Category: photography

Jack Lavery Doesn’t Vote

Jack Lavery defines himself as the “laziest person in Burlington.” He didn’t vote today, because “those bastards promise to do things and then they never do anything.”

 

I voted, because if you don’t vote, the right to vote and the importance of voting will disappear. One incumbant ran. Vince. Don’t know him. Have watched him at City Council Meetings. He looks sincere, sounds sincere, and wants the job. I don’t know if his politics are mine, he is a neighborhood guy, so I voted for him. Don’t have kids. Don’t understand the school budget. Dont’ know what the others running for office do or why they want the job. And, while I don’t want the land ripped apart for energy, how a position letter advances my cause helps the issue escaped me. Did I say I voted?

OZ Supports JUMP in Burlington

Hunger doesn’t know a season. People living on the edge need food all the time, every day. Don’t take it for granted that all the cupboards have been filled. Burlington has a lot of people who could use more food in their cabinets.

Nutrition comes after all the other expenses. What does a place to live cost? How do you get to the store? Car cost. Public transportation takes time and effort. Walk to the neighborhood store to shop and you pay a premium. How about fresh fruits and vegetables? Cannot buy frozen without a freezer. Fast food kills. Suppose you have a disability. Who carries the food or prepares it? Hmm. Given the choice of buying toilet paper, diapers or feminine hygiene products, which do you select with your last dollar? And, some are dealing with other human problems that interfere with clear thinking.

Very complicated, yes! Here’s an easy solution. Don’t give it much thought, unless you want to. Just fill a bag from the supplied list. Someone will deliver it to JUMP and a person who cannot make ends meet will get it. You will receive an easy mitzvah.

Good Shabbos.

 

Burlington Fishing Pier Fogged In

Fog stopped the sun, but not the light, from hitting the pier. The moisture filled my nostrels and dampness coated my forehead. Near the water, two people sat and looked for the lighthouse. I came late to the show. It had crept in and was leaving.

 

Sara and Zaira.

 

The Moran Building looks better when it cannot be seen so clearly. Who knows what it will become.

I left and came back. The sun returned, too, playing tricks with the water and the mountains. Always about the light. No wind. No birds. No boats. No fishermen. I always feel a little guilty when I stand alone at the end of the pier. The city built this whole pier just for me, so I can look at the world, I tell myself. Ever changing. Ever amazing. But I really want my neighbors to see it too. Lake Champlain belongs to all of us. In the summer, it will all be different.

 

Chabad Burlington Celebrates Purim

Rabbi Raskin reads the whole Megilla.

 

A juggler entertained the crowd.

Newlyweds Draizy and Eliahu present to expand the family. They live in Crown Heights. God only knows where they will go.

 

Ruth, a beautiful biblical name and a beautiful woman, attended. She remembered the story. She lives on with the help of her friends. They love her smile. She played the piano during her life, making people hear things they never heard.

Soon to be in Boca. Have roles to play. Know how smart and beautiful they are. Could be Esters, giving of themselves to save the community, but probably will lead in a different way.

 

Eating a humantash. Keeps the tradition alive. Got to eat the food to feel the pride of the story.

Maccabees to the rescue. Not going to let them or anyone interrupt the heritage. You sorta feel the “never again” from these guys.

 

Moms to protect us. Nothing betta than a mom, eh.

 

And Elvis to entertain us.

 

 

 

 

Two Davids


David said the night would be full of fun. What he does for fun, who knows? But, though his life had different reference points than mine, his goals seem the same. If it ain’t fun, why do it? Me. I did many things I didn’t think were fun to go along or get along. He didn’t. Or, if he did, he said, at some time, enough.

This David follows a different path. Always looks unsure of where he is or where he is going. Aimless. Wandering. Sits. Stares. Rocks.

Jerry Foy Needs A Place to Live


Jerry doesn’t have a home. Feels lucky he has a place to stay. “Spoke with HUD; certificates cut back.” I don’t really understand the system, but the so-called cutbacks scheduled for a few days from now cannot mean more housing or social welfare for those unable to care for themselves.

Confined to wheelchair, he parked himself outside a State store. No way to tell what he got from passer bys on their way to buy happy juice. He seemed resigned to doing all he could do to make it.

Bitterly cold out there. He just sat. “You still takin pictures?” I brought my book over to him. Just some recents. “I know him,” he said of Larry’s image, “old-timer.” Knew Karl, the poet, also. Does that mean something I don’t really appreciate? He’s saying that they are making it and so can I.

I see these guys so irregularly. When I do, it makes my day to know they live. Living hand to mouth. I have never done that.

