Neckties Have Impact

This professor at Yale University wore a necktie during a portrait session with me.

    While hiking the Appalachian Trail, I came upon a campsite. Several men were huddled around a campfire. I joined them. Most of them were strangers to me.

    One of the men stated that he didn’t like people who wore neckties. I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t inform him that whenever I handle a photo shoot, a tie surrounds my neck.
    At some white collar institutions, people don’t wear ties on ‘casual Fridays.’ In the high tech sector, does anyone wear a tie? Neckties aren’t prevalent as they once were.
    But I continue wearing them. Neckties convey professionalism. During photo shoots, my sense is that people are more cooperative because I wear a tie.
    Before I became a photographer, I studied to be a high school teacher. My student-teaching experience occurred at a school near Boston. Afterwards, I handed my students an evaluation form. I wanted their opinion of my performance. Several students made a similar observation: They respected the fact that I wore a tie. Those students revealed to me the impact of a tie.
    Wearing a necktie offers a competitive advantage.

A Single Tree

    Every December, a Christmas tree catches my eye. It stands alone beside a field.
    What attracts me is the simplicity of the scene. There’s no Santa Claus statues near it, or glowing wreaths, or other electronic displays.
    To photograph the tree, I hauled a tripod and camera through a thicket of branches. The night was cold. I positioned my tripod on the opposite side of the field.
    Behind me, occasional cars drove by. Drivers couldn’t see me. I was hidden by trees.
    I used a timer on the camera. When I exposed for the Christmas lights, the back-
ground turned black. When exposing for the background, the Christmas lights washed out. What a pain! (Photoshop to the rescue on this one).
    Time went by. I grew colder.
    The thought occurred to me that Mary and Joseph must have been cold on that first Christmas eve. That random thought disrupted my concentration. I paused in the photo taking.
   I viewed the scene no longer as a photographic challenge, but merely for its beauty. A sense of peacefulness took hold.
    I looked up at the sky and said, “Happy Birthday, Jesus.”

Norms of Behavior

    When I was growing up, libraries were exceedingly quiet places. Not as much anymore. Librarians are tolerating more conversations among patrons.
    At a library in Ohio, I booked a study room. Those rooms are usually the quietest places.
    In the room beside me, a young man—late teens to early twenties—was talking loudly. On and on he ranted. He made concentration impossible for me.
    I stole a peak though his door. Nobody else was present in his room. He faced a desktop computer. A headset covered his ears. He was participating in an online, realtime strategy game. From the sound of his conversation, he was leading a team of people against an opposing team. For all I knew, they were playing from locations all over the world. 
    Didn’t the gamer realize he was distracting other library patrons?
    When the video game was nearing a climax, I asked a librarian for assistance. She seemed reluctant to intervene. Still, she asked the gamer to stop talking.
    He was taken aback by her request. And he was freaked out. No longer could he lead his army of gamer heads. In the other room, a smile creased my face. Nothing like a little payback.
    In some libraries, norms of behavior still prevail. I visited a library outside of Boston. It was like walking into a cloistered nunnery. My kind of place.
    An employee was placing artwork on the wall (seen in photo). They apparently changed the paintings from time to time. It was clear that much civic pride was invested in this library.
    If a library features art on its walls, there’s a good chance the rules of quietude will be enforced.

False Impressions

This sportsman posed for a portrait at a shooting range near my home.

    An African priest delivered a sermon at my church. He was a citizen of Zambia. He had recently arrived for a visit to the United States.
    I asked him to share his initial impressions of our country. He said he was surprised that nobody was walking around with guns.
    I wasn’t surprised by his response. Holywood films and news media convey an impression that our society is infatuated with firearms. That impression creates another belief that violence is pervasive.
    Those outlooks are wrong. My town is peaceful. My town is safe. The same conditions prevail in most communities I visit in our nation. For the most part, the people I am acquainted with do not posses firearms. Those who do possess guns are responsible and law abiding.
    Sure, there’s problems within some inner cities. Chicago comes to mind. But those places are not indicative of the nation as a whole.
    I wonder if most foreigners have false impressions of this country. 

When Bad is Good

     The scowl never left her face. I went ahead and took the photograph.
     This husband and wife lived in Massachusetts. They resided in a house alongside a road lined with malls. They were holdouts. The couple refused to sell their property to developers.
    A newspaper assigned the photo. The woman almost certainly viewed the article. I wonder if she objected to her expression in the photo? Maybe not. The scowl conveyed her strong mindedness.
    It is never my intention to make a person look bad in a portrait. But sometimes an unflattering photo, if it’s honest and within context, can be appropriate.

