can capture the essence in a frame, in a single snapshot full of 1,000 words.

But don't think he's bitter about leaving. He's excited that a new set of eyes will be seeing and recording what was his realm for 30 years.

"The business is a little more aggressive than it used to be, and I'm not an aggressive person," George said. "I don't smoke or drink, so I can't be an old grizzled reporter, just an old photographer who's good at the art of (B.S). This has been an absolute joy, because of all the people I've met.

"But I'm going to hang up the lenses for now. I need to stop awhile to let these old eyes get back into focus."

Come say goodbye

Everyone in the community is invited to George's retirement party Thursday from 5-7 p.m. at the IR press facility, at the corner of Cedar Street and Washington Street.

Reporter Eve Byron: 447-4076 or eve.byron@helenair.com