A Mentor, A Friend

How different must it have been to be born in Rhuddlan than Salt Lake City. A decade ahead of me, in that small North Wales village, Philip Jones-Griffiths was born. He was one of the first people I knew with a double last name. We were only ten years apart, but as you can sometimes find in life, ten years is more than enough to make you realize that you have much to learn from an elder who lived those years. Philip was trained as a pharmacist, and I suppose if he had continued to bring his passion and humor to pharmacology, we would all be getting Rx’s filled that would have something to do with one or another discovery of his. But his real love was photography, and he joined Magnum at the age of thirty, and became very quickly, quite well known. I had read in a British photo magazine about him; he was described as “ a loquacious Welshman,” and when I arrived in Vietnam in 1970, he was one of the first persons I met. Happily for me, he remained loquacious even after we became friends. He was one of those folks who turn into your mentor without being asked. I suppose he found my Utah sense of humor not all that far removed from his own, and we got along well from the first time we had beef and ginger at that lousy Tu Do street Chinese cafe.

Most impressive, looking back 35 years, was his absolute selfless sense of assistance and encouragement, offered freely but never with any real pressure. He kind of embarrassed you into doing the right thing. Having arrived in Vietnam with 200 rolls of film, and a rather opened assignment from TIME to do a piece on “Children of War”, I’d been stumbling, utterly, in trying to figure out how to make pictures that would make sense. I kept trying to figure out just how that ‘story’ would fit into the other ‘stories’ I was trying to do. And one afternoon, over a Coke at the Royale Hotel lobby cafe, Philip let me have it: “The real world isn’t about this or that story for TIME, or for LIFE. It’s about being out there. What you need to do is put 50 rolls of film in your rucksack, fly to Danang, and don’t come back to Saigon until you have shot every roll.” It was a kind of watershed moment for me: that extra push I needed to start thinking out of my own box, and while it seems so obvious now, at the time, it was just the kind of nudge I needed to get off my ass, and head into what would become the real work of photography.

Philip having just finished a Coke at the Royale bar
Philip had lived in Room 47 at the Royale, the Penthouse, up three or four floors from the noisy street. Airy and with plenty of windows, it normally would have been the prize room in the hotel, but the thought of being the first place an incoming VC rocket might land gave me pause. (I lived in an airless, lightless room on the 2nd floor of the hotel for two months.) Yet, when I realized that Philip, with all he had been through, wanted to live there, I decided, “So do I,” and when he finally exited Saigon in January of ’71, he bequeathed to me not only that room, but his cassette/radio player (for twenty bucks) which brought me all the sounds of the time. Hoping I might actually run a roll of film, I also got two tall 8-reel Nikor developing tanks marked D (for developer) and F (for fixer) with which he’d processed all his Vietnam films that would later appear in his book Vietnam Inc. I still have those tanks in the basement, the crayon’ed letters still visible. They seem almost quaint in this digital age, but when you know that all those amazing photographs passed through them, it gives pause.

Vietnam Inc. was his attack against what he thought the Americans had done so badly in Vietnam. He always spoke with force and anger, and his pictures, never attempts to be objective or uninvolved, told the story the way he wanted to tell it. With passion, pain, and force. Many journos I knew thought Philip was a little too far gone in his point of view, but for me, I never tired, even when I didn’t agree with him, of seeing his engagement in what he felt was a story worth telling. Yet there was another side of him which might been even more captivating than his earnestness as a journalist. A funny side, sometimes darkly humorous, but always funny. He introduced me to the BBC World Service radio shows – Just a Minute, the Archers (“a story of simple country folk...” which he did complete with down country imitation of Dan Archer), and maybe the most lasting, Private Eye. Private Eye, the satirical English magazine which poked fun and holes through virtually anyone in power or the public eye, was a master dodge though the English libel laws, and skewered folks who, for the most part, richly deserved it. In those early 70s years, there was a cartoon in the back done by a young Australian cartoonist, Barry Humphries, a side-splittingly hilarious take on a young Aussie gone to find fame and fortune in Pomland (England) and his misadventures: That was the birth of Barry “Bazza” McKenzie, and the character who seems to have outlived the others in that story, Dame Edna Everidge. It was as if I had my own private British Council Cultural Affairs section in Philip to help me understand all the vagaries of language and nomenclature. (Yes, “Rita Chevrolet” WAS Private Eye’s name for the Queen!) I valued his company greatly, and always enjoyed hearing the great stories he knew, had lived through, and was a master of retelling. Who else do you know that could get such joy out of describing that the only proper source for lighting a self-designed slide-duplicating machine was “the landing light from a 707 jet.”

I share the sadness that I feel about so many folks of my earlier years, who, for reasons of geography, I seldom see much anymore. In Vietnam, in particular, there was a rather wonderful mix in the 4th Estate crowd, and the richness of their presence seems to diminish every week. Yesterday, after a long and protracted battle with a stupid disease which tried, but failed, to crush his spirit, Philip passed away with his two daughters by his side. In the last few years he had mastered digital photography the same way his pharmacological background had made him a first rate dark room man. He knew every trick about how to scan negatives to get the best results, and how to print them once you had done that. Right up till the end he was in a rush, getting those pictures organized so that even after he wasn’t here to personally look after things, they would make sense to everyone else. I’m glad those pictures, that embodiment of his plucky spirit are with us, but I do believe I will miss the man himself. We’re just sayin... David

And Now a Word From... A Guest Blobber

Dick Swanson, who has been a friend of ours since Nixon was President (ok.. since Degaulle was President.. does that make you feel better?) started to write a comment today, and it grew to become blob-length and, as he is a dedicated fan, blob-worthy. So, here is today's Guest Blob:

I grew up in the farm lands of Illinois where there are no mountains and no oceans to break up the prairie. As my old pappy used to say, “If you don’t like the corn fields turn around and look at the soy beans.” In the six decades since, I’ve learned that he was trying to tell me there is always an alternative no matter how similar.

Extrapolating that to the 2008 campaign for president, he could have just as easily given me a third option…the barn yard.

In the beginning (waaay last year) I told myself I wouldn’t feel like leaving the country if Obama, Clinton or McCain were elected. Since then the race has degenerated into, “Mine is bigger than yours” (yes, I include Hillary in this squabble). The race is periodically interrupted with discussion of the issues but mostly it is about race, gender and geriatrics. Furthermore, anyone running for president must pander to get elected. It’s the nature of the beast (if my opponent promises this, then I must promise that). The candidates promise the moon (in good faith, we hope) and we vote (some might say, selfishly) on what we think is good for us but it hardly ever turns out that way.

I now feel that McCain will bring us more of same (the Bush legacy), Clinton will bring us chaos (her management skills and Bill). Obama will bring us youth without experience (not always a bad thing but preferable to the alternatives).

Instead of addressing the problems of economy, health care, the military, diplomacy, security, education, immigration, on and on, the candidates are trapped in circumstances that are mostly beyond their control: though they make change and experience their centerpiece, they are plagued with surrogates out of control, bad but innocent choices and saddled with marital legacies.

And they all will inherit Bush’s war.

As far as I am aware, none of the candidates have addressed, in a continuing way, the broken America that is Bush’s legacy. Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Wolfson, et al, have broken America, and any credibility we had with the rest of the world has disappeared. The tragic results of Bush and his administration cannot be overstated. I don’t believe it’s a stretch to blame the Bush eight years for the accelerating deterioration of our values.

Also, I am becoming fearful (scared shitless is more like it) about Obama’s candidacy. Given the events of the last week or so, he is becoming more polarizing than inspirational. These events will continue exponentially as we near the nomination process and certainly engulf the electorate if he is nominated. What we don’t need are the fundamentalist democrats and misogynists (there are just as many racists and misogynists in the Democrat Party as in the Republican Party) taking the rest of us hostage.

The by-product of this election year will be that the fundamentalist Christians, the religious right, racists, misogynists of every political persuasion and skin color will co-opt this election and send us further down the path of social disintegration. The anger in the churches, both black and white, will taint the process of democracy.
Ironically, tragically, the candidacies of Obama, Clinton and McCain (all fine people) through no fault of their own, have exposed this anger (in and out of church).

To quote Pogo, “We have met the enemy and he is us”.

It’s another way of saying that it’s the bad guys against the bad guys. In a perfect world it would be the good guys against the good guys.

It's About Time

It’s times like these that I wish I were a poet instead of a political pundit. And after watching all the pundit’s on TV, I say that with no reluctance whatsoever. Where do they get these people… Never mind it’s not important in the realm of knowledge or truth.
John McCain has visited and been embraced by Bob Jones University. In this particular seat of advanced education, no interracial dating permitted. You may say, “It’s 2008. And they are Christians. Surely that can’t be”. (You are so smart – but I count on that from this readership.) In this case, however, you would be wrong to think that this can’t be. My question is, how do they call themselves an institution of learning? Or maybe they don’t — except when high level elected officials visit and need votes. Maybe they are just a religious enclave with too many young people buying their crap. And I mean no disrespect to the Little Baby Jesus, because you know he’s one of my favorites.

