The pandemic lockdown continues here and everywhere. I have nothing in the way of worthwhile speculation to offer about that.
Someone asked me to republish the memoria about my very brief military career, so here it is again.
After my freshman year at Catholic University, living with my father and stepmother had become impossible. So, with $24 dollars in my pocket, I left the combined misery and relative security of my family home in Washington, DC, and hitchhiked north to New York City. I’d taken just a few changes of clothes and my trumpet with me. At first, I was able to stay with my older sister.
I had two crummy, low-paying jobs for a while, one as an usher at the Palace Theatre on Broadway and the other selling records at a music store in Harlem. After a time, those jobs disappeared and others replaced them.
It 1953 the Korean War was ending, but we still had the draft for military service. If you were drafted you served two years, but if you volunteered it was a three-year commitment. However, there was a third way to enter the military. You could volunteer for the draft. That way you only served two years, but since you were moving your name to the top of the list, you had to leave for boot camp immediately—the very day you signed up.
Since my life was a total mess and going nowhere, I decided to escape into the military. I volunteered for the draft.
Early one summer morning I rode the subway downtown to the United States Army Induction Center to go through what I expected to be only the first of many military adventures.
There was much confusion, noise, and the smell of young, nervous men. I remember standing in line waiting to get some kind of shot. The guy in front of me fainted at the sight of the needle. The guy behind me fainted, too.
I then remember sitting at a small table filling out a questionnaire. Did I ever have typhoid, they wanted to know. Did I ever have smallpox, gonorrhea, malaria? Did I ever break any bones? The list was endless. I kept checking no, no, no, no.
Then I came to the question: did I ever attempt suicide. I checked yes. I have no idea why I did that, no idea then, and no idea now. I wasn’t trying to get out of the Army. I was trying to get in. And I had never attempted suicide, although I’d thought about it a few times.
The next thing I knew they had separated me from the larger group and a sergeant escorted me and a few others to a different floor. We entered a large room with several benches in the center. On the edge of the room were a half dozen open cubicles. Three of them had men in them who were interviewing the suicidal recruits.
My name was called and I went into one of the cubicles. I noticed that I had drawn the top guy, a man somewhat older than the other interviewers. He was calm and pleasant and asked me to sit down.
“I see you’re unemployed, Edward. Do you live at home?”
“No. I’m staying with my sister at the moment.”
“Have you ever had a job?” he asked.
“Yes, I had a job until last week. But I got fired.”
He asked and I explained what had happened. I was going to work, was on the street where I worked at yet another record store, but I didn’t go in. I passed it by and instead I went to Central Park for the day. When I went back to the store a few days later, the owner let me go.
“Have you ever lost a job this way before,” the interviewer asked.
“I’ve lost pretty much every job I’ve ever had in more or less the same way,” I told him. His soothing manner made me want to be honest.
The man was writing something on my papers. I looked at his name on the desk in front of me. Ludwig Eidelberg. It looked familiar.
“Did you write Take Off Your Mask?” I asked him.
For just a second he looked startled. “Yes, I did,” he answered.
“I read it; it was very interesting,” I told him.
He looked at me for a moment as if I were some unanswered puzzle, then he nodded his head and continued writing. After a few minutes, he put down paper and pen.
“Edward, it might be better if you did not have to go into the military.”
I smiled and laughed lightly. “Yeah, I know,” I said. “But we all have to go. I just want to get it done with.”
Then I realized that he was not just making a comment. He had made a decision, a decision that was his to make. I was shocked and I told him so. I was not fit to go into the Army? Why I asked.
“If we were at war, we’d probably take you. But the military is winding down now that things in Korea seem settled. I think you would be unhappy in the military, and that would not be a good thing for anyone. There is no point in putting it to the test. Give this paper to the sergeant at the desk where you came in. Good luck.”
And that was that. My entire military career had lasted just over an hour. No, I don’t think it had anything to do with the fact that I’d read Dr. Eidelberg's book.
I hope I’m not being obsessive, but I want to say a few more words about changing fashions. Here’s me in the elevator yesterday.
The only color is the blue in that Hong Kong face mask. I guess you could say I dress in the style of that big fashion change that came just before heavy tattooing, piercing, and bright customs. That change, about 25 years ago, was when hipsters abandoned suits and ties and dresses and went super casual. How casual was that? They looked as if they’d slept in their clothes.
I embraced that look. At one point I was looking so disheveled that when I went into a barbershop in New York's Chinatown they refused to cut my hair and asked me to leave. They were right, my Asian neighbors. I had started to look like a bum. And speaking of change, they don’t use the term "bum" anymore, do they? Now they are referred to as homeless ladies or gentlemen.
When I do street photography, I don't want to call attention to myself, so colorless is good. My goal is to be invisible. I see myself as The Shadow, able to cloud men’s minds so they cannot see me. (How many of you remember that old radio show where for a time a young Orson Wells played The Shadow, Lamont Cranston, wealthy young man about town?) The street images I capture are street for editorial stock—not fine art photography or live news.