Liquid Diabetes

Studio photo compares nutritional value of whole foods vs. foods with added sugar.

    A friend of mine contracted diabetes. Sugar caused the disease. For years, he had been drinking Mountain Dew at his job. That soda is chock full of sugar.
    I know a med student in Mississippi. He told me that one in four people down there are diabetic. And they’re fat. Sugar is one of the reasons. It promotes obesity.
    Today I went food shopping. I inspected the ingredients on a trail mix bar. Surely that snack would be sugar free? Wrong. It contained eight grams. Even yogurt, supposedly a healthy food, contains sugar.
    The problem isn’t so much natural sugars. The problem is added sugars. They wreak havoc on our bodies.
    I don’t want to end up like my friend. No longer will I drink soda. As far as I’m concerned, sodas are liquid diabetes.

Disappearing Treads

Man brushes away a mosquito at a tire dump near Boston.

    All over the world, millions of tires grind against pavement. Their treads wear out. Rubber degenerates into particles.
    Nobody knows where these particles end up.
    One possible explanation, put forth by scientists, is that microorganisms eat the particles. But there’s no proof. That explanation is a hypothesis, not a theory.
    The disappearance of rubber matters little in the overall scheme of things. Most people could care less. Yet here I am, dwelling on this irrelevance. I do this because I am curious.
    Researchers don’t understand the purpose of curiosity. But they agree on one point. Increasing our knowledge, even of something mundane like tires, results in pleasure.

Random Hardships

Men inspect damage to a garage in Rhode Island.

    While photographing insurance appraisers, I noticed a married couple standing in the background. Their garage was torn up.
    Days earlier, that husband and wife were probably living quiet, unassuming lives. Just like me. They knew that bad things happen in the world. But the odds of a calamity striking them were remote.
    Until a hurricane destroyed their garage.
    Last week, a drunk driver slammed into my car. kaboom! I never saw him coming. The randomness of the crash spooked me. Since then, I’ve driven with greater caution.
    On the day following the car accident, I attended church. The gospel reading was appropriate: ‘Take heed, keep on the alert, for you do not know when the appointed time will come.’

Wishing Well

Coins lay on floor near gas and brake pedals.

    A volcano erupted in my car. A multitude of coins—the ones I use for paying tolls—flew out from a compartment inside the console. Pennies, dimes, quarters, and nickels landed all over the place. They covered seats, mats, and even penetrated below the cushions. My car’s interior resembled a wishing well.
    Another car had struck me from behind. The impact had sent the coins flying. It happened while I was preparing to make a turn.
    Seconds after the crash, I exited my car. My bumper was damaged.
    Consumed with anger, I approached the other vehicle. It was a Ford Fusion. Part of its front end was crumpled. The driver was partially visible behind an air bag. He wasn’t injured.
    We both knew the accident was his fault. He got out of his car.
    “How could you have hit me?” I said.
    “I didn’t see you.”
    The man extended his hand. “I’m sorry.”
    For a moment I looked down at his hand. Was this guy being sincere? My gut told me his gesture was on the level. I shook his hand. Right away, my ill feeling for the man eased.
    An apology has a powerful effect.

Left: Damage to my bumper. Right: Damage to other car.

 

Art and Faith

    A boy went from statue to statue, touching them and looking into their eyes. He was playing. Nearby, two women recited in unison a prayer. The location was a Catholic shrine in Massachusetts.
    Artwork is emphasized in the Catholic tradition. This shrine, for example, contained numerous statues and stained glass windows.
    Some critics believe The Church is wrong to feature art. Monies are better spent helping the poor.
    The early Christians emphasized simplicity. Statues weren't their thing. Why not follow their example?
    Because I believe that God approves of religious artworks.
    The photo was taken during a Catholic festival for Spanish speaking immigrants. Many of the attendees probably earned low incomes. They might be poor in money but they were rich with grace. The presence of statues encouraged their prayerfulness.
    Artwork nourishes faith in God.

Pumpkin Harmony

My pumpkin heads toward a cashier at the market.

    My elderly mother was angry. She objected when I placed a Halloween pumpkin on the front porch. She said, “Some fresh kid will come along and smash it.”