Barack Obama gave a speech today. I did not listen to any of my colleagues evaluate what he said. There was no need. I know who liked it and who didn’t. He talked about having an honest discussion about race. And he shared a very private story about his white grandma and how she was afraid of Black men but she loved him more than anything. And he admitted that she made racist remarks that made him cringe –because he was a half black kid. He was well aware of his color, but she clearly didn’t see him as colored – he was her blood and the precious child she was raising. For those people who doubt this as a possibility, trust me, it is. How painful and devastating this must have been for a child or a young man. But I know he is telling the truth because I know it is not only possible, but likely for a person to be blinded by love.

When my son was a child we lived with my dear friend Bebe. Her son Alan was Black She was White. Seth, my son grew up in a community where there were no Black people – although one of his friends was of Indian heritage. So when he met Alan he acknowledged the fact that he was not exactly the same and he was thrilled that his friend looked like chocolate. It was never a negative. The color was a celebration and about as important to him as liking a shirt that another friend was wearing. He loved Alan and was blind to any racial or cultural differences. In the same way, but not exactly, when my daughter Jordan was growing up she was surrounded by people of all colors and races. Her school, by accident was about ¼ Black ¼ White, ¼ Hispanic and ¼ Asian. She, unlike Seth saw no color differences. She loved her friends, without any judgments other than if they called her pig snot. I’m sure she must have noticed there was a difference but it was no more important than friends who had straight or blond curly hair. It wasn’t until she got into high school and her Black friend Reesie decided she wanted to hang out with only Black students, that Jordan discovered there were greater issues than she was prepared to discuss.

This was not how I grew up. My small town was blue collar white Italian and Polish Catholic. There were fifty Jewish families and 40 of them were mine. Not much diversity to be sure. But because there were no people of color with whom to contend, race was not a problem. I do, however remember that the Jewish kids had to stand in the back of the room when everyone else was singing Christmas carols. It was lonely back there because there were only three of us. One was my cousin Steven, who was happy not to be hung on a hook in the front of the room for his behavior and the other was Andy Hurwitz, now a Supreme Court Justice in Arizona—hopefully someday the job will be federal. Anyway, I didn’t like being singled out for something over which I felt I had no control. The good news is that my parents weren’t racists and I developed a sense of moral outrage about discrimination – color, cultural, gender, age whatever. The bad news was my introduction to cultural diversity didn’t exist until I got to college. It was a long time to wait – but at least it came.

Back to the Obama speech, which was critical in order for him to continue with the campaign succeed. I can only judge it for what he said. Certainly not for what, (as other pundits who need to say something in order to have TV time or get paid), the implications or the innuendo might have been. He said he loved this country. There is no reason to doubt this. If you were to tell him to “put that American flag back on your lapel because then I will feel assured about your patriotism”, I’m sure he would give it consideration. Not because it is politically expedient but because there are some people for whom symbols are more important than words or actions. He explained, without apologizing, his attraction to the Reverend Wright and further explained how positive elements in the Reverends character are as much apart of him as his White mother and grandmother. But here’ the most important thing he said. We need to have an honest dialogue about race in the US. And we do, until it is a conversation we can have without being self conscious about what we say.

This nation can choose to pretend that race is not a social, political or economic issue. And we can continue to allow the people who want to be President of the United States to be embraced by bigots and racists who hide behind the shields of academia. Or we can see the importance of this election for everyone in particular women and persons of color and say, “yeah let’s talk about it.” And yes the teacher did hang my cousin Steven on a hook in the front of the room. We're just sayin...Iris

Unease in the Hood

Just when you thought things were almost gonna be ok. Then along comes two 300+ point days within a week in the stock market, and you know something is up. I guess I’m so used to the 100+ and 200+ point drops that it seems like old hat now. I keep trying to tell myself that, in the words of Alan Greenspan and others, “no one has rescinded the business cycle.” There is something desparate about big upside days.

And of course the business cycle has always included the ups and downs associated with human behavior, going back, to Pharaoh’s times, perhaps. (“Gee, Tuk, that hemp crop is just not looking very good, so we better charge more for it: How bout 2 goats a wagon load instead of one?!”) Greenspan’s successor,

rather like someone who has to follow Casey Stengel or A.J. Foyt, is in the unenviable position of having to carry on a difficult task when the outer world forces aren’t nearly so happily aligned. There is no question that, as bad as things are, they can always get worse. Truly, given how screwed up so many things are in the country now, who would WANT to be President, and inherit a country whose Army is worn out, and who, in the end, can do very little about it. Plans made when things look rosy seldom turn out so nicely when the reality of the ‘cycle’ heaves to.

Next door to our house in Arlington a project is somewhere between 1/10 and 1/4th the way through, more like 1/10th, I think, on a house which once belonged to the family of an old friend of ours, Chuck Trainum. In fact, we live where we are because Chuck’s pal when he was a kid, Kenny Keeta, lived next door via one of those backyard chain link fences with a gate. He’d heard that ‘the house next to where I grew up’ was on the market, and we ended up buying it. Chuck had long since moved away, but his dad, Charles “Senior”, and mom Jessie became our friends, and surrogate grandparents for Jordan when she was a tyke.

The back half of Pop-Pop's house
The Trainums moved into their modest 3 bedroom house in 1940 and lived there nearly sixty years, raising three children. Just after we moved in, Pop-pop took over the use of a chain saw to down a dead tree, seeing that none of us was skilled enough to avoid hurting ourselves. When Pop-Pop finally moved away after Jessie passed away (at age 91) the house was sold to two young ‘metro’s from the city who were thinking to crave suburban life. Pop-Pop passed away three years ago, having just reached 100. The new owners added a cute little garden and an artificial pond, part of the sprucing up of the post-war, but charming houses of Waverly Hills, our ‘hood. Then the boys decided other pastures looked more fun, and sold the house to a young couple who had two children in their time here, which is about two more conversations than we ever had with them. They left about six months ago, the For Sale sign went up, and a young contractor with eager visions, and a bettor’s attitude bought the place. He told me, in a phone call about two weeks after the Porta Potty was installed, that his intent was to keep the property’s sense of place, just add some square footage. The house was tiny granted, but his idea, now unfolding each morning with a roar about seven a.m. is to wrap a 4300 square foot house around the tiny facade which remains. In a way, the view from our bedroom reminds me of backstage at Disney, where you know the facade is just that. Here, a cute little post war brick front gives no idea until you get to the back yard, that there is nothing there, there. I have gone to the back yard a few times, via the 1950s gate, and shot some pictures, as seeing a house cut in half like this is that rare occasion when a home looks like a grapefruit, neatly halved with the machete. Or, a doll house. The kind you reachin from the open back side to move furniture around, and make sure the occupants don’t fall over. We (the other neighbors and us) all hope that he (the contractor) isn’t caught up in the real estate wipe out. I truly believe that homes for sale don’t need to attract the whole universe, just that one buyer, that one family for which it is perfect. So perhaps in “slowdowns don’t occur here” D.C. there will be a happy camper who will see this house, to be sold eventually somewhere around $1.4million, as their own personal close-in, two lights from the White House, Xanadu.

They may be in for a surprize though. On the other side of the house, the 19th st. we noticed some white painted arrows in a boxy shape a few days ago. This afternoon, ominously, a crew was out hacking away at the blacktop with a jack hammer, creating what looks like the largest fudge Brownie ever hewn in a single cut. I happened to run into the street workers a few minutes later, and asked what it was all about. The answer is a bit curious: they are cutting out a square in the intersection so the pavers can repave it.

The Pathway to China?
The road there is actually quite bump free, so I don’t know the real reason. At first, it looked like they had just decided to inaugurate a sister city deal between Arlington and Guangjo, and instead of flying, just take the direct ‘thru the earth’ path. I’m assured this cut will not go 8000 miles, though it looks ripe to me, for further exploration.

Whatever else happens, Snoopy & Woodstock bring you Easter
The neighborhood just putters along, then, hoping in all those living rooms, that something more unsightly doesn’t really crash the markets, or really wipe out millions of jobs. Since the weekend, and the not easy to understand bail-out/assistance by JPMorgan of Bear Stearns, I have wondered if the Bear Stearnsies got their million dollar bonuses three months ago for Christmas/Hannukah. Somehow the denial of bonuses is one of those things Wall Street regards with the same displeasure as bad breath, and traffic tickets. Since we all helped pay for it, or at least guaranteed it, it would be worth noting what the company did with their LAST spendable hundred million. We’re just sayin...David

A Bad Week Doesn't Begin to Describe It

Barack Obama had a bad week. Hillary’s wasn’t so great, but Obama’s was worse because of the Reverend Wright—someone he obviously cares deeply about on a spiritual and emotional level. Here’s the question. Should the candidates be responsible for what their supporters say? Both Senators have had to distance themselves from people who they thought would be helpful to the campaign—at least that was the case with Ferraro. But what was Barack thinking? Some people say that everyone knew about the Rev. Wright and his church. If everyone knew, I guess that included the Obamas—and they chose not only to remain members of the congregation but to have a very personal relationship with this man who, at least in sermons, hates the United States, White people and Jews. This makes a great many White people uncomfortable. (I can’t separate the Jews from the White people). This is a big problem during a general election.

