When I was a photographer for the DTH and Yackety Yack at UNC, this little old man would be packed in with the other photographers at every home basketball game. The leisurely way he shot made clear he wasn’t working for a news organization. In the media room everyone knew him and the best photographers treated him with respect, if not deference. But he never threw his weight around, like some big donors and even media members did. He was kind and courteous to everyone, even us lowly students.
It was, of course, Hugh Morton, and when I read about his passing I immediately thought of the kindly old man with the camera who always made sure he stayed out of the way of the photographers who were getting paid to be there.
Morton often would sit on the side of the court, not on the baseline, which is the best vantage point for under-the-basket action. I sometimes felt sorry for him over there, thinking maybe he was just trying to stay out of the way of everyone else. Then I saw the now famous shot he got of Jerry Stackhouse sailing to the basket all alone, and I was no longer sympathetic, I was jealous. Morton had a great eye, and even in his 70s he had enough quickness to snap better action shots than photographers half a century younger. His photo archive, which he donated to UNC, is probably one of the greatest gifts the university has received.
I spent a good bit of my childhood on or around Grandfather Mountain. I can still remember the sense of accomplishment I got from crossing the swinging bridge for the first time when I was a little boy. I remember walking the decks of the U.S.S. North Carolina, which helped spark my interest in history. Reading the stories about Hugh Morton’s life, it was astounding to realize how much of my own life he’d indirectly influenced. North Carolina would be a lesser place had ne never lived.
