Eddie Bo

March 9, 2009.

Eddie was all smiles the day I took his picture. The wall I found for him was just around the corner from his uptown house, and had a great Katrina significance (Although the New Orleans Walls book is not about Katrina — hence the absence of direct Katrina stories— the storm has had such an impact on the people — thus becoming a part of the local culture — that I felt it had to be somehow referred to in the book). For that reason, it was important to get a rather serious photo, but again, Eddie was all smiles, which made my goal a little tricky to reach. Eventually, I got what I wanted.
This was the last picture of Eddie. Ten days later, he had a massive heart attack. During a later trip, his sister shared with me that Eddie had been looking forward to the photo shoot, and that he purposely chose the cap with the Fleur de Lys. Although I didn't want anything distracting from the wall on the models' clothing, I made an exception for Eddie and didn't photoshop the emblem out.
I will always remember the last time I saw Eddie, when he entered his house and closed the iron door. He had a big smile on his face...



Fats Domino's daughter called me that night to inquire about the New Orleans Walls project. She listened to me carefully, then finally said, "I will call you tomorrow morning after his doctor's appointment. We'll see if he's up to it."
I DID hold my breath...

Irma Thomas

March 9, 2009.

When I called Irma with Jan Ramsey's good word, it didn't take her long to nonchalantly accept to pose for the project. At that time, a friend was letting me use his car, but I didn't know for sure when it would be available. So Irma kindly offered to pick me up and drive to the French Quarter where I had spotted a couple of walls on Dauphine Street (Irma lives several miles away from the French Quarter, in New Orleans East).
In the first wall, I could see a face (a little scary, but still...) and was trying to get some sort of an interaction between Irma and the "face" (upper right on the photo).



Then I decided to move one house over to the right and snapped a few more pictures. All along, I was talking to Irma while taking pictures, which she didn't realize, so by the time I was done, she thought we hadn't started yet!

Irma's photo for the book came from the second wall. As soon as I applied the double-exposure, I knew it was a keeper. However, I didn't know how Irma would react to it (it's purposely blurry and you can't see her face all that well). So when I went back a few months later to get her story, I showed her the photo and thankfully she was fine with it (By-the-way, not everyone got to see their photo before the book came out).

Irma is another one of those who knew exactly which story they would share for the book. With all the "models" I tried as much as possible to get stories everyone could somehow relate to, hence avoiding the "fame" thing. This wasn't an issue with Irma. I found her to be humble and straight forward. In the last paragraph of her story, Irma shares that getting her diploma was more important to her than winning her Grammy Award. I was all packed up and ready to go when she said that, but the comment made such an impression on me that I took my little recorder out again and asked her to repeat the phrase. It's written in the book just as it came out of her mouth.

March 8, 2009 — part 1.

March 8, 2009, turned out to be a particularly busy day, with 5 photo shoots planned between 11am and 6:30pm, from the French Quarter, to the 9th ward, to uptown, and to the West Bank.

As much as I stayed quite isolated during my first trip to New Orleans a few months earlier, this second visit was an excuse to reconnect with old friends. John Autin, pianist and owner of Rabadash Records, is one of those. The day I went to visit him and his wife Jill, Lindsay Mendez, the youngest recording artist to be signed by the New Orleans-based label, was in the studio with her dad. When John told them about the New Orleans Walls project, they both let me know immediately they'd love for Lindsay to be a part of it.
Two days later, we met in the French Quarter. It had to be a sunny day for the photo I had in mind to work. Lindsay showed up with her mom at 11:00am as planned, wearing a black dress. The sun was out and the photo turned out great (once you see it in the book, you'll understand).



The next stop was in the Upper 9th ward, at the Musicians Village where Little Freddie King lives. I met Freddie years ago when I worked for Orleans Records producer Carlo Ditta. Freddie is as sweet as can be, always has a smile on his face (at least every single time I visited him), but is hard to track down when you live in North Idaho. Since I was in town, I just showed up at his gig, and the next day, I picked him up at his place. Freddie was ready for the photo, all dressed in black, with a chain full of keys hanging down almost to his knees. I had spotted a cemetery wall not far from the Musicians Village, which is where we headed for. The photo shoot took a mere 3 minutes.
When I returned several months later to get his story, Freddie knew exactly what moment of his life he was going to share, and yet it's a story his manager had never heard before.



Day to be continued...

note: in case you haven't read any of the past posts, the pictures shown here are not the ones featured in the New Orleans Walls book.

March 8, 2009 — part 2.

