Illusions..

There is something zenlike about the mysterious, expansive tranquility of this photo overlooking eternity,  the lyrical flow of the infinite impeded only by the rude imposition of man whose restrictions and taboos are all that block our path to peace and freedom.

In reality, this picture was taken at the 4 Corners National Monument at the geographical point where Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah meet.  The photo is looking out onto Colorado and the posts are there to keep out the cars, buses, and vanloads of tourists who have come to see this truly unremarkable sight.  A large brass disk (which was recently found to be in the wrong spot) indicates the "exact" spot where the four states meet.  In as much as we have 4 extremities, busloads of Japanese, German, and various other European tourists, and vanloads of American families willing to pay $5 and wait on long lines, get the opportunity to straddle the disk and to be in four states at once while a friend or family member climbs up to a platform above to document this event photographically.  Surrounding the disk area were 30 or 40 booths for people to sell souvenirs, food, and beverages to these pilgrims.

The fallacy of this "zenlike" photo is that I am standing with my back to this madhouse of a thousand tourists buying, eating, laughing, talking and straddling, in 20 different languages.  As I look at this picture I can still hear and smell the carnival like atmosphere.

At my recent show "Signs of Life in Death Valley and the American Southwest",  I was telling this story to Joe Schyuler,  an important local photographer.  He asked me why I didn't take a picture of the area behind me.  I told him it didn't occur to me at the time, since I didn't know there would be a story to tell.

He told me that when he was studying photography with Minor White, the students were given the long standing assignment to turn around after they had taken a picture they liked, and photograph whatever was behind them.

I have done this on a number of occasions with generally uninteresting results, but I particularly like the juxtaposition of the two photos below which provide surprising context to the illusion posed by the first picture.

So indeed, things are not always what we imagine them to be.

                                                                     Pablo

Arthur Tress and Rick Tropp, 1969...

In 1969, after graduating from C.W. Post College, I got a job teaching, not something I aspired to, but at the time I had no idea what I wanted to do, so it was just as well, being a job that was draft deferred.  The war in Viet Nam was raging and there were so few teachers that you were able to trade one form of servitude for another, admittedly less dangerous one .  My friend and classmate in Arthur Leipzig's photography class, Ricky Tropp, got a job in NYC as a darkroom technician at an important photo lab.  They had great enlargers there with Leica lenses and didn't seem to mind my being there and making the occasional print, so needless to say, I was there alot.  A lot of professional/commercial photographers had their film and print work done there and I got to know a few of them, but the one who stands out in my mind was Arthur Tress, who had just gotten back from a road trip through the Appalachian Mountains and had made some great photos of the hill people and their buildings.  I liked them a lot and wished I could amble around the country like him, and take pictures like that, but couldn't or didn't, a dream deferred.

Arthur Tress went on to have a successful career as a photographer, I went back to school,  got a Ph.D. in psychology and became a mediocre psychologist working in a state mental institution, and I don't know what happened to Ricky Tropp.   I recently went to visit our teacher, Mr. Leipzig (who always became annoyed when people at school called him Dr.) and among other things,  asked about Ricky.  He said he had lost touch with Rick years ago but seemed to sense that things did not work out well for him (as a photographer anyway),  and thought that maybe he could have done more to help him along.  This is a photo I took of Ricky in 1969 in NYC using his new Minolta SRT 101 on one of our down town photo safaris.  Downtown NYC was in shambles in those days after years of slow decay... dirty, degenerate, abandoned... and we couldn't get enough of those mean streets.  In those days, anyone who was anyone was shooting with a Nikon, but the Minolta was a nice camera.  I bought one after graduation.  As if it makes any difference what kind of camera you were using.

The image at the top is one I took of a post office in 6/07 in a little isolated mining town called Goodsprings, Nevada .  It is a very American photograph.  This picture reminded me a lot of a particular photo I liked back then taken by Arthur Tress, and printed by Ricky, which I can still see in my minds eye.  The photo reminds me of his work which I so envied,  which pleases me now as does my recently earned freedom to roam around the country and document America, for which I so  envied Arthur back then.  It speaks to how simple life once was and how uncomplicated it still is in some places.  My life seems to have never been simple or uncomplicated and I seem to have always sought out that peace of mind in the camera and the darkroom and daydreams.  In the end, I traded one deferment for another, but maybe you need to be in the right place at the right time, and for me, the time was now.  I couldn't have known that then.  I hope all is well with Rick.