I have been forced to ask myself, ‘what do I think?’ Mostly, I hate thinking, but not as much as I hate asking myself questions. However, in this case I think Obama needs to do more than say, “He’s like an old Uncle and I don’t always agree with him.” He needs to tell us what, beyond deplorable, he does think about the statements that were made. And I would suggest he do this by talking about his faith and love of this country. He needs to start defining the terms being used in the campaign and get back on his message of hope, faith and courage. Especially with women – Jewish or otherwise. Because for women it’s all about keeping their families safe—in our homes as well as in the world. Women want to be assured that Senator Obama will make the kind of changes that will make them safe through good health care, good schools, and a healthy economy. But they won’t participate in an issues discussion until they get beyond Reverend Wright and know he has a strong faith and loves the country.

It is getting impossible to read anything nice about Hillary or Barack. First of all... forget it. There’s no first of all. No one is looking for good news. It’s all about who said what to whom, whenever, wherever, whatever. The new term, and it may not be so new term, but in the last few weeks has become the ‘new’ way to talk about the Democratic campaigns, is to talk about ‘identity’ politics. Closest I can figure that means the exploration of one’s heritage, personality, leadership ability, and inner core, by discussing their color or gender. This discussion is, of course, specific to the Democratic candidates. McCain has no identity except the one that has recently attached him to George Bush. And while we’re on the subject of McCain—which maybe we were not, what about the McCain supporter Minister Haggee, who said (and this was the good stuff) Catholics were the anti-Christ. McCain did nothing to distance from him.

Back to ‘identity’ politics which I think used to be ‘constituency politics. I spent a long time trying to define the concept of identity and here’s what I found. One’s identity, according to Webster’s is: “the condition of being oneself or itself, and not another.” Whatever does that mean? It sounds like you need to take a philosophy course or maybe sign up for Weight Watchers in order to identify your identity. Can you create an identity? Sure, but I am always more interested in from whence these people come because it explains a great deal about who they are. For example, I was quite moved by yesterday’s N.Y. Times story about Obama’s mom. Without making excuses, I am trying to understand the identity of this person who wants to lead the nation.

Much like my connection with Michelle, both our dads had MS and both struggled to make a living so they could take care of their families, Stanley Ann (Barack’s mom) was also person with whom I connected. We were both people who followed our careers – maybe at the expense of our families, although neither of us felt that way at the time. We both wanted our children to remain with us but that didn’t happen. And although the distance geographically was not as far, I’m sure the emotional distance was equal or greater. There were differences, like Seth stayed with his dad, not his grandparents. He was a white Jewish kid with a white Jewish parent in a white Christian community—not too many discrimination battles to fight. It was painful to be without him but he had two parents. Of course there were also other differences. Stanley’s parents were supportive of her decision to marry a black man and in her absence they raised her bi-racial child. (a point not to forget we talk ‘identity’). My mother would have put her head in the oven and turned on the gas. Or probably she would have put my head in the oven and turned on the gas. I don’t think any of us who have not been children in this situation can understand what it must have been like for Obama. However, losing a parent, regardless of reason must have an impact on a child—especially a boy when he loses an ongoing relationship with his dad. We’re just sayin.... Iris

Don't Make Me Stop This Car!

When my kids were little and they would be in the car fighting with one another making it impossible to concentrate because the noise was so intrusive, I, like millions of other parents would threaten, “stop fighting or I’ll have to stop this car.” Over the last few days, when I listen to the news, all I want to do is yell the same thing. “Don’t make me stop this car!”

What are these Presidential candidates thinking? Don’t they get that everything they say now, will be repeated in the general election. Don’t they get that this is just, as my Alaskan friends have been known to say, “the tip of the iceberg”. If they think the attacks have been difficult to this point, they have no idea how savaged they are going to be by the Republicans. But for me, (and I like all of the talking heads and the bloggers do make it all about me), the most unattractive off-putting tactic is the whining. What ever would have possessed the Obama people to whine about Saturday Nite Live? “ Boo Hoo, they like Hillary better than me”. Well, who wouldn’t when that’s the approach you take to a good natured comedy sketch. Here’s some sage advice to my friends in Chicago. “Get over it!” The SNL people are going to do what they do, and as long as they spell your name correctly, kids will be attracted to the election—and isn’t that what we’re all about. Oh God, I hate political whining. It’s so unPresidential.

But back to me. On my way back to DC today, I sat with a 25 or so, year old guy who was on his phone for three out of the three and a half hours. Most of his conversation was with some friends who apparently were interested in what this guy did before and after a trip. The conversations went like this: “yeah, so last night I was making out with Tiffany. She was so hot for me it was hard to leave, but I had other things to do.” Then the next conversation was: “ Claudia was so hot for me that she said she wouldn’t take a shower until I got there so I could wash her back.” The next discourse was much more graphic and not quite so interesting. And I asked him to cease and desist. “Please,” I begged, “I’m an older woman and my heart can’t stand it.” I thought that would be more effective than, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to throw up on you.”

The technology today has made it such that conversations with/among strangers is inevitable. And some of those are about politics. (OK, I know it’s a leap from the last paragraph – aren’t you perceptive). So when this guy started to talk about the campaigns (again to a friend who might have had more than a third grade education) I was glued to my adjacent seat. First he talked about how great the Spitzer ‘bimbo’ looked. Her boobs were ‘mamazing’ (cute huh). Then his 2 minute attention span turned to Obama. “Yeah I thought I’d vote for the guy. But look at what his minister said. Maybe he is a Muslim plant.”

You may say, consider the source. But even very smart people are asking questions about how a guy like Obama – someone who wants to be the President , can be associated with anyone who uses the kind of divisive and racist, anti American rhetoric that this minister used and uses. While I am sure the explanation is not difficult—there has to be a public explanation. I mean. I get it. My Uncle Phil and I used to fight about Communism, the war in Viet Nam and the Chinese. He was a fighter pilot in WW2 and as a youth, he, like every Jew in NY, was a member of the Communist party. He was embarrassed about the association and he was angry about the war in Viet Nam. He was right about the Chinese but I was inflexible in my thinking and one day, in an angry confrontation, I said he was stupid. He was visibly shaken to the point of tears. He never finished the argument because he was so hurt by my characterization of his intellect. And I was so ashamed about what I had done that I left his house without goodbyes. Eventually, we made up. But it took a long time and many earnest talks in-between. I think this is how Obama must feel about his spiritual mentor. He loves the guy. He can’t turn him away emotionally, but he’s a different generation and he has to turn him away intellectually because it is a different place than it was in the 60’s.

I have been thinking about this all day because I didn’t see a way out for the candidate. But now I do. The good Senator from Illinois has to say, without any qualification or apologies that he loves this country. He chose, (as a young boy) to stay here when his mom left to go to Indonesia, and he loves it more than anyone can imagine. I believe this is the truth. I believe that there is no downside to loving the country you want to lead. I believe that while Republicans can find unimaginable ways to attack the Obama candidacy, they cannot possibly wage war on a candidate who says they love the United States and want it to be the best it can be. It’s not an enormous leap from what he’s been saying all along. This will work. Whining won’t. We’re just sayin...Iris

Some Day My Prints Will Come

This past Sunday we had first ever meeting of an august group to be known as the Bokeh Vista Social Club. The Music may not have been as good as the Buena Vista SC, but the chances for photographic amusement were much higher.

Drawn together by our love for photographic things pre-digital, we vowed about six months ago to try and have occasional meetings and discuss things like the Scheimflug Theorem, bellows draw, and the efficacity of fifty year old front surface mirrors. If you think this sounds hideiously boring, you would be right if you were a normal person. But there is still a fairly strong desire by some of us to keep our technique honed in the ways of the past.

At this Sunday’s meeting, we were four (Chris Usher ...& partner Adrienne Dearmas who took the team photo, Robb Scharetg, Matthew Girard, and myself.) A small yet talented ensemble whose work stretches across the photographic landscape: portraits, advertising, documentary, sports... pretty much everything is fair game.

In a manner befitting a really nerdy group of men, meeting to discuss short wave radios in the 1950s, we waded through an assortment of gear which was brought to share, took a few polaroids of each other with several different cameras, and talked about more esoteric stuff still being offered on eBay for those of us who don’t feel we have bought quite enough gear that is older than we are.