He stays at the shelter on North Street. Looking for a more permanent place which may only give him shelter from the storm. Not ready to ask why he needs it or why no one else has come forward to help. No family. No friends. No social service worker. Wait until it is my turn.

Great eyes, eh!

Larry Is Sitting Still

So, Larry’s friends moved him from the camp during the cold spell. He has a foot problem from his inattention to sores and his inability to change his own clothes. They cleaned him up, raised his spirits and protected him from the elements. Maybe friends overstates the relationships. Hard to tell. The word connotes closeness. Knowing intimate details doesn’t make people close, only vulnerable. But, if you cannot be hurt, then what?

How do these guys qualify as home care attendants? No resumes in this business. You show up for duty, ready to serve. Still gotta live your life, somehow. Mishegas. Oh, how I wish they understood mishegas. I left last night to go to shul for shabbos, Matt said l’chaim. How’d he know? Who cares. I walked into the camp. Saw one of my images on the wall. Not interested, though tears came to my eyes. JFK’s image also hung on the wall.

 

 

Karl Berry Faces Life



So, my friend Karl Berry, the poet, will have hip surgery. He motors around on his scooter, stopping at Starbucks to write a few verses. MS, cataracts, arthritis and who knows what else. In two weeks, he gets his hips done.

He carries a lot in his head, translating it into poems. Writes a little like the beats, Baraka more than Ginsburg. Has a CD out with an image I shot. The pith helmet seems out of place in Burlington. He doesn’t care.

He looks a lot more like Rembrandt than Robert Frost.

 

 

Bob Adams On Cherry Street

Seriously cold, I will tell you. He had jammed his walker up against the wall in front of Macy’s. Got caught in a space in the pavement. Veered left. He put on the breaks and sat down. I approached, watching him applying absent muscle to an effort to stand. He wavered, shivering and almost toppled. I feared he would fall. “You all right? Need some help.” He wispered that his legs hurt. He said he couldn’t hear and could barely see. “I live at Cathedral Square, up there.” “Don’t fall dude. We will make it together.” A woman, not dressed for the day, helped. She told me she just conquered breast cancer. Her son is a 30-something and needs a hip replacement. I had two, but later. She double-teamed the walk across the street and then left. Stopped at the Courthouse for a breather. Always nice to be there when I don’t have a case. Took a while, slowing down to go down hill. And we did make it back to his place. And me to mine.

Alida White, Dead at 55

Alida White died. Never heard the name before, but world wide it is pretty popular. Not that people live up to their names, unless someone named them Thor or Boomer, but this particular name would require its carrier to be noble and giving. Can’t say she was or wasn’t, because I didn’t know her when she was her; I only knew her when she had an inoperable tumor. And at her age, when you get that condition and you haven’t had time to do all you wanted to do, that is a pretty difficult way to have to face everyday, never knowing when one will be your last.

I entered her life briefly through my wife’s good deeds. The family needed help with meals. So Sharon, along with friend’s of the family and members of OZ, a synagogue we have a passing relationship with, cooked for them. I made portraits of the family for a school assignment at Hallmark Institute of Photography. They cleaned the house, dressed up, and rearranged the furniture. Alida and Marcia put on makeup. Sometimes people don’t take family portraits as seriously, even though they should. You never know. We shot for a while. The lights didn’t work. I didn’t know how to arrange them in the space as effectively as I could have and should have. Alida tired. But never showed any lack of interest. She just tried to be as beautiful and real as she could be.

 

Now, photographers shoot for many reasons. And they have pithy quotes about what a photograph is or isn’t. Sure, it is a document, one that freezes the moment, capturing all that is going on in 1/160 of a second, give or take a few fractions of a second. It doesn’t speak, at least not out loud, and it lacks motion, though not gesture. You cannot touch or hold it. I only requires you to feel it.

They didn’t know me or my camera work. And I didn’t have time to get to know them. At some point, they would all look differently. From my side of the camera, they were all beautiful, knowing that the images I made would document their lives forevermore. We met electronically for a few seconds, controlled by the light and the emotions. A beautiful moment which will allow them to hold each other for an eternity.

When we went to the house for a shiva call, even though the survivors don’t do shiva, the house was full of friends. Food filled the table. The noise levels were high. They had taken one of my images which I had printed and delivered and put it on a postal size card with one of Alida’s favorite poems of the back for people to take as a remembrance. I had no idea they had done this. The rabbi said that my image was with her in the hospice. Who knows if she recognized anyone in it? But for them, it symbolized their love for one another and served as a memory of life as hers was slowly ebbing away.

Lewis thanked me. No thanks necessary. It was my honor and a mitzvah in the truest sense of God’s word. This is one reason for me to have a camera.