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Friday, April 15, 2005

I've been urged over the years to do a book.  Lately, it seems that everyone I talk with says, "Why don't you do a book?"

Yeah, well - I started one two years ago and got overwhelmed trying to figure out how to organize it that I gave up.  For someone who does as much writing as I do - you'd think it wouldn't be such a big deal.  But it is.   I'm going to take another crack at it - but make it more modest.  Five or six chapters with say seven or eight images in each and some text.

Chapters that come to mind are:

Going Underground
Interior Moments
The Shadows
The Elements
Running on Empty

I don't know.  Maybe they don't need chapter headings.  Maybe just Roman Numerals would suffice and then I just need to figure out the flow of the thing and use Roman Numerals for the title:

Seven Photography Chapters
by Dave Beckerman
Copyright East 83rd Street Press
All Rights Reserved

10:32:31 PM    

Three Chums, Singing

3:59:22 PM    

Notes about the Mayor of Central Park (90 year old man doing headstands):

Alberto was born in Puerto Rico.  In 1935 he was living in the states, mostly into athletics, boxing, running etc. when he fell in love with a woman who had to return to Europe for some reason.  He had no money to follow her there so he stowed away on an ocean liner which took him to Spain.

I don't know what happened with the love affair but at some point he was penniless and trying to find a way back to the states from Spain.  He was sitting at the docks, trying to get work as a hand on a cargo ship but didn't have any luck.  He  was hungry and desperate.   One day, after several weeks of trying to find work as a shiphand,  he was at the dock when a man walked up to him, singled him out from all the other men around and told him about a ship that was looking for hands.  Through that connection he was able to leave Spain.

It turned out that was the last ship to leave port before the Spanish Civil War began.

Alberto wondered for years why that man, that he had never seen before, singled him out from all the other men trying to get work onto a ship.  How did that man even know that there was work to be had there.  He never saw the man again.

For decades he wondered about how he had gotten out.  He was convinced that as an illegal alien in Spain at the time he would have been locked up by Franco - perhaps killed.

Alberto had a close friend that he shared an apartment with for many years in New York.  He always asked this friend who that man was that had befriended him.  One day, after his close friend passed on, Alberto had a dream.  In the dream, the close friend finally answered his question about the man and told him:

"Alberto, ever since you left home at nineteen, your mother has been praying to God every day to watch over you.  It was God who finally listened to your mother's prayers and sent that angel to help you out."  The friend continued in the dream:

"I couldn't know this while I was still here in this world, but now I know and I can tell you."

Alberto then looked at me and said, "I can see that you are a man of this world.  You are not sure about the spirit."  He touched his heart, "But you are a man of imagination.  And they are connected.  Believe in your own imagination.  Without imagination there is nothing."

2:17:25 AM    

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