It is pretty much the defining point of the group that we use lenses and cameras which are older than we (I have a longer tenure) and that makes it kind of exciting to even imagine what the press photographers of the 20 and 30s used to make pictures. It is amazing, looking back at what can only be considered very primitive equipment, that they made any pictures at all. And the fact that they made great pictures provides, for myself at least, a sense of wonder, in trying to apply some of those age old techniques to modern day life. Until you have shot sports with a Graflex camera (where everything is backwards in the viewfinder) you don’t know what real fun is. It would be like trying to navigate through the Harris Teeter parking lot using ONLY your rearview mirror, and only going backwards, It can be done, but there must be a simpler way.

Shooting 4x5 polaroid print film is perhaps the single easiest, and certainly the quickest, way to learn by doing. It’s not as fast as shooting digital, but almost so. Inside of a minute, you are looking at what you just shot. You can try and figure out what went wrong, where you screwed up (and there area dozens of possible pitfalls on even the simplest of pictures)and then try it again. In the rather spoiled age of pointAndshoot, the fact that shooting with a vintage camera challenges so many of your senses doesn’t go unnoticed when you are the one trying it.

I once showed Alfred Eisenstaedt, the wonderful & famous LIFE photographer, a new Canon A1 (this was 1980.) It was the first camera to have a LED light inside the camera to tell you your exposure. It was bright and red and all lit up and said something like 250 F8 , or whatever it THOUGHT the exposure would be.

A young Eisie
Alfred looked at it a moment, looked inside the finder, and when he pushed the button half way (it’s just what we do...we push buttons to see what happens next) the lights went on, and he was sold “UnbeLIEVEable... I wish I could have one....” And of course all Alfred would have had to say is “I’d like one” and a dozen o f them would have appeared the next day on his desk. He just usually forgot to ask, and kept using his Leicas. But at that moment a wonderful thing happened. Almost as if he were transported in time, he put down the shopping bags he was carrying home on the subway, loosened his raincoat, and started to reminesce about his early days. In that wonderful light German accent he spoke with reverence and enthusiasm: “We never went anywhere without a tuxedo or tails. We were always dressed up.” (This was Berlin between the wars.) “I’ll never forget it, with all the glass plates we carried for the Plaubel Makina (a vintage German camera) they were so heavy.” He patted his left side ... “This side Unexposed....” , and the patted his right side “.. and this side, Exposed. We walked in like this,” (he said, leaning to the left), “and walked out like that...” (leaning towards the right.) “And taking pictures with that Plaubel Makina wasn’t so easy.” And then he proceeded to recount just what is necessary to take a photograph with a vintage camera, and it goes something like this:


“First you must open the lens, and open the diaphram [to let the light thru], then you open the back, look on the groundglass, compose your picture, focus the lens to the right distance, close the shutter back up, cock the shutter mechanism, load a plate holder into the back of the camera, pull the darkslide, and then, finally, take the picture.” And in words that have only come to mean so much more to me since I heard them nearly three decades ago... “ ... and by then, the sonuvabitch had usually moved. That’s why we had so many blurry pictures....” All of a sudden there it was, a very simple explanation for the reason that so many of their pictures just didn’t turn out. I had wondered why I had been having so many of the same issues. With a big Speed Graphic, for example, if you get one in 4 or 7 or ten pictures that you like, you’re doing well. You must wait before just shooting. Patience is a virtue. But when it works, it really does work. It’s not like anything you can get with a digital camera, and until they make a 4x5 digi camera, I suppose we will all be luxuriating in film. It keeps the labs busy, and as we say when we pick up our contact sheets after a job... “Someday, my prints will come.”

Moi, with the Mentor Reflex
The Bokeh (def: ‘the visual quality of the out-of-focus area of a photograph, from the Japanese...) Vista Social Club plans to meet irregularly in the future, and since this past meeting was held at Rocklands Barbeque on Washington Ave. in Arlington, we just might be headed back sooner than we thought. Thanks to Adrienne for the group shot: it was the first time she’d ever used a Mentor Reflex camera, and based on this shot, I’d say she’s hired! We’re just sayin... David

Some Day Your Prince Will Come.. or Maybe Not

Back to Disney World, my metaphor for the week. They say (the Disney Cast members – there are no employees, but there is a hierarchy), that the park is the happiest place in the world. Nothing bad happens at Disney World. No crime, no poverty, no dirt, and they shut the hotel phones off at 2am so there’s no bad news. At least in the middle of the night. You can’t even get that call at 3 a.m. It is a Magic Kingdom. If only Elliott Spitzer, (who, based on what all the forgiving media are saying, seems to have no friends, no network, no lack of arrogance), had been the Governor of this realm instead of NY, he could have made it all disappear. If only he had been a cast Member instead of a philanderer. Oh, and according to some reporters this morning, he probably had a prefrontal cortex that is not working properly. There are many doctors who believe that there is a direct connection between personality and this part of the brain. You couldn’t make this stuff up. And if you ask me, the only connection between personality and the brain, in this case, is that he has a serious lack of both. But that has nothing to do with the happiest place in the world—the Magic Kingdom.

Jordan, Belle, Clare
If I were the Governor of a Magic Kingdom, the first thing I would do is forbid any wife of any guy who does something stupid and humiliating, to stand next to him at a press conference. McGreevy’s wife was on this morning talking about why she did it when McGreevy confessed he was having a homosexual affair. She said it was a personal decision. “Yeah”, I said to myself—the only person I can count on to listen. “Where are you going with this? Of course it was personal—so why did you choose to humiliate yourself publicly?” She went on to say she did it for their child. “What!” I yelled at my mirror because I was in the bathroom listening to the interview with the sound turned all the way up. “You did it for your kid? You stood next to him because you wanted her to know that having an affair with another person (gay or straight) was just fine? Forget his office or obligation to his constituency to appear to have a moral core.” I didn’t actually yell all that at myself—but that’s what I would have said if I hadn’t had to finish brushing my teeth.

Fireworks in Albany? No, Orlando!
Anyway, we had a marvelous time in the happiest place in the world. We even met a cast member who works in one of the shops that confessed she never wanted to leave the park – she so loved it that even on her days off she brought her daughter back to play. I’d say that’s happy. You may wonder why we went to the Magic Kingdom—short of a wizard putting a curse on us. Well, it turned out that Jordan and Kerry’s daughter Clare, wanted nothing more than a trip to Disney World once Clare was 21. So we used Clare’s birthday and Jordan’s college graduation as an excuse to spend three days in a place neither of the adults would go under ordinary circumstances. But as it turned out, the girls only insisted we make two trips to the Park with them and then we spent the rest of the time at the pool, the gym, or the cocktail lounge. And although both Kerry and I worked for some hours, we had a fine time. It was a delight to see our daughters shedding tears of joy over Beauty and Snow White (actually Belle is our favorite heroine because she reads), at a character breakfast at Cinderella’s Royal Palace.


Wait a minute. I just had another one of my famous epiphanies. Maybe the reason these women stand by their man (I really think it’s abuse not just standing), is because they are suffering from fairy tale fatigue. It’s not that they are tired of fairy tales, it’s that they are exhausted by having to play Princess to a disgraced Prince. We have spent our whole lives believing that someday our Prince will come or, if you kiss a frog, he will turn magically turn into a prince. But most of us realize that there are hardly any Princes that aren’t damaged and if you kiss a frog you will surely get warts or at the very least wet. But some girls, (many wives of powerful men in elected office), even with degrees from Harvard and Yale, never stopped believing that once you’ve found your Prince you need to remain a loyal subject no matter the cost. Once you are a Prince you may think you are above the law and ordinary peons, so you can do whatever pleases you – never considering any consequences or the effect it might have on your Princess (note I did not say Queen—because the Queen was always wicked). It is why the Prince never thinks he has to step down from the throne.

This fairy tale needs a happy ending. But, unhappily, I’m not sure there is one – except that our girls know that dreams can come true in the Magic Kingdom and that’s where all the real Princes dwell—so look for a knight, an artist, or a political activist -- anyone not wearing a crown and royal robes.

By the way, I was so distracted by the Spitzer story that I hardly remembered there was a primary in Mississippi today. Shame on me. Barack Obama will win this one and if he campaigns again like he did in Iowa, he will surely win many more. We’re just sayin...Iris

The Bus

So there we were in Disney World. Not my kind of place because I can build a crowd of 50,000 (or more) but I never want to be in it. Anyway, we were fleeing from the herds but we left Jordan and Clare behind to fend for themselves, nice mothers, right. And when they were making their way back home, they met a balloon lady who was in a bad mood. Clare says that if you had to stand for hours on end holding balloons that, in the wind, kept hitting you in the face, you would be in a bad mood too. But that was not our problem. So they asked her a question regarding the trip back to the hotel. “How long does it take?” they asked. She answered with attitude. “It depends on whether the bus just got here or the bus just left” Whoa... Is that not a heady comment about whatever? I guess everything in our lives depends on whether the bus just got there or just left. Think about it. But not too long because I don’t want you to get a headache. Hey, maybe that’s the answer: one of them should just get on a bus—and not to campaign.