                                                                                           8/5/07

                                                                                           on a plane from Dallas

                                                                                           to Chicago.

                                                                         Pablo

Ogallala

Heading out of Alliance, full and happy in spite of our disappointments, we began to head east on route 2 right down the middle of the state, on the beginning of making our way to Auburn in time for Chase's graduation.  In the growing darkness, we passed small towns like Antioch, Ellsworth, Bingham , and Hyannis, where we found no places to stay and by now, no signs of life to reassure us, so we decided to drive south on the 61, through Arthur county, a sparsely populated area with the town of Arthur being midway at the junction of the 61 and 92.  We had a good feeling about finding someplace to stay in Arthur, this being Jackie's father's name, but like everyplace else, it was dark and uninviting as night had now fell and the streets were empty.  To compound our sense of growing desperation, it began to rain heavily and long trails of horizontal lightning, like nothing we had ever seen, strafed the horizon in long sideways rolling blasts that lit the landscape with an eerie glow over an emptiness that threatened to swallow us.  Since Jackie was driving, I had my nose pressed against the window, enjoying the spectacle thoroughly, until Jackie mentioned that this was perfect conditions for a tornado, and given the total darkness, if we were to encounter one, we wouldn't know it until it sucked us up and spit us out, which would be too late.  This sobering thought dampened my childlike excitement and added to our sense of urgency about getting to Ogallala, which appeared to be a large town with the best chance of finding a place to bed down for the night.   The rain and lightning followed us right to the door of a Best Western, or was it a Hampton Inn, whatever....They had rooms and we were saved.  The next morning over a buffet breakfast of grits, eggs, toast and coffee, we talked to truckers and fellow travelers who were equally awed and eager to talk about last nights events, watched the skies clear, and ventured out to see Ogallala.

I am not all that happy with this entry.  The narrative is good but the pictures aren't particularly informative, cohesive, or good.  I am reaching the point in my Nebraska road trip where there are many good pictures, but not much to say, or vice verse, so at this point I will leave Nebraska for a while to regroup and reminisce, and then cut to the Chase (as in Chase's graduation in Auburn) followed by mostly images I like that don't have a lot of context, but just speak for themselves like this one which so aptly describes Nebraska in general (who comes up with these things?!!!).

                                                                         Pablo

Kilgore, Nebraska

After spending the night in Valentine, we quickly drove through the town, felt like it seemed too busy and headed down route 20 toward Cody.  About 21 miles west of Valentine we were surprised to see that we were leaving the central time zone and entering mountain time a demarcation which follows the most irregular of paths which, when looking at the map makes no sense at all.

But a few minutes later, we came upon the most unusual of places,  Kilgore, Nebraska, population 99, a ghost town which might easily be seen in a southwest photo by Edward Weston or Ansel Adams.

   

This is main street.  It is hard to understand what has happened here.  It seems so post apocalyptic in many ways, but there are still 99 people living here.  The two mainstays of any well functioning social structure, the bar and the church are the two best maintained buildings in the "downtown", so life goes on in a well oiled manner.

And of course, I would be remiss if I did not remember the US Post Office the spiritual core of any American town.

And somewhere between Kilgore and Cody, there was this little town called Nenzel where I took this mysterious photo and moved on without really seeing what else was around me.  I always like to think that next time I will spend more time there.  Always next time.  

                                          

                                                                             Pablo

Alliance, Nebraska

It was starting to be late in the day as we have left Angora and  headed into Alliance, where we were looking forward to seeing "Carhenge", an authentic reproduction of the original made entirely out of old cars which would have obviated our need to visit England.  Coming into town, we did see one seemingly hand made sign indicating that Carhenge was just a mile or so down the road, but we saw no other signs, and try as we might, we just couldn't find it.

It was starting to get late, ( although the light enhancing magic of the digital photograph of the above sign would indicate otherwise)  it WAS getting darker by the minute.  At this point, we had given up our search for carhenge and decided to find a place in town to spend the night and resume our search in the morning.  There didn't seem to be anything big or important or compelling about the town, and I could see no reason why it should be, but there were no vacancies at any of the non-fleabag kinds of places, like the Holiday Inn and the like, so it was decided that we would just have to keep going and catch carhenge next time around.  Since we were hungry, we stopped at the Ayo Grill, a nondescript looking  mexican restaurant on West 3rd Street, which was the main drag through the center of town.

