When I was five, I would run around like some possessed pioneer wanna-be, singing, "I've got spurs that jingle jangle jingle." My mother, whose fate it was to live a life that contained the same measure of joy one would exact from a razorblade popsicle, humored me for a while. Although living on welfare didn't allow much in the way of discretionary income, she bought me toy guns and holsters, a cowboy hat, and a pair of second hand cowboy boots. I have since come to admire her resourcefulness; I'm not sure I'd know where to look for second hand cowboy boots that fit a five year old.

This photo was taken by a guy who walked the streets of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, and lots of towns like it, taking photos for people who were dirt poor but had dreams. I dreamed of being a cowboy. My mother was dreaming of a day when the $1 cost of the picture didn't leave her broke.

This is my mother when she was a kid. My grandmother is at the top. My great-grandmother is between them. This picture tells you all you need to know about my mother's childhood. If you look carefully, you'll notice that my mother has a brace on her left leg. Jonus Salk was still a kid too when this picture was taken, so my mother had to make do. Because of that brace, my brother and I never got to swim in a public pool, go to the movies in the summer, or do all the things my friends got to do. My mother told me that she was protecting me. By the time Jonus Salk had produced the vaccine that made outbreaks of polio as scarce as Berkshire beef cattle, I was no longer interested in pools. Timing is everything, I guess.
 

I'll tell you something amazing: when my father died, we filed some forms with the Social Security office and discovered that he had never held a job. I didn't get cowboy boots out of it, but his resourcefulness outstripped even my mother's. This is my father on the right, my great-grandmother in the middle, and my great uncle on the left. I was named after my great uncle. Both of these studly looking soldiers died before they reached the age I am now. Both died of diseases that are today highly treatable. So go figure. So, anyway, at five I was singing and making every banister niche into a horse, convincing my poor beset mother that I would be an unmotivated, unemployed drifter when I grew up. So she quit humoring me and drilled into my head the reality that there was no need for cowboys in western Massachusetts. I grew up. I put my childish ways behind me. I began the lengthy process of becoming a man.

Two weeks after graduating from high school, I enlisted in the U.S. Navy. I wanted fun. I wanted adventure. It would be the sailor's life for me. I loved the Navy--for the first three or four days. Then I hated it. It wasn't fun. Washing my underwear by hand wasn't adventurous. The entire experience was boring, silly, and demeaning. To make up for treating me like a washing machine, they sent me to Maine where laundromats abound but no ships have their home port. I spent three and a half years in Maine. It is a lovely state. My uniforms got sparkling clean. It was still not what I had in mind.

 

The Middle Years

What I had in mind I got after I got out of the Navy. I got fun. I got adventure. I got Vietnam. I became a tech rep. In case you don't know, tech reps are people who are sent out by a company to help someone understand how to use a piece of equipment that's so complicated the manufacturer has to include a human brain in every package. The tech rep is what passes for a human brain.

On my way to Vietnam, I stopped in Japan and bought my first good camera, a Nikormat ftn. I didn't know anything about photography, but I had researched cameras and was ready to learn.

Let me confess something to you: I loved Vietnam. Sure, there were inconvenient moments that came in the middle of the night, moments filled with running, praying, and listening for the whine, whistle, or kabloom of rockets; but these were the price one paid for a front seat in the action. Besides, I met and became friends with the best people I've ever known. Even today, many of them remain my friends.

One of my best friends was a Marine photographer. He did me the great artistic favor of letting me stumble, pick myself up, fall down, and recover. all the time he was encouraging me and teaching me. In the process I learned a lot about photography and being a grown-up.

 

The Late Middle Years

This is where I skip over a number of years, omitting tales of lost love, anguish, and other such rubbish and get to the present. In 1986, I married the woman of my dreams. Joan is exactly what I always needed: tough, exacting, organized, nuts. Her favorite day of the year is Halloween. In fact, we once entered a competition and did so well that the College was willing to send us to St. Louis so we could show off what we'd done and get patted on the back. Joan wouldn't go because the trip would necessitate her missing Halloween at home. I went alone. There's a good chance she takes it too seriously. Everyone tells me that I shouldn't put pictures of my family on my web page. They're afraid someone will kidnap my family. Fat chance.

Once I was married to Joan, I had enough money to buy into the modern photographic world, the world of motor drives, self-focus, and 50 page user manuals. I bought a camera that I still remember as being my favorite camera ever--next, of course, to my Nikormat--a Nikon 8008.

For twelve and a half years we had a dog named Tucker. Tucker had a series of aliases: Tuckerdoodles, Doodles, T-Bird, Tee, and Bird are some that come to mind. Tucker was the first dog I'd really loved since I was a kid. I just wasn't ready I guess. I radically altered his appearance for this photo because I was afraid someone would see Joan walking with him and steal them both.

The most amazing thing about Tucker was his love of posing for the camera. We don't have a single family portrait from that 12 years without Tucker having himself placed smack in the middle. He lent us a lot of class.

When Tucker left us two and a couple of years ago, I experienced the most intense sadness I've ever felt. I still miss him very much.

 

As for my family, we're a hardy crew. One summer most of us went on vacation together. While we were there, we decided to try getting lost at sea. We thought it would be a bonding experience. Somebody found us, but not before we were pretty sure we'd really gone and done it up right. The only one of us who was nervous was our daughter, Christa. Of course it was a bit harder for her: all the time we were treading water she was holding on to a bag containing the family's snorkeling gear and towels.

If you're ever in Virgin Gorda, be careful when you rent a boat. Their cash registers work much better than their common sense.

That's about it. As I said, my mother told me to grow up and act like an adult, so I did. Lest you doubt it, this is me as I was a few years back, with my horse, Beau. Beau lived to be over 40 and loved to run. He'd run even if I didn't use my spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle. I've come a long way.
 

The Current State of Things 		   
     

Oh yes, there are a couple of things I left out. I'm now a boater. Joan and I went to lunch one day, one thing led to another, and we ended up with this boat. It was a stimulating conversation.

About five years ago I moved out of the film world and into the digital realm. I started with an Olympus point-and-shoot that cost around $800 and could now be replaced for about $65. So it goes. Today I shoot with a Nikon D300s and Nikon lenses. The camera is always with me, always ready to hold onto a moment that I wouldn't want to lose.

 

Finally, I've been getting lots of complaints from Seamus, our Maine Coon Cat. Seems he's not happy about being excluded from my bio page. So here's a shot of Seamus. He's only two years old and already weighs nearly 20 pounds, but he thinks he's nimble and cute. I might concede to cute, but nimble! I don't think so.

This shot is from his modeling portfolio. He was trying to do sultry.