Category: personal

Rodney King Dead

Rodney King died before he turned 50. His beating, painful as it was, followed by the acquittal and subsequent riots, promoted awareness of racial inequities in our country. Too bad we need chaos to promote learning, not only about ourselves, but the national ethos we support.

Would have liked to see him beat the demons and survive. The great experiment in which America has been engaged suffered a setback when Mr. King became ten-minutes-famous, but it advanced as people who never thought about the problems realized how deep and pervasive they were and are.

 

Michael Bloomburgn and Jamie Dimon Brood

Hard to tell if he the Mayor doesn’t like Judge Shira Shindlin looking at his stop and frisk policies or  if he is outraged about the number of minorities who have been harassed and humiliated. Were there an impartial judiciary and prosecutors interested in doing justice, civil rights and liberties would be far more prevalent than they are now. He and PC Kelly have legislated a police state and their enormous power and wealth prevents anyone from speaking out against it. Who’s at fault? The Judges who he appoints (and who Rudy appointed for the last how many year?) and the DAs who seem to be elected for life (they know the secrets, eh?).

But, as a student of photography, no longer a lawyer, and a disgraced judge, I can only comment on the shot. Strong composition by Mr. Barritt. Good color. And a narrative with a question which we don’t want to answer!

As for Mr. Dimon (I have to admit being a shareholder), he and the EXXON chair really control America, if not the world. So, what is he thinking. I am saying I am sorry for not being in control or what can I say that will convince them I really give a shit? Another mystery shot.

In case you hadn’t noticed, Bloomberg News produced the second shot. Do we really have a chance? Bloomberg has 10 billion and Dimon earns $20 million a year. But the photos are exquisite. Just think of how they would have made Napoleon look!

Mike Wallace, Dead at 93

So, when the word went out that I was the Judge who set the bail that released the accused who went to the accusers lob site and shot and killed her, Mike Wallace called to find out if I wanted to be interviewed on 60 minutes. “What would you say that I couldn’t,” my lawyer said. “I will go after the DA and the Governor and the Mayor, ripping them…. Besides, you have not been grilled on national TV by someone like him….”

I chose to remain silent, taking the high road that Judges are supposed to take, never getting out my story, or the real story of the bail decision or the real reasons behind some of my comments and behaviour, reasons that allowed people of color or weak roots to be frisked/harassed/demeaned at will (especially if they didn’t turn snitch), forced accuseds to accept pleas because they couldn’t afford bail (acts which also took away their rights to sue), and prevented defendants due process because by asserting their rights they might be sentenced more severely because their overworked and underpaid public defenders couldn’t afford to tell the whole story, jury trial time being the most expensive the system has to endure.

But it wasn’t because I was afraid of Mike Wallace; I was more afraid of my lawyer and the system. And, for those of you who have seen Hunger Games, I had good reason to be. I got crushed. It couldn’t have been worse.

He might have liked me. After all, he said he wanted to be fair, which is what I always wanted to be.

 

Hallmark and My Dreams – 1


So, I be in Greenfield, starting another part of my life. Sharon’s home. At 10:00, or so, she said she had done ok with the separation due to school – ate well, did things, felt some tender and loving thoughts that resulted in a phone call and voicemail which I missed while washing the tub. On my own, but not really; she directs me from afar, advising me to care for myself and my surroundings.

Needed to drive safely and arrive in tact and on time. Nothing more important than being safe and healthy for school and our reunions. Who does this? We be flying blind; building a relationship by being apart, so we can be together and interesting as we get ready for the ubiquitous hospital bed.

Had the three pages of Jay Maisel’s Monster that I got at his workshop in 2010. Had done some of the exercises, many of them, but hadn’t focused on his semi-rhetorical questions. Put simply, he asked, “why do I do this?” I know and I don’t know, you know. Put a camera in hand and I am me and so many of these other peeps who stared through lenses. I don’t see if I don’t see an image; it is like when I was an attorney, which I am not anymore, by choice, when everything that I saw was a case of American injustice.