Given our many disappointments in Alliance and the fact that there was no resulting photo-documentation to necessitate an entry at this point, I might have bypassed the town, blogwise, were it not for the most extraordinarily great Chile Relleno that I had there.  It was not breaded or deep fried or filled with some bland and undigestible glob of cheese like so many that have disappointed me.  The chile pepper was large and unbreaded and not too hot, but just right.  It seemed to be pan fried with just the right amount of light nicely flavored cheese that went well with the great vegetarian beans and rice that came on the side.  I am not a food critic but I know what I like, but I just loved the meal,
 was pleasantly surprised, as you can tell, and would return for that alone.  Jackie enjoyed here enchiladas, although not quite as enthusiastically as me, but did give the place two thumbs up.   Real mexican food made by real Mexican people

It is now dark, so with a full stomach, we head out into the night, east on highway 2 past Hyannis turning south on a small 2 lane, route 61 past a little town named Arthur (Jackie's father's name) where we stopped for a minute and wished it could have been more.  But is was late, so onward to Ogallala, where we hope to be able to spend the night.

                                                                 Pablo

Angora, Nebraska

Due to circumstances out of my control, after editing a prior posting, things got out of order, with the Red Cloud posting no longer being where it was supposed to be, thus disrupting the flow, since we came upon Angora right after being in Bayard.

So, heading north out of Bayard onto the 385, next stop Alliance, where among other things as yet unknown to us, as things will be till you get there, Jackie was looking forward to seeing "Carhenge", a replica of Stonehenge made completely out of old cars.  As usual with us, it was starting to get late, which happens when you amble too aimlessly, which is the point of an amble after all, but due to the constraints of the day, it does have its consequences, like coming upon a fascinating place with barely enough time or adequate available light to give it proper consideration.  So it was with Angora, Nebraska, a very small unincorporated town with 7 or 8 structures many of which were abandoned, and its own post office,

all of which was across the road from a railway siding with numerous grain elevators made of corrugated
aluminum of a banal and generic nature that did not interest me at the time.  It still doesn't, but it would have properly filled out the photo profile of this town which was founded in 1900 by the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad, probably to house and service the railroad crews that manned this facility which no longer seems to need manning.  I googled Angora as much as one can google something and came up with very little beyond the above info.  As hard as I tried, I could not find a population for the town, which I would estimated at between 10 and 15.  This probably explains why the USPS has Angora's post office on the 2011 closure list.  When that happens, the population may drop by 3 or 4 more.

The following are a more or less complete catalogue of the buildings in Angora.  Excluded due to lack of interest on my part are 2 mobile homes and a 1970's vintage split level home housing a family, the only sign of life in the town.  This may possibly be occupied by the postmaster and his family, but I'm just guessing.  So, here is Angora as I saw it late in the day and now wishing I had more time....

These photos were taken standing right in the middle of town, and with the exception of the omissions mentioned above, that's about it.  The architecture and the lush greens make you think of a little town in Ireland. 

As I mentioned, the town is right beside the railroad tracks, as are most Nebraska towns, and although I did not take any pictures of the railroad facility, here is a train going by, taken from the center of town.  By the looks of it, it was carrying coal.  Since the train was so long, as they are out there, and not moving too quickly, I was able to trot over and catch this shot as it was going by.

Well. that's it for Agora for now.  And, as I keep saying (looking back what I have done and, in hindsight, what I have missed), I hope I will get the chance to get back and fill in the blanks, but for now its on to Allience and "Carhenge" and whatever other surprises the town holds.

                                                                    Pablo

Red Cloud

May 18,  2011

The end of the line for us on route 136 was Red Cloud, our holy grail, and the last important stop on our pre-Auburn amble.