And in the realm of ‘whoa’, I hope that Senator Obama does not buy into the need to get ugly with campaign rhetoric or tactics. The back and forth is all the same. No one is listening anymore. I'm no genius (surprised), but there's no need to demonstrate that you’re tough by being ugly. It's much simpler than that. He needs to turn her rhetoric around. To use what she said as part of the reason he should be President. "My opponent says I have no experience but then says I can be her Vice President – only a heartbeat away. In guess she doesn’t think much of that office. Then her mouthpiece says I can get the experience by August – I guess experience doesn’t count that much. My opponent thinks that being inspirational is a bad thing. My opponent insists that her experience far outweighs mine.... How? My opponent has made many enemies and she thinks that by endorsing a Republican she will be elected-- what kind of judgment is that for a Democrat... a future President? And remember, I am in the lead. This is not a game of ladies first. My opponent is desperate because she thought this would be an easy election. She needs to learn something from me.... like how to get young people involved and create a new generation of Democrats.”

People would rather be uplifted than be uncomfortable. When Hillary talked about being proud to be running against a candidate like Obama, that worked. Undecideds liked her and voted for her. In my heart (yes,I have one but don’t wear it on my sleeve), I know it is important for the President to be tough. I want to believe it is possible for Senator Obama and Senator Clinton to remain civil while still being strong....We’re just sayin’ Iris.

Here Comes the Cameratocracy

Well , it’s true, in my business (magazine photographer.. .if you can consider it a business..) you generally live week to week (unless you work for monthlies, and then you live month to month, I guess.) But week to week isn’t bad: it doesn’t the immediacy of working for a daily paper, or a wire service, whose deadlines every minute mean there is never time to ease up, though with magazines now trying to be current on their websites (trying is the key word here) they want you to feed them priceless images as snappily as you can make them. But we are not immune from the tides of history, and I don’t mean the ones which are causing water from last nights rain to leak into my new office, but the greater tides of history, the ones which people will look back on in five or twenty years, and say, “wow, that’s when it changed, eh?” (They’ll be saying this in Edmonton, eh?)

Much of what we mag photographers had going for us was that, generally speaking, because we didn’t have the instant deadlines facing us, we could stay longer, work a story on a longer term basis, sometimes days instead of hours, knowing that in the end, like good baking, the longer you work the dough, and let it do its thing, the more leavening your final product will have (though I know that Iris is always saying don’t over knead the dough... but I think my point is still valid, unless you are photographing a Challah.) Time in grade, time spent with the subject, is generally the one thing that increases your chances of being there when some key moment takes place, and grabbing it, rather than having to either just fake it, or suggest it into being, because you had so little time to take a picture. In 1967, as a young intern for TIME in DC, I was assigned to go with a young tyro reporter, who later be came Deputy Chief of Correspondents, but who, at the time, was just out of school and a little green, as was I, to do a story on pregnant black moms-to-be who ate chips of starch, Argo brand, as part of a food craving they had. It had apparently come to the notice of some GYNs in DC that this was becoming a trend, and for the most part the women in question had been raised in the south, and moved north, and this was a ‘southern’ thing. But the fact that the starch chips satisfied some kind of craving seemed to the doctors to indicate that the women were missing some kind of real nutrition in their diets. For our interview, a social worker had found a mom, who had a 2 year old and was expecting soon. She lived in a marginal part of town, not far from the Time bureau, but this being DC in the 60s (Martin Luther King would be assassinated 9 months later, and this part of town would be partially torched in the riots) it was a bit sketchy. So, just to be sure we could get this interview in one trip, we took along with us a box of Argo Starch (the blue box) so that we would have product handy for the lady to nibble on, in case she’d run out. Now days, of course you would be summarily fired, your Sigma Delta Chi pin would be tossed into the Potomac, and you would be forced to get a job in public relations for such a contravention of journalistic principle. But in 1967, we just wanted to make sure that we would be able to deliver our story. She ate some starch, I shot it, she talked about it, John wrote it, and that was that.

My point is, journalism, and its standards change. You might say that even in ’67 that wasn’t the kind of journalism taught in J school, and that would be right, but it just may have been the kind of thing you would have learned at Costello’s bar on 43rd and Lexington from the hard bitten Brits who worked for the Daily News and the NY Post. Those guys, blessem, never let details get in the way of a good story. Now Costello’s is gone, and so are the vaguely loose guidelines of the 60s. Further, the mantle we used to wear as journalists is shrinking in the rain. It must not be Wash n Wear. We are being besieged on all sides: management, caring less about content than the bottom line would in many cases just as soon have stories on Brittany and Paris Hilton as they would on Hamas, Hezbollah, and Housing starts. On the other side, everyone is a ‘citizen’ journalist, a term I find rather misleading, and somewhat patronizing. We’re all citizens, for that matter. It implies that journalists are anything but. However, the fact that everyone out there is a potential competitor as well as a potential customer, has changed things.

This past week, covering the Hillary Clinton campaign, I carried way too much gear. Like some kind of photographic throw back, I carry not only the standard issue digital camera, but a Speed Graphic (circa 1950), with a 1943 brand Kodak lens, just in case something visually wonderful pops up and I can make a somewhat different looking image with it. Yet it is heavy, bulky, and anything but automatic, and therein lies the charm, I suppose. Not wanting to have to check anything, I put my cameras and clothes into a big back pack (4x5 camera, film and film holders, lenses, light meter) and a medium sized back pack (clothes, hard drives, various wearing, tooth brush and shaving stuff), a laptop bag (yes, the laptop), a tripod, a web belt with three pockets for camera lenses, and two digital cameras. It was more than a person could carry, and getting on and off planes and buses, I would, even when colleagues would generously offer to sling a bag or the tripod, just ricochet from one row of seats to the next, like a cue ball in a game of bumper pool. It was infuriating. Not only that, but I think I must have looked like a renegade from the 82nd Airborne division.

The Scary BackPacked' Me (photo: Todd Heisler)
Pack in back, pack in front, cameras and laptops slung over shoulders, I looked like I was ready to leap into battle out of a perfectly good airplane... or if you were the Congressman (Anthony Weiner) who I approached and reminded we’d all met at the Comfort Diner back on Super Tuesday, you might have taken me for an escapee from Riker’s Island who was hitching a ride back to the city. He really only leapt one step back as I approached to say hello. I think he might not be going back to the Comfort very soon. But, in the fashion of the Neo Stalinist Rococo architecture of the 50s in Moscow, of which it is said the only place to view the city from is atop them, because its the one place you can’t SEE it, there I was, in super Schlep mode, unaware of the scariness of my presence. Contrast that with the hundreds, nay, thousands of people at Hillary’s events who were nearly as dedicated to their photography as I was.

The Invasion has started: Austin, Tx, Monday March 3
And that IS the trend. Everyone is a photographer. Either digi camera, fone, point and shoot: they are all there. And the standard pose for listening to a campaign speech now is with both hands in front of one’s face, holding a camera with the screen on the back for framing. Those folks, as cameras get better, will be the new competition for the likes of me. I can’t be everywhere, and they don’t have to be everywhere. But what is true is that SOMEONE, one of them, with a camera, pretty much IS everywhere. Photography is about being there first, and seeing things happen.

Just One More, Senator
There is a reason reporters are better at gathering information at a bar than photographers. They can piece together accounts of things they haven’t seen, and be right on the money. We, or one OF us, needs to see it. More and more that will be citizen Photographer. At Hillary’s victory night in Columbus on Tuesday, she was constantly stopped for pictures. Viewed from above, the room was aglow with little screens, creating their own little visual buzz, each one giving its owner a particular point of view. I’m hoping that I have another ten years in this business before I become just another snapper in the crowd. If they only knew how long the days were, how tiring it can all be, searching for a picture, maybe they’d just put their cameras down for once, and watch. Watch, and see, and remember. Yeah. Remember. We’re just sayin...David

Despite Oft Spoken Admiration...

“Despite oft spoken admiration”, Samantha Power said in her resignation, “the woman is a monster.” Well isn’t that grown-up. She obviously had analyzed Hillary Clinton’s foreign policy stance on issues, investigated how Hillary dealt with economic issues, and evaluated her positions on education and health care, and determined (with all the information she had) that the candidate was a monster. Is it any wonder that the Obama people are afraid of surrogates speaking for the campaign. First the Congressman who couldn’t think of a single thing that Obama ever did, and then this “senior” policy official, who characterizes the other candidate as a monster.

But here’s what I think is the best part of the story. After Samantha finished her interview, she then decided the comment was off the record. In case she didn’t know it, and just for future conversations she has with the press (if she should ever get a public policy position again), nothing after the fact is off the record and, now—given the proclivity of news people not to care about confidences—nothing is off the record. And further, there are actually people who are saying, “he should have stood by her and not made her resign”. Are they kidding? Why would you want a moron as one of your top advisers? Am I being as harsh as Samantha was on Hillary. I hope so.

