Ralph Bower: The man behind the lens

The start

Sitting in a cozy armchair by a fireplace, Ralph Bower reminisced about his long career in photography with a big smile. At the age of 90, the award-winning North Vancouver photojournalist still lights up and has lots to say when he shares the stories behind his photos.

Bower worked at the Vancouver Sun for over 40 years, capturing more than 8,000 photos. He values many of the pictures he took, each one holding a special memory and story.

Born and raised in North Vancouver, Bower didn’t plan to become a photographer. He didn’t grow up thinking he would work in journalism, let alone be a photojournalist. His journey began when he became a copyboy at the Vancouver Sun because of his friend, who was also a copyboy. When one of the photographers at the newspaper left the team, Bower was asked to fill the spot. From that point on, he dedicated himself to photography, starting at the Vancouver Sun in 1955 and staying at the paper until his retirement in 1997.

When The Ubyssey visited Bower’s home, he had already laid out his collection of cameras and photo archives in the living room. He couldn’t wait to tell us the stories behind each one of them. Among his collection was the large, square-shaped film camera he used when he first started his career. As he demonstrated how to use it and looked into the viewfinder, we were taken back in time. At that moment, we watched a young Bower walk through Vancouver’s streets, holding his camera and capturing the world around him. His excitement was contagious — every word and gesture shows how much photography means to him.

One 300mm lens he proudly showed us was used to capture a dramatic, award-winning photo of a horrifying situation. He photographed a father dangling his young son out of a third-floor apartment window. “The father was yelling at the crowd and said he’d drop the boy [as he saw my camera],” said Bower.

It was a dangerous situation, especially for the child, and Bower had to act fast. He quickly jumped into a van with a colleague and managed to capture the decisive shot. The boy was eventually rescued by the police, and the photo won Bower an award.

Value and relationships

The value of the photos Bower took lies behind the people and the memories in them.

“I can’t pick one photo to represent my career because I have so many,” Bower said. “I value every picture. I don’t value 8,000, but I did take 8,000, so I do value a lot of them.”

“I feel so lucky to know all these people.”

To him, photography wasn’t just a job — it was a way to connect with people and tell their stories. Among his many friendships, Bower spoke fondly of Pat Quinn, a Canadian ice hockey player and “Canucks boss.” Quinn was the head coach of the Vancouver Canucks from 1991–97. Bower and Quinn’s bond grew stronger over time, shaped by Bower’s work which captured key moments of the team’s journey. Quinn respected Bower’s dedication and the way he portrayed the players and the spirit of the game.

This mutual respect turned into a genuine friendship. Bower recalled a moment when Quinn defended him against a security guard, saying, “This man can go wherever he wants. We want pictures in the paper.” It was clear Quinn appreciated Bower’s contributions and saw him as an integral part of the Canucks’ story.

Hockey had been a big part of Bower’s life before he even picked up the camera. He loved playing hockey, and this passion matched perfectly with the decades he spent photographing the Canucks. Bower said he even got to know every player in the NHL through this work. But his talent goes beyond sports photography. Taking portrait photos is also Bower’s expertise. Throughout his career, he photographed some of the most famous people in the world, including Elvis Presley, Terry Fox and Frank Sinatra.

Bower said his photography of Presley was by chance. At a press conference, a man — who turned out to be Presely’s bodyguard — approached him, offering a photo op.

Bower even made Presley laugh when they met, by saying, “Don’t call me sir — I’m only a year older than you!” after Presley shook his hand and called him “sir.” That small moment of humour and being himself helped break the ice and translated into a more natural photo. Bower’s natural ability to connect with people helped him form relationships with many of his subjects and even became good friends with them.

Who is a true photographer?

For Bower, what matters the most in photography is honesty and being authentic with people. Speaking on portrait photography, Bower said, “If you have the patience and learn to get along ... You’ve got to get along with people. You can’t be quiet and say, ‘Oh,’ and let them do something for you. You got to tell them why and show who you are.”

Bower believes this approach helps people feel at ease and trust photographers, allowing true selves to be captured. For Bower, photography isn’t just about taking pictures, it’s about understanding people. The key is to approach photography subjects as people first, not just as subjects.

Never-ending dream

Although Bower retired at 62, he wasn’t yet ready to put down his camera. Photojournalism had become a part of who he was. Even after retiring, he kept photographing the Canucks and capturing moments that mattered.

After his retirement, Bower took time to save his photos in tapes in his office. He wrote names on each of his tapes to keep track of every one of them and kept them in envelopes for different sections.

It wasn’t as easy as it is with modern digital technologies. Nowadays, we can just upload the pictures that we took onto our computers and type out the captions. But Bower had to spend countless hours carefully organizing and labelling everything by hand in order to preserve his legacy. Even though it was a lot of work, every document and tape is neatly arranged, showing the great care he put into them. His deep familiarity with each piece shows how much he loves his archives and how often he must have looked through them.

Bower’s love for photography goes far beyond its technical aspects. Each story he told brought his photos to life. At 90 years old, his passion burns as brightly as ever. As he talked about his work, his eyes lit up, and he dove into each story as if it happened yesterday.

Meeting Bower was an unforgettable experience. Watching him hold his old cameras, smiling as he shared his stories, it is clear photography isn’t just a job — it’s Bower’s life.