Seville
When I went to work for American Airlines in the 1980s, I had to buy three suits. AA was a conservative company where male employees were required to wear a suit and tie. Slacks and a sports jacket were fine for dressing up when I was freelancing, but they were not permitted at American’s headquarters. The thing I found most odd about that was when men came into the office they would remove and hang up the jacket and they didn’t put it on again until they left the building at the end of the day.
Speaking of sleeping in your clothes, or looking like you do, I don’t. In fact, I bought myself some stylish sleepwear at the John Lewis winter clearance sale. At night now, I look like I’m about to attend a Sunday brunch or a slumber party at some chic villa on the southern California coast.
Remember when there were lots of people in the streets and parks having fun, getting close?
San Miguel de Allende
Rome
Galway
I think I may have painted myself into a corner with the title of my blog. I've cast myself as a confused complainer, bitching about this and that, always finding fault when the true fault could well be with me. Hmm. Maybe? Well . . . here I go again.
Who was it that convinced otherwise sensible women to walk around in 6-inch heels? In general, I've always thought that women were wiser than men in practical matters. But not when it comes to fashion (And not when dealing with men either).
When I lived in Texas and worked for American Airlines, I bought myself a pair of cowboy boots, had them custom made at a place in Fort Worth. I guess I kind of went native. I wore a Dallas Cowboy's cap too and listened to a lot of Willie Nelson. My reward (and the heels on those boots were probably no more than 2" high) was trouble with the calf muscle in my right leg for the next five years. Maybe a guy from Brooklyn should not be trying to look like a cowboy?
While I'm on the subject of modern fashion, I might as well say what else I don't like or understand about recent trends.
Tattoos! A couple of artfully done, nicely placed tattoos can look good. But why are so many people getting tattooed from head to toe? It's scary. What are they hiding from? And in case the tattoos aren't enough, they add wild colored hair, ripped-up jeans, and bizarre costumes! I should mention piercing but maybe I've already gone too far.
Have you seen the singer Christina Aguilera lately? She used to go around in elaborate makeup dressed like a female Elton John. She's now scrubbed down to the basic Christina. And she looks totally yummy.
A lot more serious than changes in fashion is the total emptiness of the streets that the coronavirus has brought to major cities around the world. Above is Mathew Street here in Liverpool. All the bars and music clubs are closed including the famous Cavern Club. And there's not a single Beatles fan insight.
The pandemic has put most of us in self-isolation. Hello out there! I'm here in this little studio flat all by myself, but that's okay. I'm not uncomfortable spending time in solitude.
If you are self-isolating with a partner or in a family group and you have a camera handy, perhaps this would be a good time to try some serious portraiture. And maybe I can help with a few tips.
A good portrait has nothing false in it. We don't need to see another empty smile. Of course, some people smile a lot. If a smile is real and natural, and if you can encourage and capture that with your camera, great.
In the long-ago, I did hundreds of portraits of actors. I've not done any in a very long time but I will try to find my way through the cobwebs of a faulty, aging memory to tell you how I used to work.
I was lucky to have an apartment with great natural light from two sets of windows, one with north light, the other with unhindered light from the West. And my building was just a short walk from Central Park, where I would often take my subjects to do the second half of a portrait session. The Upper Westside was an affordable, pleasant place to live back then.
To begin, I would have the subjects sit on a cushioned stool and coach them to sit up straight and be comfortable doing it. I wanted a relaxed long-body look.
I used a Nikon F 35mm SLR with Kodak Plus-X or Tri-X. Tri-X was my go-to Street film, which I developed myself in Acufine (without pushing) and rated it at ASA 800. Acufine produced a tighter, more even grain than Kodak D-76. I would shoot 3 or 4 rolls of 36 exposures. At one point, I switched to Ilford's medium speed film of the time.
I found a 105mm lens best for headshots. Sometimes I would go a bit longer with women, 135mm or even 180mm. Bright, soft open-shade lighting works best with most women. A more dramatic crosslight is better for men. Usually. But each person, each subject, is a different judgment call.
If this old-timey tech info confuses you, don't worry about it; it's all in the past now. Irrelevant. You'll be shooting with a digital camera or your smartphone, right?
A trick that works well is to have the subject look to the left or right and then turn back to look directly at me. That simple move puts life in the body and lessens stiffness.
Being an actor myself helped when directing actors, I think. An important acting tip is—don't act. Listen and react. I would ask the subject what he or she had for dinner the night before. Then I'd ask them what they had for breakfast.
"But," I would say, "this time say nothing. Don't speak. Just think the thought as if I can read your mind. Please don't act, and don't put any expression on your face. Just look at me and let me read the thought in your mind." It works! It's magic.