   Years ago, her warning would have been valid. Teenagers sometimes grabbed pumpkins. Boys tossed them on streets. The vandalism usually happened at night. On the following day, chunks of pumpkins littered roads.
    Nowadays, boys here don’t smash pumpkins. Why the change in behavior?
    Is it because today’s youth culture isn’t rebellious anymore? Teens seem easier going.
    Or is technology a factor? Kids today often socialize online. Facebook over face time. When kids are tethered to smartphones, they’re less inclined to cause trouble.
  Years ago, teens hung out for real. They cruised together in cars. Smashing pumpkins was a cheap and easy thrill. Today, I rarely see teens cruising together.
    I’m glad the pumpkins are being left alone. Their presence reassures me that my town is a harmonious place to live.

My pumpkin occupies a visible spot on the front porch.

Halloween Enthusiasm

Halloween display in my neighborhood.

    I drove my parents around to view Halloween displays. In some neighborhoods, front porches were festooned with holiday decor. Ghosts and skeletons hung from trees. Other neighborhoods had little to show. Maybe a pumpkin here and there.

   This streakiness applied to towns. Halloween exhibits were commonplace in my community. But over the border, in certain other towns, fewer displays were evident.
    Over the years, I’ve noticed this same phenomenon—festive neighborhoods or dull neighborhoods—applying to Christmas lights.
    Why do these visible displays appear in clusters? Perhaps the answer lies with enthusiasm. In some places, more people might be present who are enthusiastic by nature. They’re more apt to decorate their properties. Neighbors join in the fun.
    To quote Emory Ward:
    ‘Enthusiasm, like measles, mumps, and the common cold, is highly contagious.'

Another display near my home.

Initiating Rudeness

    Honking motorists shattered the quietude of my neighborhood.
    Traffic had been delayed for roadwork. But the stoppage time, four to five minutes, wasn’t all that aggravating. Other drivers had waited with patience. Why did this group of drivers lean on their horns?
   The noise erupted after a single driver unleashed a long honk. Other drivers took his cue. They honked over and over again.
   By and large, most drivers act polite. They avoid rudeness. But sometimes, when they’re seething over a delay, their politeness is tested. They want to honk but not until someone else honks first.
    A first honker might be perceived as a jerk. But not the honkers who follow him. By honking together, drivers rationalize themselves into thinking they’re not being rude.

Unwitting Contributor

Trees photographed on Appalachian Trail in Massachusetts.

    A splash of red appeared. I stopped hiking, reached for my camera, and composed a photo of a red leafed tree. It was mid October. Autumn colors were approaching their peak.
    The angle of view wasn’t to my liking. I moved off the hiking trail and stood among waist high brush. My view of the tree improved. Photos were taken.
    I noticed another tree. It stood beside the red one. What a striking difference. The branches on the neighboring tree were almost devoid of leaves. Was the tree sickly or dying? Nearby trees had not yet shed their leaves.
    In past autumns, that sickly tree must have blazed with color. Maybe its seeds germinated the red tree. Nature is a cycle of birth, growth, reproduction, and death.
    Back on the trail, I muttered a curse. Burs had clung to my jacket. They had taken hold surreptitiously, while the photos were being taken. I never should have ventured off the trail.
    Removing the burs took several minutes. I tossed them aside.
    Burs plants aren’t only sneaky, they’re ingenious. By attaching their burs to animals or people, their seeds disperse across a landscape.
    While photographing nature’s cycle of growth and death, I was contributing to that cycle.

Familiar Strangers

    I knew every stranger in the room, even though I’d never set eyes on them before. Sound contradictory?
    A photo assignment led me to an Irish American dance hall. It was located near Boston.
    Visiting the hall was like going back to my youth. Everyone there reminded me of an aunt or uncle on my father’s side of the family. Those relations, like the dancers, were Irish in heritage.
    I felt a kinship with every stranger in the dance hall. I knew their values and I shared their values. Catholicism was a big part of it.
    It is my belief that most folks, given the choice, prefer living among people who share their heritage and values.

Meticulous Road to Success

I posed an employee at Merriam Webster beside a bust of Noah Webster.