People are also outraged about Larry David calling Hillary a nut. I hardly think this is worth a mention. When we were in New Hampshire, Larry was at Obama headquarters being a celebrity and he liked it there. (We were there trying to get David behind the scenes on election eve). Mr. David is a comedian and if someone reads what he writes or speaks, they are likely to thinks it’s all in good fun. Probably not in this case, but he’s a citizen and has the right to say what he wants. He is not part of the campaign. I’m not even sure he endorsed Obama or has appeared at those “Hollywood” events as a supporter. And Larry is not an expert in anything, nor—in my opinion—is he funny. Richard Lewis is funny. Jerry Seinfield is funny. Larry David is less important than he thinks he is. But that’s not my point. A celebrity surrogate is only there to attract the attention and participation of a crowd. An advisor/expert is supposed to represent the candidate on issues about which they are an expert. Well she is an expert on genocide and now I think she’s pretty well versed on suicide as well.

The Wyoming results are 58% Obama and 41% Clinton. It was not unexpected. What do cowboys consider important issues? Clearly they were not buying Hillary’s “can they pass the crisis test.” I admittedly am not well versed on cattle issues, but I guess they think the “deer and antelope” will play nicer with Obama in office. Or maybe they don’t trust McCain—who Hillary has been endorsing over the last week or so.

So what is going to happen over the next six weeks? My guess is that the Clinton people will not even acknowledge the Obama win out west. They haven’t recognized any of his wins, other than to say they were not important. The Obama people will have to stop insisting that Hillary has to release her tax returns and find something real to talk about.
They both need to stop talking about who will be whose Vice President. I think that it seems like a dream ticket but whoever is the Vice President better get prepared for four years of abuse from the President and his staff – that’s the reality in the White House. If you don’t believe me, ask Al Gore. Who, despite every talking head suggesting that Al can mediate the election and talk the candidates into coming to some kind of agreement to save the party all the angst of a fight at the convention—can’t. Mr. Gore never wanted the Clintons to be a part of his campaign in 2000. Probably as a consequence of the President’s impeachment but also because they treated him so badly for eight years. And yes, he did do more than most Vice President’s who preceded him, but reinventing a government by giving out little hammers for minimal change—was not a real job. Gore has the stature to impact on the environment but not on these Presidential candidates.

Whew. So I leave you with this. The Clinton people bought file footage for the “3 a.m.” commercial, and one of the kids in the film has endorsed Barack Obama. We’re just sayin... Iris

The Adults See Smoke

Sometime, I think when I was about 8 or 9, I must have thought that adults knew everything. You could, of course stump them, if you tried, but somehow they just seemed to know a lot of stuff. Family, uncles (uncles were particularly gifted), older cousins, and teachers, all seemed to be full of answers which satisfied my curiosity. At the big pool next door to our house, on the days we were allowed to visit, I can remember my uncle Barney and his 3 war time pals playing tennis on the adjacent court. They had all served in the Army Air Corps in England in WW2 and came back with the absolute best imitations of mid-upper class British accents. Through the vine covered chicken wire separating court and pool, we would hear the thwacks of a tennis ball, then a period of brief silence, followed by a bit of gentlemanly cussing (always under breath), and then one or the other of them, in best Wimbletonian, “fohhhtee, thuhhhtee.” There were probably a few too many pip pips, but somehow there they were, the ‘older folks’ who had travelled the world, and who were, in the mid 1950s, all of about 34 years old. Thirty four now seems impossibly young and immature (unless you started Google), and the speed with which it has transpired is just frightening. We tended to know our place as kids, with somewhat strict delineations drawn. When my Aunt Mollie, who owned the pool slowly strode up the vine draped arbor walk, we kids were shushed out of the pool quickly so as not to cause her any annoyance. In those same years, I suppose Mollie was about the age I am now, and I guess that I am almost at that point where I prefer the children out of the pool when I go in. No, wait, I don’t either. I love watching those kids splash around. Reminds me of why I’m in the damn pool in the first place. “Marco – Polo”. Ok, that WILL get you thrown out of the pool. But there were clear lines of delineation, never moreso than the day my cousin Nate, who is my age, and I were there with a half dozen younger cousins and a few assorted parents. We were 12 or perhaps 13. Over the rank of trees which lined the pool, in the distance was thin rail of smoke raising. Not a giant raging fire, but something worth noting. My mother said to Nate’s mom “look, there seems to be some smoke on Fardown Avenue.” Marge no doubt agreed, and with that, Nate went running around the toweled green-grassy lawn yelling “The adults see smoke! The adults see smoke!” It was as if even though we may have seen it ourselves, there would be no real validation without an Adult acknowledging it. And over the last fifty years, I have transitioned, slowy I must say, from “the Adults see smoke!” to being one of those adults. I don’t really FEEL like one of the Adults. But unless they lock me up, it seems I have no choice. There will always be that weight of memory.

Compared with Uncle Barn, our accents are perhaps more diverse, (Indian, Korean, Egyptian, Sud Afrikaan, oh the list just goes on and on) but I’m not sure they have the same kind of impact on today’s kids. Jordan grew up attending school with kids from 20 countries, and with sushi, chop sticks, fajitas, and the ability to twirl a pretty good fork of spaghetti by he time she was 8. I was already an adult when I finally was introduced to those ‘international’ touches. And today, this week, I have seen how the mere addition of technology does little to really advance life unless it is used right. On the Clinton campaign, every staffer has a Blackberry. All the Advance staff, all the setter-uppers for the events, are never more than a thumb-spin away from a dozen more emails. And it is a pity. No one takes any responsibility anymore, for anything. Because you CAN run it up the chain of command, you do, and you end up making no real decisions locally (except that the press room needs to be near the urinals) and just relying on some presumed distant power to know what’s best for a situation right in front of your eyes. Blackberrys do not replace thoughtful judgment. In the days before cell phones and Blackberrys, you had either a pay phone (iffy) or no phone: that is, you had your own brain, and the will to use it. That is what has gone out of life today. Men and women walk onto an elevator, look around, and see no one they know, and as a social crutch grab their Blackberry and start to finger it the way Egyptian men do prayer beads in a Cairo cafe. I’ll admit that the lousy LG phone I have with Verizon and claims to do email is a bad imitation of a Blackberry. Mine needs sometimes two or three minutes (you KNOW how long that is!) just to pluck the first message off the server. Yet today, for the first time, it did actually G(PS)uide me to Fedex when I was lost, so I guess I can’t trash it too much.

But for the parts of our lives not touched by typing or tapping, there remain certain questions, challenges. Late last week a pal of ours, a wonderful photographer named Theo Westenberger passed away. She’d been sick for a couple of years, and while the last time I saw her, at the Photo Expo last fall, she’d seemed her usual bubbly and energetic self, it seemed as if she’d beaten it. Sadly not, and now, after a long fight, she is gone. I thought about her a great deal when I heard the news. Because I’m in New York so seldom, I didn’t run into her very often, but each time we met, whether in NY or for dinner in DC, her bright and shining countenance was always aglow. And I suppose that while I knew I would seldom actually be in her company, I was more than pleased just knowing that she was out there, being Theo full time. She existed as this wonderful, creative person. I loved the idea of her living her life. And those few moments when we actually got together, with her sardonic wit and a smile, and I knew I was with Theo again. Theo had one of the great monikers in photography. It seemed to radiate her elegance. It fit her perfectly. I’ll miss Theo, and I’ll really miss the idea of knowing that even if I didn’t have the joy of her personal presence so often in my life, that at least somewhere out there, chasing down a great picture, was that wonderful person we called Theo. We’re just sayin’.... David

Experience Exshmerience

David has the cover of TIME next week. Hillary is on the cover – the headline is “The Fighter”. I guess that’s the truth.

But how far will the fight take her? There’s not going to be a knockout. The fight will be called by TKO. For those of us who don’t watch boxing—and why should we, that means judges make the decision after one of the boxers is beyond battered. In this case it will be Super Delegates.

There is one thing that is absolutely true about this Presidential cycle. There will be a clear choice between John McCain and whoever is the Democratic nominee. I guess McCain had to go to the White House and get an endorsement by the President. Do you think he was late because he was reluctant to go? Or maybe having second thoughts. I’d like to hope so. The pundits say that this endorsement will bring skeptical conservatives on board. I don’t think so. Even skeptics about where a McCain Administration will go don’t want four more years, (or eight if he lives that long), of another Bush-like government. Or at least I hope that even conservatives (the ones that aren’t rich), are concerned about the economy, environment, growth of government, education, oil prices and health care. Every issue area is a disaster – is that really something with which McCain wants to be associated.

The only interesting news from the Republican side is that Huckabee is going to have his own talk show. Not surprising. But I wonder if the little Baby Jesus wants non-religious television time. Originally, I thought he was staying in the race to increase his speaking fees. But I underestimated where he wanted to go. He wanted a new career and if it couldn’t be a talking head in the White House, it might as well be as an entertainer. Most people think he’s pretty funny. I think he is just a guy who was different from all the other candidates because he was consistent in his beliefs, spontaneous in his answers and had a sense of humor about what he was doing. As I have said before, his absence from the race is a loss to any of us who, agree or disagree, revelled in his honesty.

