Fill the Frame: Recalling My Adventures from the Golden Age to the Digital Age of Photography

Literacy.

PETER, PAUL and MARY

In 1969, a new singing group was performing at a Long Island ice skating rink, a trio, actually --Peter, Paul and Mary. I phoned the local newspaper and asked for a press credential. I was turned down. I called another paper; same story. Then I called a weekly, uh, newspaper, containing mostly supermarket coupons, and they said they’d love to give me a credential --if they had any. Make one up, I was told, which I did, subsequently proceeding to bluff my way into the concert. I had a Mamiya C220 camera by then, and an ancient, beat up Leica 3-C. I loaded both with Tri-X black and white film, and as show time approached I managed to work my way onto one wing of the stage. I had loved Peter, Paul and Mary from the start. Mary Travers was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. That hair, those eyes … and her voice was from heaven. The moments approaching her opening note were counting down, and I was trembling. Then, during the sound check, Mary and her partners walked by, and she said, Who the fuck is doing the sound here? It sounds like shit. I think I grew up at that moment. I’d heard those words before, just not from a goddess. Looking back, my photos of the concert were of average quality, except for one shot of Mary, alone on a stool. I sent her a copy. Several years later, during one of her TV interviews, there it was, on the sofa behind her head. More than 40 years have passed since then, and I’ve never stopped looking for the negatives.

Mary Travers of Peter, Paul & Mary

Peter, Paul, & Mary

THE BLACK PANTHERS & THE

CHICAGO EIGHT

As the Sixties waned, I was living in West Haven, Connecticut, where I was a full time technical representative for Deutsch Connectors. I was photographing the connectors on the preliminary life support system for the Apollo Saturn Five launch, and occasionally photographing for Sikorsky Aircraft and Norton Bomb Sites. None of this would be my life’s work, but I had two children, and I had to put food on the table. Photography was my passion. When I could move a photograph for a wire service, the AP or UPI, I free-lanced. In 1968, I was at the Yale Law library when a Black Panthers demonstration there turned into a riot. Policemen and Yale security people were out front, National Guardsmen with rifles and clips came around the corner, and suddenly, one of the demonstrators threw a rock and hit one of the security people; tear gas and pepper gas came flying in from three or four different directions, and I found myself in the middle of it all. I freaked out, and crawled between two U.S. Post Office mail containers, all the while continuing to shoot. But my exposures were at least five stops underexposed, and many of my photos were a blur. Such experiences are still helping me, 45 years later. I didn’t get the photograph, but I’d get it today.

A week after the riot, there was a rally at Yale. I had no one to watch my young son, Joseph, so I had to take him with me. Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, Tom Hayden, and The Black Panthers were there to support Bobby Seale. At one point, I worked my way to the front of the crowd, right beneath the microphones for ABC, NBC, and CBS. Abbie Hoffman was trying to motivate the crowd, and he pointed to a kid in the crowd, and said, What are you going to do when the revolution comes? The kid yelled back, I’m there, man. I’m there when the revolution comes. You can count on me. People were screaming, and Hoffman looked down at his feet, pointed at me, shooting away, and shouted to Joseph, and what are you going to do when the revolution comes? Joseph, with microphones being thrust towards him, looked up at Abbie Hoffman, and shouted, Eat ice cream when the revolution comes. This was easily audible over the loudspeakers, and the crowd went hysterical.

My son Joseph

EVONNE

The story of Evonne changed my life radically. Sometime around 1969 or 1970, I submitted my work to the Missouri Photo Workshop to attend an intense workshop that was run by Cliff and Vi Edom both recognized as pioneers in photojournalism. The instructors were the photo editors of Time magazine, National Geographic, Life magazine, The New York Times, and Black Star. All time heavyweights in the business of photography. I was rejected the first two times I submitted my work. The third time was the charm, because I was accepted. I did some research with local newspapers, which I had mailed to my home because this was before the days of computers and the internet. I found a story about a little girl in Kirksville, Missouri by the name of Evonne. The photograph you see is from a series of photographs. Unfortunately, Evonne’s mother was mentally challenged and did not know that she was pregnant. She had Evonne in an outhouse in Missouri. She had no pre-natal care, no vitamins, and no doctor’s care whatsoever. This caused severe problems with Evonne’s sight, hearing, and speech. She had bone problems, wasn’t able to walk properly and had to use a wheelchair. This story virtually tore me apart.

Because Evonne had virtually no family the head nurse would take her home on Friday afternoon and keep her on her farm Friday, Saturday and Sunday. She would bring her back to the institution on Monday morning. Both the nurse and her husband were, very special people who made a very difficult situation considerably better for Evonne. It was a different time and it was a different world. I don’t know if something like that could be done today. But God has a special place for this nurse and her husband.

This experience was one of the best things that ever happened because my mentors and instructors put so much pressure on us to do the definitive story, to get rid of the fluff, and concentrate only on the important things. You were limited to three rolls of film per day, and God forbid you actually shot three rolls of black and white film. There were no motor drives, and no sequences allowed.