    Imagine learning twenty-six languages.
    Noah Webster undertook that challenge. Meticulousness drive him to that extreme. Over the course of two-and-a-half decades, he researched the etymology of words. In the 1828, he published ‘An American Dictionary of the English Language.’ It was our nation's first dictionary.
   The novelist J.R.R. Tolkein was meticulous. He rewrote parts of his novel, The Lord of the Rings, after it had been published. He changed the phases of the moon. They weren’t correctly sequenced in the first edition.
    Guitarist Jimi Hendrix was meticulous in the studio. Days before recording, he would write voluminous amounts of information on yellow legal pads. These writings specified plans for how each song would be recorded. This meticulousness continued inside the studio. Rolling Stone Magazine quoted a former recording engineer: “He (Jimi) would do take after take, then want the gear moved around if he wasn’t getting the right sound.”
    Meticulousness is a time hog. It requires patience and perseverance. But in the end, meticulousness contributes to success.

Personal Space

A man reads alone, apart from other patrons, inside a library near Boston.

    While visiting a library, I noticed that most people sat by themselves. So did I.
    People don’t want their personal space intruded upon by strangers. It creates an awkward vibe. But if a setting is already crowded, than occupying nearby seats is acceptable.
    Years ago, an awkward situation presented itself.
    I walked into an exercise room at a hotel. The space was small. Just five stationary bikes. They were lined up side by side.
    The fourth bike offered a high seat. It was perfect for me. My legs were long. The other seats were way too low.
   A young woman was the only other person there. She was peddling on a stationary bike. It was situated at the end of the line of bikes.
    I wondered whether or not to mount the fourth bicycle. It was located beside the woman. Would she think I was hitting on her?
   Another option was available. I could explain to her the situation. But initiating a conversation would also be awkward. She wore earphones. Her legs were churning. She was immersed in a trance of exercise and music. I didn't want to snap her out of that groove.
    I worked up a nerve and sat upon the fourth bicycle. My legs revved up the wheels. My workout began.
    Moments later, the woman stepped away from her bike and left the room.

Rude or Not?

    My legs bent. I aimed the camera. My subject was a dryer and washing machine situated beside the sidewalk. A property owner had made them free for the taking.
    A teenager on a bicycle drove right into my picture.
    Why didn’t he stop? He had ample time to slow down.
    During the last few years, I’ve noticed a change in people’s behavior. They’re more apt to cut into photos being taken. Such behavior was rare until a few years ago.
    Why the increase in rudeness?
    Perhaps cutting in front is no longer considered rude. Smart phone cameras are everywhere. They’re ubiquitous. It would be impractical to stop every time someone takes a photo.
    Call me old school, but I still think it’s rude to cut though a photo being taken.

Anybody Home?

Animal's hole visible at base of tree. Location is the Berkshire Mountains of Massachusetts.

    Early morning deep in a forest.
    I awoke under a tarp. To my surprise, the entrance to a wild animal’s den lay within spitting distance. Was anybody home? A fox? A family of skunks? A coyote? My furry neighbors never showed themselves.
    They must have been curious about me. My scent may have been unfamiliar. Perhaps they’d never seen a human being. 
    This location was off the grid, a blank spot on a topographic map. Belts of mountain laurel flanked the area. No footpaths led through. Bushwhacking was necessary.
    On the previous evening, I hadn’t noticed the den. My attention was distracted by a sense of urgency. Night was coming on. Firewood needed fetching. Complications arose while setting up the tarp. One thing after another.
    People go camping to enjoy a respite from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. But they can ever escape busyness. There’s always something that needs tending to before settling in.
    Hustle and bustle is a necessary prerequisite to rest and relaxation.

Opportunity Cost

    Horse hides must be tough. In Iowa, I came upon two horses leaning over a barbed wire fence.
    When opportunities present themselves, there is always a downside to consider. It is better described as ‘opportunity cost.’ For those horses, the opportunity cost was mild discomfort to their necks. They accepted the cost. In return, they grazed on high quality sedge.
    Some people seize upon opportunities. They don’t factor in the opportunity costs. Later they crash and burn.
    Other people decline opportunities because the opportunity costs are too high. Good for them. They’re acting with prudence.
    But some people, I suspect, shun opportunities too quickly. They are scared by opportunity costs even if those costs aren’t high.
    Successful individuals pursue opportunities only after evaluating the opportunity costs.

