All Things Must Pass...

When the Lovelight Starts Shining Through His Eyes..

A tumult of a year.My late friend, Marit, said that I have legs like tree trunks and they keep me grounded. Last week, I asked myself, "What next, my house burns down?" The antidote lies in music. "You can't resist it, when it happens to you." Lyle Lovett.

Populism vs. Pop Culture

Humphrey Bogart seems to have disappeared. As a matter of fact, all of the icons of that time frame seemed to have fallen out of the adoring public’s eye. James Dean, Judy Garland, Marilyn Monroe, Jackie K don’t garner headlines or memorabilia sales as they once did. The only one that seems left from that bunch is Elvis and he appears to be slip sliding back into the flower arrangements at Graceland. Is this because everybody that had cherished this crew has passed on or just passed on memorabilia? Or, probably closer to the answer, nobody cares about memorabilia in this day of disposable icons? A Bogie autograph can command up to 10Ks, something that I found on Ebay, with 2 or 3Ks being the norm. A Sheryl Crow will set you back $40 or as Groucho said, for another buck and a half, you could get Minnie.

Culture seemed to evolve around the time of the cave paintings. The Hoi Polloi existed as a Greek form of derision, made popular here in the USA by the Three Stooges as a title for a 1935 film short. Pop culture seemed to spring forward at the time Warhol did and was applied to things both forward and backward in time. Roosevelt’s dog, Fella, was pop culture, FDR was not. Elmer Fudd was, Huckleberry Hound was not.

Sweetest Little Rosebud....

There is always that nice symetry that baseball has which goes far beyond the actual design of the diamond. THe American League trophy was presented to Nolan Ryan last night by jackie Autry, whose husband owned the California Angels. of course, in addition to being a baseball owner, Gene Autrey was known as the "Singing Cowboy." He recorded "That Silver Haired Daddy of Mine," "Frosty the Snowman, "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and "The Yellow Rose of Texas." His money from his recordings gave him the do-re-mi to buy the Angels. Nolan Ryan's money came from a golden right arm and integrity. I was glad that the playoffs didn't become a "Win One For George-fest." Besides, they didn't.

Ben Mondor 1925-2010

My photographs have wound up in a lot of places. Books, galleries, museums, refrigerator magnets, kids rooms....My favorite location is the wall of Ben Mondor's office. When I was kicking and struggling to get back on my feet, the PawSox gave me a chance. I took it and ran with it but the crowning glory was to walk into Ben's office and see five of my photos framed and taking up an entire wall of his office. I had many conversations with him over the years. Sometimes seeing the twinkle in his eyes was enough and spoke innings of knowledge. He liked me and my work. I saw him for the last time about three weeks ago, sitting in his box and he flashed that smile. He did much for many.

Fame is great.....

I'm shakin' it, Boss. My comments on all of this are overdue. I pity the fool when I do finish them...

Nowhere to Run

That day, I was in the sub-basement of a university art art museum was a likely next target, forced the real ground zero workers there, custodians, operations museum, helping a phone guy do what he does - install telephones. The word trickled down from a security guard, a kid of maybe twenty years old. "There had been an explosion at the World Trade Towers in New York." Fair enough, cars blowing up around major buildings were not quite commonplace but self contained incidents, the most heinous being the 168 deaths at a Federal Building in Oklahoma City at the hands of Timothy McVeigh in 1995. As American tragedies pile up, a sense of sorrow but also a hardening of my spirit has crept over me. BANG! JFK! BANG MLK Jr. BANG! RFK. More news trickled from our guard wearing an uniform and pimples. The phone guy, my age and a vet of Vietnam decided he was going to dye his hair and reenlist to go after the criminals responsible for this deed. American tempers flared, Americans perished and there were new boogey-men. The entire university was dismissed at noon. The whatever his title was that week, "Most Cruel to Those He Deemed Inferior to Him" will suffice, decided that the ground zero workers at the small art museum - custodians, operations people should say in case, after the WTC attacks, a Picasso was next. I complied for an hour or so but decided to walk out. Mr. Prissy was long gone and he was no different than I. If after the attack, bathrooms at the museum weren't clean, well, I am sure that somehow, someway, America would forgive.

A Minor Key

Constantly changing marketing devices to keep attracting the same dempgraphic group has its challenges. As a given set of people, in this case, fans, grow older, younger ones arrive to fill the vacancies. What would intice people to come to a ballpark 20 or even 10 years ago, no longer sells. McCoy Stadium in Pawtucket was my training ground, my stint in the minors, as it turned out to be. it was quiet, rustic, worn around the edges and condusive to making lifelong friendships.When the new ADA standards and mimimum number of seat requirements , mandated by MILB, were set, the park got a major facelift and renovation. Still, I my voracious appetite for the American experience could still be fed and I shot probably 30-40 games a year there.Things change and I accept that, better than most. Dimples turn to wrinkles and off you go. I went to mcCoy last night to help a buddy with his book and just enjoy the game with my pal, Betsy. An HD scoreboard and a cacophony of noise are the norm now. The place was packed, everyone was in bliss. ice cream was still sold in little plastic helmets. yes, even crazy vanilla, Lulu!