Here we go. I gots so much to see and learn. I be going to learn my strengths and weaknesses. Who knows, they may not be the ones I think. I know I love to shoot, but I also like to see the prints (I brought almost all of my best portfolios). I don’t know what my ultimate goal is. I know I want to learn lighting and posing/shooting studio portraits. I can talk to the subjects; I cannot shoot people whose attentions I don’t have. Is that true; who knows. Yup. I wish I could draw, but I would do anything to shoot and print big.

I have given up all my outside interests other than my wife and my health. I have to make this work, you know. Photography is the thing that dreams come from.

Eric Saw His Family For Christmas

 

I worry that he could be next. In Paul’s final days, Eric dragged him to Act 1. He knew Paul was a mess, but he didn’t give up on him. Now he has no one to hang with or care about.

Eric went home for the holidays. Street workers/outreach say Mom calls in everyday. No room at her house for him. Brother home after some financial disaster, according to Eric. They let him take a shower. Gave him a hat, two pairs of socks and food. He doesn’t want the kind of help that he would get if he had a reasonable diagnosis. “I am 30. I got years to go before I’ll admit to any disability.”

Jim always tried to help. He stopped a woman from being groped on a bench. Cleaned City Hall Park in the early mornings. He looks out for his daughter, Amanda. He picked Paul off the ground, several times. Last week, he knew Paul was in trouble. “His color wasn’t right. He couldn’t walk. Wouldn’t share a beer. Not right what happened to him…. We have lost a few recently. Got to keep walking to stay warm.”

Yeh. No one wants to freeze to death. Cold ain’t as bad as dying.

Who is looking out for Jim?

 

Paul O’Toole’s friend The Chief

 


Chief came by to wish Paul a Merry Christmas.

“Did you see Rita Markle? COTS would not have taken him in if he was drunk. I told Tim and Wayne that he was dying. His lips were blue. He couldn’t stand or breathe…”

Chief and Jason built the memorial. Someone stole the sign and the Buddah. Paul’s friend from the store across the street gave them the sticks to make the cross.

Paul O’Toole’s Friends Grieve

 


Paul sat on Cherry St after he woke up, whatever time or day it happened to be or when he wasn’t in jail (criminal trespass and open containers) or at the hospital (car accident, beatings, or falls). People walked by. Some gave him money. Some gave him food. He was always courteous. People who don’t know each other have lost something in their lives without really knowing what it was or how to replace it.

Autumn bought votives and candles.

She wanted to take him home, but he wouldn’t get clean.

Very sad, both said, and not fair.

 

 

 

Iraq War Result Not Decided

 

4,500 dead if you only count Americans or people fighting on behalf of the Armed Forces? How many Iraq people? How many Vermonters who died in an uneven proportion? Enemies increased from both the ones who hated the US and the ones who didn’t yet know they did. Living there didn’t get much better; neither did living here. Sectarian violence no one counted as a civil war ripped communities apart. Robert Moses did the same thing. Killed some of the bad guys too, and more innocents than anyone wanted to admit to. Yeh? Economy dead here, but no passion for the people who played by the rules or played by ones which should have been. Lost the higher road in the world. No more common sense here or real community. Everyone smiles because they don’t want to share the truth, unless they don;t know it. No taxes to pay for a war; a rate reduction that didn’t trickle down; excessive greed and theivery which went unpunished. If I paid for it, the war and the rest of the ills of society, I should have been given the opportunity to voter for it, yes? No. Democracy as we were taught be dead. A trillion $ for no reason, except to protect the gas in the Emirates and Saudi land and to supply the bombs, food and the bandages. Remember Coppola’s gem? who built the bridges and the airfields? Who worked for companies that benefitted the war who served in the executive. How many just injured, mentally or physically are we going to pay for? All I hope, but not until someone tells them why they have been left in their present conditions. No jobs for the vets. No money to send them to college. And if the money were found, it would come with some sort of hooks, preventing the people from getting jobs. If the reason to depose Sadaam Hussein was because he was a tyrant, a denier of freedom and a committer of genocide, and that reason was acceptable, then go after all the others, assuming that here in America we treat everyone fairly and equitably, too.