Canoe Man

    Public relations flacks hovered around me. I was about to photograph the CEO and founder of a major high tech company. They told me to work fast. Conversation should be held to a minimum.
    The PR ladies accompanied me to the man’s office. Once inside, they stood beside the wall. They watched. They listened. They waited for a misstep. I worried they’d attempt to control my composition.
    Pictures of family members with canoes adorned the man's walls. A paddle leaned against paneling.
    The dude was a canoeist!
    Right away, I brought up the subject of canoeing. I told him about my canoeing trip to Manitoba. He told me where some of his pictures on the wall were taken.
    We were hitting it off. 
    The PR crew silently watched. They weren’t happy. I was going off their script.
    The formalities ran their course. I posed the man beside his desk. At the last second, I noticed his tie wasn’t straight. I walked up, reached for his tie, and adjusted it.
    The PR ladies were mortified. The executive didn’t mind.
    Time for portrait taking. I worked fast with the camera. Things went smoothly.
    Executive portrait sessions often include time constraints. But there’s always wiggle room for a conversation.
    Common courtesies should never be neglected.

Sentinels of Freedom

    A model of a British phone booth stood near a sidewalk. Union Jacks were festooned along its base. I happened upon it this week in Massachusetts.
    Inside the structure were books. Free books. A sign read, ‘Take a Book. Return a book.’
   This structure is called a Little Free Library. It has no affiliation with a municipal library. A private citizen oversees this little library. Anybody is welcome to take a book.
    These little libraries are showing up in neighborhoods around the nation. They’re also taking root elsewhere in the world. Each little library has a different appearance.
    The benefits go beyond access to literature. These libraries promote social intercourse. People chit-chat while taking out books.
    Government has no control over these libraries. Nor can the government easily know what’s being read. The books are hard copy. They’re off the electronic grid. Online surveillance is impossible.
    Little Free Libraries are sentinels of freedom.

Pet Preference

   Last Autumn, when the weather was cold and wet, I happened upon a dog. It was standing in the back of a pickup truck. The dog was sad faced. It had been lost in the woods. The driver of the truck had noticed the dog and pulled over.
    I felt bad for the animal. But my concern was tempered by optimism. A tag was attached to the dog’s collar. The driver would soon contact the owner.  
    People care deeply about dogs and cats, and not just the ones they own.
    I learned that truism years ago. A dog had been struck by a car. People were trying to save the animal. Elsewhere in that community, on the same day, a woman was injured in a car accident. Ambulance personnel hovered over her. Her condition was sketchy.
    On the following afternoon, photos from both scenes were published in a newspaper.
    I was employed at that publication. We received several phone calls. Readers wanted to know how the dog made out. Nobody asked about the woman.
    I’ll bet that reaction would be the same anywhere in the world.

Primal Fascination

A man watches for sharks at Muizenberg Beach near Capetown, South Africa.

    What does our fascination with sharks say about ourselves?
    To paraphrase The Atlantic magazine: ‘Sharks are radically different from the other animals that occasionally prey on us. In lions, tigers, and leopards we can recognize the kin of beloved house cats. In wolf packs we recognize the wild ancestors of dogs. Grizzly bears can sometimes seem deceptively human until it's too late.’
    In other words, we have no connections with sharks. They’re the ultimate bad guys. And that’s why sharks are such a curiosity.
    Perhaps this fascination is not for sharks per se, but with the concept of power. We are naturally intrigued by animals—and people—that wield power. Crocodiles. Napoleon. Lions. Henry VIII. Grizzly bears. Stalin. Great White sharks. Al Capone.
    Consider this fact: Sharks and Adolph Hitler are the two most popular subjects on documentary television shows.
    Perhaps we’ve got a Machiavellian gene in our bodies. It makes some people lust for power. The rest of us are fascinated by the individuals—and animals—that wield power.

When Loosing is Winning

    Every summer, The Kentucky Derby takes place in my town.
    This race isn’t the authentic derby—that one happens in Louisville. This Kentucky Derby is a carnival game.
    Contestants rolls balls into holes. Mechanical horses (off camera) move forward whenever a ball enters a hole.
    One person wins. A prize—often a stuffed animal—is awarded.
    Children love this game. Yet most of them lose. They don’t seem to mind. It’s a carnival, after all. There’s rides and other games to enjoy.
    Loosing is good for children. It humbles them. Being humbled strengthens their characters.

From Clear to Clogged

Bushes clutter a trail in my community.

    Brush clogged the trail. I didn’t venture further. Too bad. I was looking forward to a stroll.
    Two years ago, a high school student pruned the bushes encroaching on this walking path. His effort fulfilled a senior project requirement. The Department of Public Works lent their assistance.
    Now the trail is fading. Its demise reveals how fast nature bounces back. And if further reveals the importance of maintenance.
    Heraclitus once wrote that ‘character is destiny.’ His observation pertained to the individual. Behavior and values will affect the quality, or lack of quality, in one’s life.
     With respect to communities, perhaps ‘maintenance is destiny.’

