So, I represented Eric light years ago in Rutland. Must have called him in jail, when public defenders didn’t deign to do such things, except for the privileged few. He asked something and someone answered something. From then on he has referred to me as Mrs. Duckman.
Category: art
Taylor Hall Coming of Age
Trying to build a portrait photography business in Burlington. People don’t spend money on such things unless they go to high school or get married. I don’t have money for a studio or advertising or professional quality lighting. Spent too much going to school and then the market dropped. So, I came up with a promotional idea. Donated a portrait shoot, a headshot and a digital image, at a screening of Tatoo Nation, a movie about how prison tatooing in California started the tatoo boom. Wouldn’t you know it, a kid who wanted a tatoo won the raffle. He doesn’t have ink. But he wants to become a musician. Right now he fights some demons, but he feels as though he is headed in the right direction.
Ramy Still Grieves
You had a life to live forward to and then the guy dies. Wasn’t tough enough before him; now you got to move on alone. People keep records and tell stories. You got dignity and pain. Sometimes they cancel out, leaving you who knows where. But everyday you got to take your beauty into the street with your head hung high and smile.
And, sometimes, you have to maintain the mystery!
Dennis Savo Dead at 54
Dennis died April 2 at the age of 54. He didn’t look it, as people say, but what does that mean? What does a person’s years have to do with how they look? People look like they look. We all see people differently based on our experience. If we have seen someone, an aging relative or friend, who looks haggard or tired, we may assume that all at this age will look the same. If the person shows energy and promise, we might make more positive deductions. But they mean nothing. The people whom we observe leave an individual faceprint. The better the shot, the more we see. If we listen, a little, the more we learn about the person, not necessarily about life as it applies to all who have been born who have or will wander into our lives.
Our man, Dennis, here, looks strong and weak. He’s tired of the bullshit life put in his path and on top of whatever he needs to do to avoid it. See the wrinkles under the eyes, the deep routes in his forehead, the downward tilt to his lips. He’s wearing a raincoat on a sunny day and a wool cap on a not so cold one. Colored like the flag, he looks like he dressed for the walk, albeit inappropriately. He didn’t. Not a lot of patience to stand still, but he did. I gave him a dollar. Dave Parker gave him a dollar that I had given to him earlier.
People mourned him.
Dave Parker Works Hard At Life
So, his adult life has not been on easy street. Spent less time free, than not free. Cannot find work. Doesn’t have an education. Basically disabled because he can’t do whatever there is to do and no one would hire him anyway. He stands, asking for small bits of change. Cops kicked him off the ramp coming off I91, because of danger to himself and drivers. But what could they do to him? Put him in jail?
No easy answers.
Church Street Welcomes Spring 2013
Not much traffic recently on Church Street. People in jail. People in motels. People in programs. Some people hanging out on couches. Others, who knows. One warm day and they hit the streets. Not to say they lost contact. Just followed enough dramas. Ready to go full blown, getting in and out of who knows how much trouble, again.
Dave just got good news about his claim for benefits. He may have more trouble keeping the money than getting it.
Larry’s girlfriend broke up with him last night. He said he had a heart attack. But they let him out for breakfast.
Dennis Terrible had to go to jail to sleep it off. Too drunk for the hospital. He got kicked out of the hoosegow. Walked back to Church St.
Tommy needed a dollar. Dave gave him the dollar I had just given to him. We call that the trickle down in Burlington.
Tommy must have spent his money. Sitting on Church Street, holding a sign that says “Homeless and Hungry. Anything Helps. Thank You.” If you cannot read it, its because he doesn’t write big. People cannot sit on the street, begging, without signs. He knows his First Amendment rights, Tommy does.
She’s homeless and hungry.
I bought a Powerball ticket. Who knows?
Jim Thayer Nears His End
Usually, when I walk down Church Street, elation fills my heart when a person who hasn’t been around for a while finds me. Jim is one of the guys whose smile always brightens my day.
During an early winter cold spell, I carried a sleeping bag around for days looking for him. Our schedules sometimes don’t coincide, me being an early morning person, while he sometimes roams until late at night and then sleeps in or out, depending on the weather. Jim said he’d been around, just not at the same time as me. I must have missed his decline.
Last time I shot him and his daughter Amanda was Christmas morning. They were on their way to a meal at Junior’s, an annual food event for street people. Both seemed a little beaten down. She’s away right now. People say she was doing OK for a while. I saw him again in mid-January. He was talking with a cop about something. I gave him a dollar, staring without talking, before moving along. Enough drama. Didn’t know if he was engaged in a social or investigative conversation.
But, on St. Patrick’s day, as he waited for the parade of Ireland Cement Mixers, we chatted. He looked awful. Even the days in the past when he had been carousing and not taking care of himself, he had a sense of life. He had helped people who had fallen or who couldn’t take care of themselves, like Paul O’Toole. Out early, he would pick up litter in City Hall Park. He told jokes and stories. Had a high sense of morals and etiquette. Got pissed if you didn’t greet him and upset if he missed you. Today, he answered the question, “how are you,” with “… not too good. Doctors say I don’t have a chance.” He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, though I asked several times.
He refused my offer to buy him a new coat. “Not going to be needing a new coat where I am going.” Turned down my open offer to do anything which would make him more comfortable or happy. “No need. I have been all the places I needed to go and done all I wanted to do. Just waiting for the end.” Damn. I took a dollar out of my wallet and offered it to him. He refused and then reached into his pocket, took out a silver dollar. “Here Duck. You take this dollar. Its for all the dollars you have given me over the years.” “I don’t need your dollar,” I said. “Then give it to someone who does. When was the last time a homeless person gave you a dollar?’ I took it.
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?
Aaron’s Hurting
I had just seen him on the waterfront. A little out of his way. Lives in Winooski. Walks everywhere. He always looks stylish, takes quick evenly paced steps, capped head up, similing in an impish sort of way. Wears lots of different outfits, colors and labels. Must spend some time bargain hunting at the local thrift shops.
A bike. Hey. It warmed up a little here. Not enough for a bike. He bought it off someone. Clean. High tech. Just have to wonder if it is swag. But in this world, he becomes a buyer in due course. People like him don’t go to bike stores, unless they are selling reconditioned bikes. But, there was more to reach the eye. His arm had a cast and he was wearing sunglasses on a cloudy, gray day.
Not good dude. He’s such a gently guy. Not going to say what happened either. “Oh, the guy from the government did it.” Law on the street. Don’t tell. No one to protect him. He doesn’t think safe or not safe. He just goes from one place to another. Cares about how he looks, but only for the now, not for the tomorrow. Will wait for his smile again. “Hey,” he says, “got a dollar for a cup of coffee?”
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.