Barack Obama is going to go after Hillary Clinton. He is not going to let her get away with putting out false information or ugly innuendo. Although I prefer to think of it as outunnedo, because the information is always out there. This may be a strategy mistake. I agree that he needs not to let the Clinton campaign get away with any of this nonsense, but people liked him as the articulate visionary who made her negative rhetoric seem small and unimportant. I also agree that he has to appear stronger and able to play hardball but it doesn’t necessarily have to come directly from the candidate. It can come from credible surrogates – who have his support. I like the one step removed because it keeps him untarnished and view as someone who won’t do silly. Ridicule is just a good technique when you are trying to diminish what your opponent is saying.

The Clinton campaign is certainly fighting back successfully, and they are doing it by finally designing a message and repeating it over and over. It worked in Texas and Ohio because people are concerned about terrorism in their future. People want to be reassured about the fact that the President can respond in a strong and meaningful way to any threat. However, here’s what is confusing. They want an inspirational visionary who will give them hope as well as someone who can be tough, and dirty and who will not take any crap from any renegade nation—or France. Someone who will spring out of bed at 3a.m., kiss his wife goodbye, make his way to the situation room (whose décor is thick comfy leather chairs around an oval table—they like to keep with the oval theme in the Casa Blanca) and charge ahead with smart thoughtful decisions that will keep us out of a war.

Clinton was smart to finally visualize for the nation the issue of (in)experience and Obama was smart to finally ask what kind of (in)experience she has as well. She did travel to many countries and meet with heads of state and women leaders, but was she there to discuss foreign policy or “make nice”. There is a difference. Not that her trips were unimportant—they were. And since the US no longer has a public diplomacy effort (despite what you see in State Department literature), first spouse/surrogate trips will become even more important. But she needs to define the word Experience and he needs to explain why all his Experience will prepare him for the overwhelming task of taking a phone call. Is it 3 a.m. yet? We’re just sayin...Iris

Talk About Confused!

Talk about confused or maybe a better word is manic. The candidates must be in the market for a therapist who specializes in ups, downs, and ripping your insides out. I wonder what they are talking about at campaign HQs in Chicago and DC. Let’s pretend that we’re the candidate and we have to do an assessment of last night’s events.

Ladies first. She reflects, “Before I walk into any meeting, I need to decide if the campaign is headed in the right direction.” Then she says “Did we accomplish our mission (as opposed to ‘mission accomplished’ – that’s much too Republican)? “Yes, I think we did. We won three States by respectable margins and we stopped the Obama voter and super delegate hemorrhage –for now. We seem to have found common ground with the voters. With everyone afraid of those pesky terrorists, we stand a better chance of convincing them that experience counts. And they seem to buy the, ‘well I was sleeping with the President when he got the call,’ argument. I don’t think I actually said that but the implication was certainly there. Mark Penn has denied having anything to do with the campaign. I guess he was a little short sided. Maybe now is the time to rid myself him and his ‘expert’ advice. —and once again Ickes was right. Thank God, Harold is doing the super delegate stuff – at least someone on my campaign staff knows what they are doing. Those Obamians better take heed. Oh, and maybe I need to find a way to keep McAuliffe off TV. He appears as such a buffoon. Those white guys-- maybe I should suggest he and Bill take a golf vacation and leave the campaign to the people who really want me to win. Now it’s on to Wyoming (that’s where the deer and antelope play) and Mississippi (that’s the place we all learned about in a spelling bee). I guess it doesn’t matter who wins in either place because anyone can say just about anything and get away with it. I declared victory in Florida and Michigan and no one challenged me about that. Maybe if no one challenges me about anything, I can just appear at the Convention and claim a victory. No one wants it to be messy.”

And in Chicago. He says, “What the heck is going on here? I know I have been saying that we came from behind and so it is a victory for us—or maybe I didn’t say it, but I should have. There I was, moving forward at a quick and steady pace and then all of a sudden -- wham! Hillary finds her voice and a way to win – at the same time. And what did we do. Nothing. I tried to say that she already had the ‘red phone’ opportunity and she made the wrong decision. It didn’t work! I mean I said it with a flourish.... And who thought my commercial, which looked just like her commercial would reinforce what she said about my lack of experience. Why didn’t we have dozens of those super delegates and people, who have international experience, out there decrying the content of those ads. Do we even have a surrogate scheduler who understands what we need to be doing about the plethora of false information. (plethora and decry—pretty good descriptions of the disaster, right – maybe I’ll use those in my next speech.) But what am I to do? I don’t have a Harold Ickes making super delegate deals. Do I. Do you think it’s time for the kids to reach out to the grown-ups for some help? That may be premature. I am going to win in the west and the south. The cowboys love me. So do the belles – unless they are over 50 and white. I guess we need to make some change. Maybe I should go on the attack. My speech was a bit lackluster last night. It didn’t have the spark. I hope I’m not losing the magic. That’s what we’re about – magic and hope. But people are asking questions about substance. They are even questioning my voting record and my ethics. These Clinton people will stop at nothing to win. Some people say that playing hardball is what it takes to be the President. Should we do the same thing? I want to run against McCain and Hillary has endorsed him. So now I’m running against Hillary, Bill, John and the President. But wait, this might be a good thing. Maybe if I coordinate the rapid response and run against the past, it will resonate with voters. But what am I going to do in Pennsylvania? Rendell and the Pa. elected officials are not going to make it easy. Who do I have there? Who should I send there? What do I say to all that new generation of voters who I brought to the party? How do I continue to inspire instead of expire. Me, and 100 of my best experienced friends better get it together to say something to the press and the public that will turn things around. Or at least turn them half around. We have to do it before August. No one wants it to be messy.”

Anyway, it’s fun to pretend that someone is listening to you when you have something to say. Oh, if only it were so. I like listening to me so much more than I like listening to the pundits on TV. I heard something recently and I wish I could take credit for it but alas, I have a strong moral core. It went something like this, “it’s easy to be positive, civilized and humane when you can hire someone else to be the son of a bitch. The Clinton people seem to know that. The Obama people need to learn it. We’re just sayin... Iris

Say Something. Please!

This evening someone sent me a link to a Clinton event where I saw my husband next to a urinal. Is this a subliminal way to tell us that the Clinton campaign is in the ‘toidy’ – or is this the way the Campaign says to the press—here is where you really belong. If I were a psychiatrist I would be able to give you an answer but for now—at least I got to see what David is doing on the road.

The ad about which I spoke and poked fun at -- the “when the call comes at 3am, who answers the phone ” seems to have resonated with voters in Texas and Ohio. When I called around to talk to my friends on both campaigns, they all admitted that the ad was successful. Some of them were delighted by this and some were most unhappy. The fact is that people are frightened by the idea that there might be someone answering the phone who doesn’t have the experience necessary to respond to that kind of call. And that when it comes, Hilary can turnover and talk to Bill (if he’s home), or Wes Clark (hopefully he won’t be there when she turns over), or any number of policy veterans who served in other White Houses.

I know that Senator Obama has been endorsed by a number of policy people who he will certainly be able to call on no matter the time or occasion. But what I don’t know is why they are not out making statements in response to the ad, and why they haven’t been on the phone with every reporter they can find to say – “Senator Clinton is trying to scare you. Furthermore, here’s who Obama will have to turn to when that phone rings.” There was, as far as I can see absolutely no one, other than Obama who said anything at all. And what he said “She had to make a decision (i.e. answer the phone) before and she made the wrong decision”. He was talking about the Iraq vote, but that response was not forceful enough to quell the fears of the people who think there actually is a call in the middle of the night, and the President must act immediately or all is lost. A vote is not a bomb or a terrorist attack. People can’t make that leap. That’s why God created surrogates.

I don’t get it. Well, maybe I do. While the Clinton campaign never expected to have to organize a campaign (they thought media buys and the power of a personality would give them an early win), they do understand the nuances of how a campaign needs to respond to the threat of imminent demise. It’s all about this comeback kid stuff. She can’t seem to get the campaign together as an organization. But she certainly can go for the jugular when she senses the possibility of defeat. It’s like that wonderful Tom Hanks movie about women’s baseball when he says to one of the players “There is no crying in baseball”. And the same is true in politics, “there is no crying in politics.” (tearing up maybe). You hit hard and leave your opponent reeling. The only way for the opponent to bounce back is to have a team of credible people who denounce whatever the misleading or fallacious ad or statement has been made—before it gets legs and has a life of it’s own. If you recall, Kerry didn’t respond to “swift boat” because he was a decorated war hero who thought no one would believe the lies. And he was wrong. But no one in the campaign did anything to negate the lies. The same thing is happening now with Obama. If they don’t respond to these inaccuracies they will lose.

