I went to see Clarence last Friday and he was in good spirits. He had been moved to a hospital type bed and was on oxygen and morphine, so, understandably, he was in a great mood.
We joked about a lot of things as we passed the time, then he said to me "I really like your hat...can you order me one?"
Not knowing how long he would be around, I said "Here, take this one and I'll order another. Then I'll come out and we'll be twins."
After I put my hat on his head, I took my phone and launched the camera app so he could see himself. A goofball to the end, he posed for the shot.
My last pic of Clarence.
For all my Kansas City photography friends, a “Celebration of Life” service is scheduled for Saturday (tomorrow) at 1:00 pm at Grace Baptist Church in Gardner, KS.
I would suggest everyone bring along Clarence’s favorite camera, but he would say “you know that’s my favorite camera” when seeing just about every old camera...except Russian cameras...and the Kodak Retina Reflex III.
Nikon Nikkormat “that’s my favorite camera” or “the Leica M3 is my favorite camera in the whole world” or “you know that Voigtlander Vitessa is my favorite camera” or “the old Rolleiflexes are the best cameras ever made” or ... well, it’s a long list.
But take him a FED5 and his eyes would roll with “I don’t work on Russian cameras any more...I can’t stand them” (but he did for me, anyway).
I'm just a guy who finds the world an interesting place and likes to capture certain moments with a camera. They aren't for sale, or anything. I just like them. Well, usually. I've taken a lot of photos I don't like, as well.
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They say “you can’t go back.” Well, I just did it. I threw a few clothes in a bag, packed some cameras and film, put on my boots, my hat, and headed south toward Lamar, Missouri in my ‘96 Ford F-150 with Biggie in the back seat.
"The ice is wicked today," one of them said. "You're going to see some crashes."
As I walked along the sea in Reykjavik, Iceland on this perfect afternoon, taking shots of the rocks various people had stacked on the shore and enjoying a cigar, an older lady stopped her bike behind me and started talking to me in what I assume was Icelandic.“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,”
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