Gulf of Mexico

My job sometimes is mysterious. Was just ending a three day photography shoot for a magazine with a writer, and using my real camera, I had just finished the day with this final photo. The upcoming article titled, "The Other Waterfront".  (Englewood Beach) 

Got home tired, had a few drinks and previewed the days work and noticed something odd. When the light was changing quickly, and shooting with my eye to the viewfinder - my concentration was on the subject - a "sunset" - with a vacationing threesome sipping champagne - and an odd couple mossing along "shelling".  Now viewing at home, at the far right periphery, I noticed a disturbance in the water.

At first glance from my monitor - I thought - a large shark feeding off the sandbar?  Or, just a pelican hitting the water?  A serene Gulf of Mexico, where life's commonalities are all mysterious.

Billy the "Birdman"

Crossing the Siesta Drive bridge yesterday, I noticed that Billy was back. It's been over a year since the Sheriff's Department evicted him from his old campsite. One, that was once well hidden and lodged deeply, from found materials, into the concrete under-structure of the 'north' bridge.

Now, he's out in the open and in full swing. A cook stove burning scraps of wood, his muffled boom-box playing off found batteries, and all near his treasured fur-skin bedding. This year for Billy - a newer' bicycle, plenty of fishing rods, several different cast nets to catch his bait (or his dinner), and surprisingly new - a canoe.

Intimidating to the outsider, he's actually a real sweetheart. Rumored to be from a well-to-do local family, Billy's been around most of his life. His guest chair, set up close to his own, always invites a sit-down conversation. Billy is philosophical and seemingly content, though when napping, he keeps a 'trip wire' tied with mono-filament and a steel leader placed between his toes.  

He mostly talks in the present - or might in mid sentence - jump to his feet with his fingers to his lips - sending out a loud shrill of a bird whistle. Then suddenly a sea hawk will appear - the 'Osprey' hitting the water hard - and then quickly gone with dinner in it's talons.  Concerning his sensitivity for winged creatures, Billy is always surrounded by his 'camp' pigeons (a rare sight near the bay) - and, they'll stay close by for their own safety.

I headed for the store and returned with a four-pack of PBR "tall boys" and we sat down and talked. We talked about our old mutual friends that we've lost over the past year - and today, I mentioned something of his new jewelry. Again, he's more comfortable in the present - describing his new "princess" bracelet, or the two keys around his neck, "One for Heaven - one for Hell".  And, when I ask about the future, he's suddenly uncomfortable, "I got no fuckin' where to go."

After someone files a complaint, he'll be gone. But, hopefully in the coming future, Billy the "Birdman" will be back with us once again.

the waiting room

Old men waiting ........ and, always including myself.

ahead of the law

 Motorcycling -  "Smile, I could be behind you".

recalling different generations

Two guns - two purposes. Guns inherited from two different generations of my family.

My grandfather collected and fired many weapons, but as a collector, he appreciated the design and craftsmanship, as well as their intended use for marksmanship.

My father was more focused on personal protection.  'Spencer' kept a 410 shotgun under his bed - and always, fully loaded. In his later years, when my father was diagonosed with demintia, I removed and unintentionally inherited his own personal choice - the "snake charmer".

I've always preferred that earlier generation - admiring the beauty and the marksmanship - and today, so far removed from those sobering headlines.

(grandfather)  R. Weiss 'target' rifle.

(father)  410 shotgun - the "Snake Charmer".

A bygone era

A time when Main Street was my familiar social and economic hub. And way back then, when Main Street ran forever, for so many countless blocks - from Sarasota's western bay front - to that far eastern end - the long gone, Atlantic Coast Line Rail Depot off of today's School Avenue.

The Bullet Hole was established in 1947 by Gordon and Caroline Bryre. The current owners, the Misantone family will soon be leaving Main Street - leaving behind one of my last recognizable storefronts that existed for 65 years.  And for me today, now remembering and revisiting that bygone era, Florida's oldest gun shop - the Bullet Hole.

went for a run

Chilly morning with the smell of orange blossoms in the air - and some resultant, swarming bees.

Breakfast in Arcadia - running 70 - 80 - 90 ......... lookin' serious, but felt good - even without that big smile.

the closet

Dressed, but - nowhere to go.

a new year from an unknown past

At the very end of last year 2012, I felt like I was hit with a baseball bat.

When my sister Caren was passing in December, and still in shock, I received a mysterious e-mail from my old Gallery outside Gainesville, FL (who once exhibited my work).  This personal inquiry to the gallery, was directed towards me.  Now, a forwarded e-mail from an unknown person, trying to resolve our mutual and mysterious pasts.

In my early teens, JoAnn McCourtney was my 'godsend'.  Adrift without direction after my mother died - JoAnn became not only my mother, but a dear and loving friend.  My (step-mother) JoAnn died suddenly during my first summer studying abroad.  And, after her death, and my return to the states in 1972, JoAnn's unresolved history became a quest.  My search for her bared little results.  So when that e-mail arrived out of the blue, there were more questions than answers.

JoAnn's niece, Elizabeth Wylie had finally contacted me. We both had a deep interest in this beautiful elusive woman, and both had come at this from opposite sides of a coin. We shared our knowledge - of each of our missing parts. So now, from forty something years ago, most of the pieces started to fit.

PHOTOS:  Elizabeth Wylie's family side of JoAnn's Wylie's early years - and mine, from those incredible and impressionable, later years with JoAnn McCourtney.

JoAnn's parents - Dorothy and Joe Wylie in Oklahoma.

JoAnn and her younger brother Joe.

JoAnn in High School in Oklahoma.

My father and JoAnn in the early sixties.

JoAnn in Sarasota in the mid-sixties

A portrait by Bobby Toombs which hung prominently in her living room on Lido Key.