And if the Obama people think Senator Clinton’s ad are ugly, they have no idea what awaits them in the next seven weeks. (Here comes the trunk). With John McCain as the Republican nominee, the Republican activists have nothing to do but work for Hillary. They want her to be the nominee because they think she will be much easier to defeat than Obama. Remember that this week in her speeches she endorsed John McCain. Something about, I’m qualified and McCain is qualified, but Obama can only make a good speech. So why wouldn’t her good friend John McCain help her march on toward a victory. She thinks McCain is qualified to be President. And so does McCain.

There are always inside politics issues when a campaign is young. I have seen it in every campaign I have ever worked on -- And I had to take my dinosaur to work on many. But at some point the people running any campaign need to look at where they are vulnerable. They need to assess all the possibilities. They need to realize that no matter how strong the candidate—whether it be Clinton or Obama, a candidate cannot carry the campaign without sophisticated good judgment on the part of all the players. Clinton needs an organization that reaches beyond last minute and ‘over fifty white women’. Obama needs an organization that can respond to whatever is thrown at them, in a professional timely way. And from where I’m sitting, it seems to me that the leadership of both entities needs to look a whole lot more like America. We’re just sayin...

A Ping Awaiting Pong

One of the problems with being a person who likes to listen to different sides of an argument, or, for that matter, a theory, is that you wind up in a most confused state. For example, when the results were in for the last set of primaries -- Virginia, Maryland and DC -- I felt sure that Senator Obama would be the nominee. It might not happen until after Texas and Ohio, I thought, but what were the chances that Senator Clinton would bounce back into the race. Pretty slim I conjectured.

Then I listened to the consultants who appeared on the morning shows—including the weekend. And there were two things about which I felt sure. It was physically impossible to sit and listen to their drones and drivel for any more than ten minutes...and that was only if someone had tied you securely to a seat in front of the television. The second thing was, it’s not over. Hillary has taken a new, apparently successful route, Scare tactics in combination with racist misinformation.

The campaign has reached a new low, but as a result, they might just win the next big contests -- Texas and Ohio. There are blatant lies repeated on internet sites which talk about Senator Obama as a Muslim, a man who doesn’t salute the flag of this nation, a person who doesn’t put his hand over his heart when he pledges allegiance to the flag. He doesn’t wear a flag pin nor did he put his hand on the bible when he was sworn in to Congress. It’s all there in black and white (forgive the pun. Oh, it wasn’t a pun), and it’s all false. But perception is reality and if people perceive the Senator to be anything less than a Christian American flag waving patriot—it’s curtains, maybe even drapes.

Additionally, Senator Clinton is broadcasting an ad that implies that America does not want an inexperienced amateur answering the phone at 3 in the morning. He might not say a proper hello. What if he just grunts. He might not have his hand over his heart when he speaks in hushed tones about the possibility of an impending terrorist attack or worse, an impending hunger attack. I don’t know about you but when someone wakes me in the middle of the night first I get angry and then I get hungry.

I feel like the pong waiting for the ping. Yesterday all the talking heads, as well as my friends said the race was soon to be over. Today they are saying, not so fast. Now, how can I write witty and pithy blogs if I have no one or thing on which to base my facts. What a quandary. But I, like any well respected pundit or publication have never let the facts distract me. Here’s what I know to be true. Hillary was very funny on Saturday Nite Live. If only she would continue to have a sense of humor about herself and the lousy campaign she has allowed to continue, she could pull it off. I thought she was better than what she has allowed the campaign to become, but she clearly is not going to change the campaign leadership (and I maintain Maggie wasn’t a change), so at least if she can laugh at them, the public will know that she understands the joke. Next, there is no reason, (unless she has no money) to end the race before the last primary – I think it’s Puerto Rico on June 2nd. Neither candidate will have a sufficient number of delegates before the convention, and she can make a good case for having won big industrial states, having better hair , better whining, (sometimes) and blah blah blah. Also, I stand by my “first step in concession” theory, but I am moving it back a bit.

Yesterday, after reading all the op ed’s in five newspapers, I had hoped I would be convinced by those writers, that the March 4th Primaries would have some kind of amazing significance. But now I don’t think so. They are just going to be more primaries that give the media something to talk about and give the voters a chance to exercise their voice. I don’t think it’s necessary to play out the scenario’s—like he wins in Texas and she wins in Ohio. Or she wins both or he wins both. It’s not important in the scheme of things because neither candidate is going anywhere. That was evident when their consultants appeared on a variety of shows to call one another names, make ludicrous trivial accusations, and bore an entire listening public to death. They have discovered the way to effectively poison a young voter about Presidential elections—just appear to be the voice of any campaign. That is guaranteed to send those young un’s running from the polls.

The other thing that is making me uncomfortable is this whole, Clinton as advocate for John McCain, thing. Maybe I’m overstating her seemed support because if she is the candidate there will be love affair. But unless you want all the same people running the government, you don’t want to fool yourself into believing a McCain administration will be any different than a Bush administration. There will have to be too many deals made in order for him to get elected and with those deals come some pretty right wing idealists. It’s like when you meet a guy and you think, “I wonder if he has any baggage?” At first glance you may think he looks fairly unencumbered. But before you know it – a couple of incredibly heavy trunks, (forget bags) arrive and you have to live with nothing but the wrong impression. In other words... oh never mind, there are no other words. Someone will be the President. I only hope they will not have sold themselves to the devil/devils, before they take the oath of office. We're just sayin

Oh, Waiter, Two Martinis Please...

Writing, I find, is demanding in ways that photography doesn’t even begin to deal with. Sure, our hours are much more dependent on subject, light, location. But writing, which you can basically do anywhere, anytime, draws on other cerebral stimuli which, for me at least, prove higher walls to bound over. I have a lot of great ideas about what ‘today’s blob should be. In fact, I spend hours walking around as the omniscient observer, saying things like “wow, diamond studs in your camera strap, I should blob about that.” Or, in the middle of taking my driver’s license out of my wallet to show the TSA guy at the airport, and wondering, “if the name on my license was Bin Laden, and it matched the ticket, would the guy even notice? I should blob about that…” It’s not like we don’t have a host of potentially blobbable subjects. But, especially on the road, it is tough to focus (pun intended) on the kinds of things which will actually let you put words to screen. It’s much easier to just flip off a colorful line or two to someone nearby, and keep sipping your coffee.

This morning, in Toledo, where I am traveling with the Clinton campaign, we arose at 415am to make a visit to a Chrysler plant not far away. There will be one of the usual “speechifying” events later this morning, but the groans which accompanied the passing out of the schedule yesterday, were Olympian. Yet, waking at 4, throwing some water on your face, hell, maybe even throwing some water on the face of the first person you meet in the hallway, isn’t so bad. You’re on the bus, having been screened by the dog and wanding agents, and the hub bub of the campaign is again alive and well by five o’clock. The witticisms are perhaps a bit dimmer, and less demanding, but there is amusing chit chat all the way over to, and back from, the event.

Shooting pictures in that gorgeous purple haze dawn light usually is, in itself, enough joy to have risen early. I always remind photo students when I speak to them that the one real curse of a photographer, especially when you are working on a story about a place (i.e a “Santa Barbara” story… or a “Gulf Coast” story) that you WILL be up early, like it or not. In fact, most of the time, there is a very enriching process to seeing the sky go from black to cobalt blue, through the hazy reds, and to ‘morning.’ A cup of hot coffee, even lousy hotel lobby coffee, will help make that transition worthwhile. And today, at Chrysler, on the way out of the plant and back to our buses, we swarmed over several of those very wide, flat, Dunkin Donut boxes like water bugs in a Saigon bathroom.

Ah, morning. Well, we returned to the hotel, where we have an hour of down time, and I have taken the opportunity to try and inject some life into Down Time. Ergo, this blob. But, as I said, unless you are a writer, you end up like me, looking for that motivation to try and get something written when the hairy eyeball of Blob Deadline arrives. Sitting in the lobby of the airport Hilton, charging my laptop, uploading pictures to New York, downloading the recent pictures onto the laptop, I spied a prismatic reflection across the room. I’m in the bar, where red leather banquets and almost stylish green chairs set the mood (yes, it IS a bar) and when I looked for the second time at that reflection, I realized I was looking at the worlds largest usable Martini Glass. It was perched with a three liter bottle of vodka, and fairly cried out to me:

“Take me! Take me!”


photo: Jeffrey McMillan

Well, I approached the glass, afraid it was glued to the table. Nope. I thought it heavy. Yep. But not too heavy. So, while it isn’t lit by the wonderful morning light whose purple rays pushed me to keep my eyes open an hour ago, its mere presence has given me an enormous sense of fulfillment. It makes you think things like “who thought of designing this?” “What did their boss say when they suggested making and distributing them?” “How many people can cozily get schnockered at the same time?” And so, its true, just when you least expect it, something will tap you on the shoulder and say….” I think you just found your blob for the day..” We’re just sayin…. David