Tag: social justice
So Chief’s off the street. He has a home, cozy place on a nice street. Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and a room for clothes and his guitar. Now, he just has to learn how to live the way the rest of us do, taking care of business. Success in life starts with a place to live. Then health, wealth and happiness can follow. And wealth, that just means having enough.
So, the biker remembers to bring his lock. He secures the bike. The thief, the bicycle thief, needs something to sell. Cheap bike. Cheap tires. So, he takes the seat. Wonder what he did with it?
So, the biker remembers to bring his lock. He secures the front wheel. The thief, the bicycle thief, needs a bike, He can buy a wheel if he wants to ride or sell the bike to someone who will. Biker’s day at the beach ruined; he also needs a new bike.
Free Angela was a cry from my day. Hunted because of her connections to the civil rights movement and the Black Panthers, this crusader for the rights of blacks and women has reemerged as the subject of a documentary, “Free Angela and All Political Prisoners.” Without going into the details, she was charged with the kidnapping and murder/kidnapping of a judge, a prosecutor and a juror. Arrested after appearing on the FBI’s 10 most wanted list, she was put in segregation.Unable to make bail, she sat in jail for 18 months. A nationwide movement to Free Angela saw people wearing buttons and carrying signs, demonstrating to protest her incarceration. She became a symbol for people being held as political prisoners. Acquitted after trial, she taught college, wrote books (Are Prisons Obsolete) and, at present, leads a movement to end the prison industrial complex.
Not in a position to go one way or the other with Cornbread, because all I know is what I read in the papers. Had a client once who contended he, too, was a political prisoner. Didn’t see the connection between either of them and Angela Davis. Only took $100,00 to free her. He is held on $5,000 which should not be too hard to come up with, if they can make the same case for him they made for her. He was supposedly an outspoken rapper, whose notoriety and presence on the UVM campus could have made him a target. I was just surprised to see this poster on a column near the fishing pier. Not a heavily trafficked place where you’d expect a movement to start or meet. If it is just about being a crack dealer, a charge he denies, then he is a political prisoner for sure.
Don’t usually shoot people wearing hats. Got my friend McQuade to hold the reflector. Never shot Bernard. My shoot loosener fell flat. “Not a good day for the Yankees. Old. Injured. And they lost.” “I don’t follow baseball,” he said.
Tough to work alone. When one of my guys finds the light, it makes them smile. All my photos become a bigger collaboration with the people I shoot.
Chad sporting a Prince Valliant look.
Scotty has his pouch.
Amy received a certificate for attending a Peer Emotional Counselling Program.
New girl in town.
Redemption. We seek redemption for different reasons. Larry promotes a clean environment, relying on the arrogance of those who cast their containers aside after binging on the beach. He lives to drink another day, clearing the beach and adjoining land of debris. We get to enjoy the view.
So, I represented Eric light years ago in Rutland. Must have called him in jail, when public defenders didn’t deign to do such things, except for the privileged few. He asked something and someone answered something. From then on he has referred to me as Mrs. Duckman.
Dennis died April 2 at the age of 54. He didn’t look it, as people say, but what does that mean? What does a person’s years have to do with how they look? People look like they look. We all see people differently based on our experience. If we have seen someone, an aging relative or friend, who looks haggard or tired, we may assume that all at this age will look the same. If the person shows energy and promise, we might make more positive deductions. But they mean nothing. The people whom we observe leave an individual faceprint. The better the shot, the more we see. If we listen, a little, the more we learn about the person, not necessarily about life as it applies to all who have been born who have or will wander into our lives.
Our man, Dennis, here, looks strong and weak. He’s tired of the bullshit life put in his path and on top of whatever he needs to do to avoid it. See the wrinkles under the eyes, the deep routes in his forehead, the downward tilt to his lips. He’s wearing a raincoat on a sunny day and a wool cap on a not so cold one. Colored like the flag, he looks like he dressed for the walk, albeit inappropriately. He didn’t. Not a lot of patience to stand still, but he did. I gave him a dollar. Dave Parker gave him a dollar that I had given to him earlier.
People mourned him.
Just one way out of the Courthouse. Always a good day when you can leave through a front door. The rest of life’s problems could be simple, but they are not.
Amanda’s carrying the burden of her father’s sickness and trying to stay clean and sober. She looks great and sounds positive.
Larkin has a place and a relationship. Both need furnishing and care. He’s got a good heart.
Molly has programs to attend and needs teeth. She is so happy to have her life back, too. Larkin protected her when they lived in the woods.
Brian says he spent time in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. He’s out. Now, he needs a life. Hasn’t gotten help. He’s not sure he needs it. Who knows.
Karl would be lost without the street. “Hey Duck, take this photo.” Never saw the people before. Young woman is a poet. She recited a poem she made up. He cut her off. Ending his physical therapy for hip repair. Has to get around with a chair. Vision going. How long he stays in his apartment is up in the air. Asked me if I knew of a place to live. Me? Why would anyone ask me about a place to live? People all jive him, without knowing what goes on. They play him, not taking the time to look beneath the shell. He acts like he’s Donald Trump, firing people. From what job? Who knows? Lives in another world, one where poets live. He will be more lost without a place to live. I told him to go to the hearing, deal with the bullshit and keep his apartment. Always have to show up. And it may mean missing a day on the streets. He’s got a pad full of problems and poems.
Not seeing well, but clear headed, now, Scotty needed his stick. He doesn’t see, well. He has social skills, but limited physical ones. People take advantage of him; stealing his money, getting him drunk, not listening to his needs. He thought that someone had stolen his stick, because he gets special treatment.
So. when I attempted to shoot him, he resisted. “Haven’t you taken enough pictures of me?” No. “I have to find my stick. Where’s City Hall? I might have left it in the bathroom.” We walked. We talked. I had to hold him. He stumbled. Not a photo shoot.
He remembered, with help from Matt Young, that he may have left it in the bathroom at City Hall, but he wasn’t sure. Had to stop at the bathroom, where e inquired of a guy taking a shit, by peeking over the divider. Not shocked, the shitter said, “not here” We went to the Office of the City Attorney, a stop I needed to set up an appointment with Richard Haessler. He’s not there. Scotty is getting shakey. Well dressed people in the hall, black and briefcases, looked away from us, more interested in their pitch to whomever in City Government they needed to reach. Again, not pictures. Only Scotty, Not sure why?
But we found his stick.