Bubble Buggy

    A youngster—not a toddler—sat in a buggy. The location was a supermarket. Lots of customers moved about, including me. I’ll presume his mother was among us. If so, she was using a separate buggy.
    This boy sat in a corner of the store. Earphones covered his ears. He mind was occupied—if not mesmerized—with the operation of an electronic device. It was like being inside a bubble. He had tuned out his surroundings.
    The boy wasn’t helping his mother choose produce. He wasn’t listening to her chat with the butcher. Impromptu conversations between customers did not include him. All those interactions, as mundane as they are, enriched people’s lives.
    When Buggy Boy grows up he’ll need communication skills, the face to face kind. Those skills will take shape during his youth. The distractions of technology might hamper this social development. If so, he won’t reach his potential. This concern applies to legions of children.
    Social skills are not learned inside a technological bubble.

Drama at the Grotto

A frog relaxes, unaware of danger.

     Most of the time, nothing exciting happens in this grotto. The cave is holy. There’s a statue of Jesus and Mary, candles, and a pool of water. People kneel and pray. Sometimes they toss coins in the water. Quietude prevails. This grotto is located at a shrine near my home.
    I noticed a frog in the pool. Nickels and pennies surrounded him. I leaned over a railing and snapped a photo. My presence didn’t bother him.
    He was content. This cave—his sanctuary—provided all his needs. He had water, bugs to eat, and shade from the sun.
    Life was good!
    Something moved in the corner of my eye. A snake appeared. It swam with lightening speed through the water. It attacked the frog.
    The frog took off with a split second to spare. His attacker pursued him.
    The pool was small. Walls hemmed in the frog. He had nowhere else to go. He swam in circles around the pool. The snake kept chasing. Round and round they went, a hunter and prey.
    The snake grew tired. He broke off his pursuit. The frog survived.
    The frog’s complacency reminded me of a quote from Jesus:
    ‘Keep on the watch, therefore, because you know neither the day nor the hour.’

Statue and pool of water.

Snake on the prowl after hunting the frog.

Luminosity

Stars and Big Dipper photographed a few nights ago.

    Everyone has viewed the Big Dipper. It's an asterism of seven stars. Can you see it?
    Six of the stars are bright. A seventh star, where the handle connects with the ladle, is dull in luminosity. It fades in an out when viewed in real time. If that star wasn’t part of the Big Dipper, nobody would notice it. The star would be insignificant.
    Millions of stars in the sky. Millions of people on Earth. A few stand out. Most do not. Stars have no choice in the matter. People do.

A Step Backwards

Doctor poses for photo as he retires.

    Is this doctor a dying breed? Maybe not.
    He made house calls during his career. His office was located inside his home. He treated me when I was a boy.
    Docs like him provided more than medical care. They enhanced the cohesion of a community. Having the same doctor meant sharing something in common.
    Nowadays, most doctors don’t visit homes. There’s lots of reasons, including technology, specialization, and the prominence of HMO’s.
    Change might be in the works. Apps are being created to summon doctors to a home. That development is encouraging. Will the physician who shows up be someone from the community? Or just a stranger on call? Either way, it’s a step backward in the right direction.

Throw and Talk

A boy in Massachusetts is pictured in his neighborhood.

    Is the decline of baseball hurting boys?
    Years ago, most boys owned baseball mitts. Youngsters played catch with other kids in their neighborhoods. No swinging of bats. No running to bases. No adult supervision. Just boys throwing, catching, and talking to each other.
    They shared idle thoughts between tosses. Shyness gave way to confidence. Friendships were forged.
    Nowadays, few children play catch. They participate in organized sports—often soccer—at  centralized locations. Adults hover nearby. Action on the field inhibits chummy conversations.
   Playing catch builds character.

Not Courting Attention

Brush pruned from sides of court. More work to follow.

    The Ghetto. That nickname describes a basketball court in my town. The conditions are deteriorating.
    Change is afoot. A man is donating money to refurbish the court. He prefers to remain anonymous.
    Donors like him inspire me. They personify selflessness.
    Not all donors remain in shadows. Some of them publicize their generosity. A few years ago, some billionaires in the USA pledged to give away much of their money. The announcement was made with fanfare.
    Jesus once said, “Be careful not to display your righteousness merely to be seen by people. Otherwise you have no reward with your Father in Heaven.”