Oink!

I have attempted to get permission to use this from the Birmingham News photographer but I have not heard back. Not only am I one of the few still shooting film anymore, I am probably one of the only ones that cares about violating copyrights.

Only 41....

Well, Rickwood opened only 41 years before I hit the ground running...A three day tour of the city I now truly consider my second home. Lunch with Lesley Bruinton, PR Director at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute, a woman on top of her game for sure. A nice chat with Ahmed Ward, the curator of the same fine institution. Dinner with my great photographer pal, Moesia Davis...lunch the next day with Lamar Smith and David Brewer, Friends of Rickwood, then shooting the 100th anniversary events at Rickwood, a spectacular event and dinner at "The Fish Market" with my Rickwood pals and a smattering of wives. Thursday, a tour of the exhibit about Rickwood at the Vulcan Museum and a tour of the Birmingham Public Library. Then lunch with Lamar and David again, this time at the beloved "Rib-It-Up." A plane, then back to Cambridge.
"This is my country. These are my people.And I know them like the back of my own hand." Randy Newman

Clouds above me in a Birmingham sky.

But it is 7AM and the 100th anniversary celebration at Rickwood Field doesn't start until 3PM. A lot can happen between now in then, in the sky and on the ground. My friend, Bill Robertson remarked that I was the only guy that he knew that would get on an airplane to go and watch a baseball game. Yesterday, I did that to watch a celebration of a baseball field happening today. I don't get wistful or nostalgic but events occur in my mind on a time line..that I can move on and off from like a moving staircase at an airport.Today, I will linger in the 1910 area a bit more than usual and stop, camera in hand, at 1948 and think about a photographer that I knew.

Third Acts....

Tuesday, I will head to Birmingham for the third time this summer. Wednesday, August 18th will be the actual one hundredth anniversary of the nation's (world's, too, I guess) oldest baseball park, the often written about, Rickwood Field. Chamber of Commerce, book signings, dignitaries and a recreation of the 1910 game are promised. I was ambivalent about going but Dixie tugged the camera strap once again. Imagine! Real film being shot on a real ballfield by a real photographer! What an archaic concept!

The Great I Am...

"and now, here's something you'll really like." Rocket J. Squirrel

My friend Amy is a good photographer. She has adopted a wonderful boy, Eric, which involved traveling to Vietnam and back. The whole experience, as well as Eric's many hijinks since, have been captured in a loving way by Amy and she recently assembled a couple of Blurb books...or Shutterbug...or one of those myriad companies that dot the photo landscape. The books are remarkable.. I am not particularly fond of portraits of me...I was in art school but outgrew it. This a nice one, however. (Listen up, new photographers, you will out grow self and not so self portaits,too! If not, you will be a Nan Goldin-like footnote to photography.) There is only so much room in your belly button.

Listen Up, America

Monday, August 9th, 2010 marks the second anniversary of Bernie Mac's death. he is a favorite of mine as his grasp of the gentle and the profane is something I have a command of as well. His movies were made to reach a certain demographic and they did with varying amounts of success. His TV show ricocheted across time slots and was hard to keep track of but I found myself staying home to watch it. When he left the air, it was about the same time that I gave up watching TV shows altogether. I found the show laugh out loud funny and I don't laugh out loud at many things. I laugh inside quite a bit..but a finely tuned guffaw rarely gets heard.

While dressing to attend the wake of my dear friend, Ernest Withers, I found Bernie on Memphis TV and sat in my underwear and watched it.On my last trip to Memphis, I discovered the show was on three times a day. Recently, I was waiting to be interviewed by local TV stations in Birmingham and placed in a "ready" room of sorts. I started flipping channels and yes....there he was. I miss the Mac man...

Your Baby Doesn't Love You Anymore...

You won't be chasing rainbows, after all. A pal said that I would be the last photographer standing. I am now not so sure. I couldn't get batteries for my Canon EOS cameras. (Film, that is...) Fair enough. I did eventually find some. Then came the blow that knocked the wind out of me...color print film is no longer being made, or if it is, it is of weenie quality. Then while I am struggling to maintain my balance, the little camera store I have entrusted with developing my film and making scans. Ta Ta....Mom and Pop went Mom and Pap Smear. Stay tuned.....a real cliffhanger but having come back twice from the brink of real death....hey, wasn't that a Kodak slogan..Kodak brings good things to life.....