Sometimes it is the chronology of the spirit that guides us.  It is passion and providence, not time, that provides the guideposts on the road of life.  So it was with Red Cloud, one of our last stops on the road before we ended up in Auburn for cousin Chase's graduation.   It was foremost on our minds from the first day that we arrived in Lincoln after an uneventful and generally uninspiring (Warren Buffet aside) 3 day stay in Omaha, a city flattened, ethnically cleansed, and replaced with 10 square blocks of multi-level parking lots and too many 70's and 80's style utilitarian pre-cast concrete and chrome and glass office buildings of a most undistinguished, and almost Soviet style nature.  If you look hard, there are are a few surprises (building wise), but they are few and far between, and there is the old market area,  partially intact and still charming, that hints of what once was.

But I digress into my usual rant about the decimation of old down towns.  Don't even get me started on Des Moines and Chattanooga et al.

Anyway, Jackie has a thing for state capitols, so after checking into our hotel, we walked down Centennial Avenue to the capitol building, an awe inspiring monument to the rustic, broad shouldered nature of rural Midwest life,

for what was to be the 3:00 tour which included us, 20 5th graders from some farming town about 25 or 30 miles from Lincoln, and one other adult who we were told happened to be from New York as well.  We were about 20 minutes early for the tour, so it was suggested that we take the very antiquated elevator to the rotunda where you have a view of all of Lincoln.  Upon exiting the elevator ride experience, we entered the rotunda and I immediately had the experience of Indiana Jones in the cave of Somes when the sun, in exact position, beamed through a portal onto his staff whose shadow indicated the exact location of the Ark on the floor map.  Well there I was in the rotunda, with the sun shining in a photogenically direct manner on the only object there, a sign, letting us know that we were not alone.  A comforting thought in these uncertain times.

  
After the tour we got talking, and it turned out that the other New Yorker was Willa Cather's great nephew who had taken the train to Nebraska, and was just returning from Red Cloud, where he was attending an annual event honoring the Pulitzer prize winning chronicler of turn of the century Midwest life who often liked to dress in men's clothing, refer to herself as William, and who fled to Pittsburgh and later New York City as soon as she had the chance,  and who later became the patron saint of culture and literature for Nebraska.  I'm sure she would be amused by the irony.   There are courses devoted entirely to her works given at UNL.

As it turned out, George, her great nephew, was staying at our hotel, so we planned to meet for drinks later in the afternoon and then walked down to Billy's on H Street (where all of the legislators meet) for dinner and what turned out to be quite an entertaining evening of stories about his family, and particularly his mother, Willa's niece, and the times she spent at the Cather house while she was growing up..  By the time we parted company with George we too felt an almost familial connection to the town and the Cather family.

There is not much to be said about Red Cloud that you can't find on some of the many web pages devoted to the town and to Willa Cather.  It is a quiet, substantial midwest town,  lots of brick buildings befitting a county seat, and one gets the sense that it is mostly intact, although no longer the hub of activity and commerce it once was judging by the number of empty store fronts and the prevalence of turn of the century photos seen here and there showing the busy vibrant place it once was.

While I get the feeling that there was a certain ambivalence to Willa and her strange ways while she lived   here, in the end she became the savior of this town that might otherwise have lost all sense of real purpose and gone the way of other ghost towns, were it not for her.  While there, we did become members of the Willa Cather Society and I have since read O Pioneers, My Antonia, One of Ours, and A Lost Lady. In the process, I have developed and even appreciation of the people and place of Nebraska.  These are a few odds and ends to add to a sense of place.  Unfortunately time constraints here like elsewhere limited photo opportunities.  

As you can see, this is the Red Cloud Post Office, built in the 1920's.  If there is any architecturally compelling reason why, I like to take pictures of the P.O.  where ever I am.  Unfortunately, I did not find out until later that there are 4 murals inside painted by WPA artists during the 1930's.  It's on my list of things to do if I get back there.

According to pamphlets given out by the Willa Cather Society, this presently unoccupied store front  that is now for sale, was the place of business used by Willa's father after they moved into town following a short and apparently unsatisfying stint at sod busting and breaking the land into something useful (see O Pioneers).

This is the drug store next door to the above picture.  That's about it for Red Cloud during this trip.  Looking back at this selection of photos, I could have done more.   Hope I will get the opportunity to fill in the blanks next time around.

                                                                              Pablo

Addendum, 2/24/13...

While nosing around a used book store in Mobile, Alabama, I came across this heavily used, frayed library copy of   Death Comes for the Archbishop.  Fifth printing, December 1927.  Four dollars.  A find at twice the price. 

Pablo