Guaging Trust

Shopping cart blocks a vacant check-out isle.

    Are minorities trusted less?
    Yesterday I visited a market. Call it Store 1. It’s not my usual shopping destination.
    Two check-out isles weren’t in use. They were situated near the exit of the store. Physical barriers, including a shopping cart, obstructed movement through those isles.
    Chances are, the isles were blocked to prevent stealing. A thief could easily make off with a cart full of food.
    I usually shop in a market twelve miles away. Call it Store 2. That market is owned by the same company. Prices are identical. But one aspect is different. Empty isles are not blocked.
    Why the difference in trust?
    Do ethnic perceptions factor in? Many of the customers in Store 1 are minorities. Most of the customers at Store 2 are whites like me.
    Or is the difference in trust attributable to mathematics? The number of thefts might be greater at Store 1 than at Store 2. Preventing theft makes sense.
   In my opinion, minorities are trusted less in this country. But jumping to that conclusion in every situation is wrong.

Jaded on Sports

    These men are sports finance executives. I photographed them inside an arena in Boston.
    After the portrait session, my curiosity got the best of me. I visited the luxury seating area. Nobody was around. The arena was empty. I was impressed by the view from the luxury seats. But the vibe left me cold. Physical barriers ensured that nobody from the cheaper seats could wander anywhere near those expensive seats.
    There was a time when all fans—rich and poor—mingled in common areas like concessions and bathrooms. Nowadays, luxury suites segregate fans. Keep the rabble away from the rich.
    When I was a teen, a Boston Red Sox ticket cost around five dollars. Today the average price is 52 dollars.
    No longer do I attend pro sports events. Rarely do I watch them on television. The reasons are myriad. But in the final analysis, the greed of professional sports turned me away.

Keeping Their Cool

    Ever try resolving an issue with a corporation? The process is aggravating. You go through hoops to get a real human being on the telephone.
    Sometimes that person is a foreigner. His English speaking abilities are lousy. You grit your teeth, realizing the conversation will be difficult.
    Aside from all that, it’s hard to receive a satisfying outcome to your problem.
    Imagine if someone else complained for you?
    A husband and wife team (in the photo) made a living by complaining for consumers. For an hourly fee, they made the phone calls, and went through those hoops, until their clients issues were settled. I photographed them inside their home in Massachusetts.
    This twosome were expert complainers. As such, they were attune to the nuances of persuasion. They cited assertiveness and persistence as crucial traits.
    Shouting, threatening, and swearing were never done. They understood that the people on the other end of the line—phone reps at corporate calling centers—were swayed by emotions. A sweet approach boosted the couple’s success rate.
    Assertiveness is preferable to aggressiveness.

Turkey Tales

    Wild turkeys are hard to predict. 
    Yesterday, one stood beside a driveway in my town. I ventured close for a photo (seen above). The bird payed me little heed.
    On another occasion, I crept near a group—or peck— of them. They were moving among woods. They saw me and attacked. I beat a hasty retreat.
    Once I parked in the driveway at a friend’s property. Turkeys moved about his yard. I ignored them and went into the house. Later I approached my car. Half a dozen turkeys stood on the hood, roof, and trunk. They had crapped all over my car, including the windshield. I drove to a car wash. Cleaning the mess required two washings.
    In spite of those episodes, I enjoy watching turkeys. The same is true of birds in general.
    Bird watching enhances a person’s well being.

Building Number 4

Basketball hoop behind Building Number 4.

    An elderly man lay naked. It was summertime. He snoozed on the bank of a river in Massachusetts. His arms and legs were stretched out. Next to his ear lay a shaving razor. A rubber raft, tethered to a branch, floated nearby.
    Since his name was unknown to me, I’ll call him Jake.
    The location was rural. A cliff rose above Jake. Atop this bluff stood two boys. They noticed Jake basking in the sun. One of those boys was me. I was a teen at the time.
    My friend and I made a logical assumption: Jake had slipped away—or outright escaped—from a mental institution. It was located nearby, behind a tract of woods.
    We informed the institution about Jake. At the time, our action appeared sensible. Jake would probably need help. Not only that, some of the patients there, and possibly Jake, were criminally insane.
    Forty plus years have passed since then. The institution has long since closed.
    Yesterday I strolled the grounds. It was like walking through a ghost town, with decaying buildings, shuttered windows, and boarded up doors.
    I wondered where Jake had lived.
    It was impossible to know the functions of particular buildings. Numbers identified them, nothing else.
    I walked by the smaller buildings. They appeared likely to have housed patients. Building Number 4 caught my eye. The door was locked but not bordered up. I pressed a camera against glass.
    Decay was everywhere. A hallway led to a room shrouded in darkness. The scene was creepy. I shuddered at the thought of Jake being confined there.
    He had crept away from a depressing place. When I noticed him, he was doing more than basking in sunshine. He was basking in freedom.
    Today my heart is heavy. I regret turning in Jake.