Unfortunately, my photos here are not made from the original Tri-X negatives. I don’t know how the negatives got lost, but they did. There is, however, a set of photographs in the permanent collection of The Library of Congress. To this day, every so many years I still tear my studio apart in hopes of finding the originals.

In my opinion, Evonne totally changed my life. She changed the way I see and the way I feel about my fellow human beings to this day. Evonne will always remain very important to me.

JOE NAMATH AND TOM RIES

I was standing alone on a train platform in New York, and a man walked by. Turned out his name was Tom, and he was talking to himself (was that when I developed the habit --all those years ago?) He seemed distraught. I was shy then, but I asked, ‘Hey, man, is everything OK?’

He said, ‘What the fuck did you say?’

I replied, ‘You just seem very upset. Is everything OK?’

‘Am I upset? Yes, I need photographs of Joe Namath immediately.’

‘How many do you need?’ I said. ‘They’re back at my house. I photographed Joe Namath last week.’

Tom’s head snapped forward. ‘How quickly can you get them?’ he asked.

‘Where do they have to be?’

‘At my office, Thirty-third Street and Third Avenue.’ He handed me his business card. It read: Tom Ries, American Airlines, Creative Director. I hurried home, gathered up all my Namath photos, and arrived at the office two hours later with the photos. Tom yanked them from my hand, threw them on a light box, whipped out a grease pencil, and started shouting orders to his art director. I still hadn’t told him my name, so when he finally asked I told him.

‘Joe DiMaggio?’ he shouted.

He seemed amused by my response to his question, which wasn’t the first time I’d inspired such a reaction. That was the start of my career with American Airlines. Tom is now long retired, but I still love him and, yes, I was lucky to be in the right place at the right time. After that, Tom and I became extremely close friends. I completed more than 100 assignments for him. If we could turn back the clock, and delete all the bullshit, without running into him and publishing those Joe Namath photos, I could be driving a Formula One car today, or --let’s get real --driving a truck.

ALFRED EISENSTAEDT

With a name like Joe DiMaggio you might expect me to be an expert on baseball, the Yankees, and the, uh, real Joe DiMaggio. I certainly have the pedigree. My dad, also a Joe DiMaggio, happened to be a fine baseball player; he might have played professionally had it not been for time served in World War II. He did play for New York University, and, briefly, for the Boston Braves minor league. He was also a scout for the New York Yankees, and a fine high school coach, winning a number of championships in that capacity. But early in my life I realized that baseball wasn’t my game. I’m not the most coordinated person in the world, and it certainly didn’t help that as a very young child I lost the vision in my left eye. I’m right handed, so that eye faced the pitcher; I tended to swing the bat when I heard the ball hit the catcher’s mitt.

My dear friend, Nikon’s Ron Thompson, and I, were at the Time & Life Building one day early in my career. I had never worked for Sports Illustrated, Time, or any of the building’s other publications. I was paying my dues working for much less impressive publications, such as SPORT. We entered an elevator, and on the way to our floor the door opened and in walked the world-renowned photographer Alfred Eisenstaedt, of LIFE. He and Ron were good friends, and Ron said to him, Eisie, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Joe DiMaggio.

Eisie said, "Joe DiMaggio, I saw one of your photographs in SPORT last month. It was quite good. You should be very proud of it."

I nearly had a stroke, right there in the elevator. Alfred Eisenstaedt knew who I was, and he knew my work. That was beyond huge. If I live to be one hundred, that will be one thing I’ll remember on my deathbed. This was a man, a German Jew, who in 1933 had photographed Adolph Hitler --before narrowly escaping the Holocaust. Think about that. What an amazing talent he was. Many of his contemporaries got more play than Eisenstaedt, but no one deserved more than he did. He, along with photographers Gene Smith and Margaret Bourke White, put Time and LIFE on the map. We still have great photographers, but in my opinion they don’t have the flair of Eisenstaedt.

Ron Thompson, Anthony Donna Arnold Drapkin, Ralph Morse and

Joe DiMaggio Apollo-Soyuz Launch

PAUL NEWMAN

WEST HAVEN, CONNECTICUT

In the late Sixties, I was living in West Haven, Connecticut, a few blocks from Yale University. I was stringing for ABC News, photographing the Black Panthers, the prelude to the Bobby Seale trial, and campus demonstrations opposing the Vietnam War. I sometimes kid people about ‘my years at Yale,’ and they say, You went to Yale? I tell them, I didn’t say I went to Yale. I did spend a lot of time on the campus, though, and once, driving back from New York City, I stopped in nearby Westport to pick up something at a drugstore. It was an unbelievably hot day, but people inside were wearing suits and ties --except for one customer. He was wearing cutoff shorts and a sweat-stained T-shirt, and he had at least a five-day growth of beard. The drugstore staff seemed to be ignoring him. I was wearing a three-piece suit, the proper attire for my New York appointment, and a