Photography Thinks
My Father died on Father’s day June 16, 1963. I was 7 when we learned he was sick and 15 when he died. Hard to celebrate and difficult to discuss.
He died before he was supposed to, only 54. He wouldn’t talk to me about it, except to say he was dying from Leukemia. That’s the way it was in 1963.
I lit a yahrzeit candle for him. I know no one else did. The family had long since stopped being a family. So it goes. So it goes.
Never know, do ya?
No sure where he parks his ship. Met him on the street, by chance. Keeping my eyes open. Never saw him again. Have just discovered the photo. Remember taking it, like it was the only photo I ever shot.
David Duncan Douglas died at 102. War photogs don’t usually live that long. I won’t either. But I hope, in the few years I have left, to make more humanistic photos and become acquainted with more artists who will let me see them work. At least I have something to take my mind off of dying.
This is an old friend, Geebbo Church, noted artist and educator.
So, Oliver killed Komar and I lost my career and almost everything else. Sharon turned to me as we hugged under the covers, reporters gathered under our windows keeping me locked in my home, “…, you aren’t going to hurt yourself, are you?” No one else cared enough to ask.
Many probably wanted me to. People even wanted to kill me. Now, I don’t have anything I can do about not dying, except to live to experience it. But, I still choose life and will as long as Sharon keeps loving me.
Poor Spade and Bourdain. How lost and alone, even though they seemed to have anything they could have wanted – fame, fortune, funds. Goblins got them. No one wanted to be with them where they were, depressed and despondent. Their families and friends deserve comfort, for sure, but where were they? Had their own lives to worry about, I guess.
So, I have gotten bad news before: death of my father, jobs, an ex-wife, family, friends. Nothing hit me quite like, “you have cancer.” Then came, “…, and we have a pill that works.” We waited and saw for a few months, not as long as I had hoped and started treatment. 7 days of this chemo. Just don’t know how I feel.
Bruce Kison died at 68. I got a few more years than he. He pitched in relief in the 1971 World Series, one that heralded the end of day baseball in the Fall Classic. He left the game for a pitch hitter who drove in the winning run and therefore earned a win while not doing much more than holding the Orioles from scoring for 6 innings. He got an obit in the NYT with two pictures. Baseball stats don’t lie.