Hallway is visible through window on front door.

Inevitable Fuss

Actor at Wayside Inn in Massachusetts impersonates Longfellow.

Listen my children and you shall hear,
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.
    
    Many Americans recognize those words. They’re from ‘Paul Revere’s Ride,’ a poem composed by poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
    Longfellow was a literary rock star. His fame extended from America to Europe. Fame did not turn him into a braggart. He was humble in personality.
    Yet he had detractors. For example, not everybody was enamored by the poem about Paul Revere. Some critics groused that it did not mention William Dawes, who also rode that night.
    Edgar Allen Poe, a famous writer and contemporary, accused Longfellow of imitating the styles of other poets.
    Does criticism follow everybody who achieves prominence? Might some high achievers be immune to the slings and arrows of disparagement? I don’t think so.
    Receiving criticism is normal on the path to greatness.

Pursuit of Happiness

    ‘America is Positively Duckie.’ A man towed that sign on the Kennebec River in Maine. It was July 4th weekend. Patriotism was on display.
    Over two centuries earlier, that river was the site of tension.
    Agents of the British Crown plied the waters. They searched for big trees with straight trunks. The reason was military. Ships of the Royal Navy used those trunks for masts. When a tree was chosen, the agents stamped a seal upon it. Colonists were barred from cutting down the tree.
    This policy—hogging the best trees—raised the dander of locals. Many of them earned their living by logging. The closer a tree was to the river, the easier it was to bring lumber to market.
     When the American Revolution broke out, these colonists along the river joined the cause. They must have read those words in the Declaration of Independence:
    …all men are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.
     And the pursuit of trees.

Pecking Orders

    I asked Keith Lockhart, conductor of the Boston Pops Orchestra, for a permission. Would he allow me to photograph him up close during a performance? I’d work fast, less than a minute. He said okay. The matter was resolved.
   Or so I thought. Another man with the orchestra suggested that I perform a courtesy. He told me to clear the idea with one of the violinists. I reacted with surprise. Why ask a musician for permission? The conductor had approved my request.
    Turns out, the violinist was the concertmaster. I conveyed my request to him. He consented. By adhering to a protocol, I had assured that things would go smoothly.
    All orchestras have a concertmaster. This person ranks second, below the conductor. The position requires exceptional talent.
    A concertmaster—usually a violinist—performs difficult solos. He liaisons between the conductor and the musicians. A concertmaster is more visible than his peers. He sits nearest to the conductor. A concertmaster is the last musician that takes to a stage. As he approaches, the other musicians pause from tuning up.
    Several other musicians—they’re called first chairs—also perform enhanced roles.
    Pecking orders are commonplace in organizations. They bestow status and power on individuals near the top.
    In some organizations, the pecking order is not determined by merit. Cynicism must breed among those at the bottom. For example, a friend of mine groused about his bosses. He said, “Scum always rises to the top.”
    Not all organizations fit that mode. Some, like orchestras, promote talented people into top slots. Sometimes cream rises to the top.

Truths Or Agendas

Prayer intention book at a Catholic shine in Massachusetts.

    Happy Father’s Day God! I noticed the message in a prayer intention book.
    God is a spirit. He can not be male or female in a physical sense. Yet in biblical references, God is presented with a masculine persona. Theologians debate this paradox.
    I perceive God as a male persona. Simplicity is my guide. Since Jesus described God as Father, than I will too.
    But not everyone is into simplicity. Some people are blessed with an exceptional capacity for insights. They’re called philosophers. They dig deeper.
  God must enjoy it when philosophers—or anyone for that matter—seek the truths and principals of human existence. Their opinions vary. They often—perhaps quite often—don’t get it right. God probably doesn’t mind. He can read into their hearts. He knows their intentions are sincere.
    But some people are not sincere. They push hidden agendas in the guise of seeking truths. God reads into their hearts too. I wonder how he reacts to them.

Message in prayer intention book.