An hour after taking Little Freddie King's picture, I was uptown, knocking on Guitar Slim, Jr. door.
Most of the appointments I had during those five trips to New Orleans between September 2008 and May 2010 had to be scheduled just a few days before, if not the day of the photo shoot. I'd call people from Sandpoint to make arrangements, and most of the time I'd be asked, "Are you in town?" to which I responded, " Not yet." And I would be told, "Oh, then call back when you're in town!" Does that sound familiar?? Eventually, I got used to it, and for some reason, it all worked out.
Most people who see Guitar Slim's wall picture for the first time have a strong reaction to it. As far as I'm concerned, I think his story is pretty powerful. It's definitely out there (some people would say crazy!) but I will tell you this: he didn't make it up for me. The way he shared his story was real and sincere. He even took me to the house where it happened!



By the time I got to June Yamagishi's house, I was starting to feel tired, and was hoping to get some action shot to kind of wake up. As I drove by June's lower Garden District neighborhood, I found the ideal wall: bright red and black, perfectly alive. Now, I hadn't met June yet, and for some reason I thought the guy was in his 20's. Turns out he's more in his 50's, so when I first saw him I thought my plans wouldn't work out. As delicately as possible, I asked how his health was (I know, that's tacky — but I was on a mission!) and as only he can say it, June responded "good, good!"
Well, he took me by surprise: the guy could jump alright, higher than anticipated:



The day ended on the West Bank, by Algiers Point where John Autin lives. I never went to that neighborhood while living in New Orleans, but if I ever were to move back, I would seriously consider Algiers Point. The view to New Orleans is so beautiful, and the French Quarter is just a Ferry ride away. I love it!!
Back to Autin. That crumbling wall must have been waiting for us before giving way to gravity. Of course, it's no longer standing, but I'm so glad I was able to capture it.

Break

I somewhat managed to keep the blog on the roll before going to New Orleans a couple of weeks ago, but am now having a hard time getting back into it after visiting in just 10 days almost all the people who posed for the book. Bear with me, I'm working on it...

Coco Robicheaux

March 7, 2009.

When I think about Coco Robicheaux, the word "cool" comes to mind. My American-born husband thinks that the term doesn't mean anything anymore, that it's just a vague "blah" people use all the time, rather exposing a shortage of vocabulary. Maybe so, but I didn't grow up with the word, which could explain why I can relate to it and still use it*. Coco is cool when he talks, definitely when he sings (although "cool" by itself doesn't do him justice: Coco has an amazing voice!); and look at those pants: aren't they sooo cool? On top of it all, Coco Robicheaux is the coolest story teller. Most of the stories in the book were recorded, then transcribed. I had to listen to them over and over again to write them down, so when I read the stories now, I actually hear in my head the voice of the narrator. And I can tell you this: Coco telling his story was very cool! (Wouldn't it be "cool" to get Coco to come along and read his story for the first book signing in New Orleans? — By-the-way, his story in the book is written exactly as he told it to me.)

Coco Robicheaux and Jon Cleary live in the same neighborhood, near the Mississippi River. There is a levee with a very interesting wall not far from either house, so interesting that when the photo I took with Jon didn't work out the way I expected it to (nothing wrong with Jon — in fact, he was great; just my shortcoming), I went back with Coco. And did it work that time! His picture in the book is one of my favorites. Here is a little glimpse of the wall:




Saturday night and still no word from Adonica. At that point, I was remaining hopeful about Fats Domino (although I only had 3 days left in New Orleans), but most-of-all I was becoming very encouraged with the photos (Every night, after downloading them onto my computer, I'd watched with awe their metamorphosis when subjected to double exposure. Kind of like when I used to be in the darkroom waiting for the image to appear in the developer bath, if anyone out there can relate to that!)




* It DOES make a difference which language you are raised with: I can cuss all I want in English, most of these "bad" words don't mean anything to me. Even after 20 years living in this country. Really. On the other hand, there are some words in French I would never dare to say...

J Monque' D

March 7, 2009.

I learned more about the blues from the 20 minutes or so spent with J Monque' D than from the ten years I lived in New Orleans. Well, not exactly (my husband was a street performer playing the blues when I met him 22 years ago — anyone remember the Big Mess Blues Band?), but James lives the blues, in fact, he'll tell you he IS the blues! The man is passionate about it, and I'd say he has quite an intense personality altogether, in a very touching way. The sincerity, the passion with which he shared his story was both surprising and moving. Surprising because I didn't expect to see big tears from this big man, and touching... because I didn't expect to see big tears from this big man! The event that James recounted was still as vivid to him that day in May, 2010 (If you've been following this blog, you already know that the idea to get stories didn't come until later in the project), as when it happened 30 years before. But you'll have to read it in the book!
Monque' D's picture is also one of those that had a detail sneak up on me. Furthermore in this case, I think the detail is what makes the picture. And again, I have to humbly admit it was not intentional. When you get the book (hmm...), look for "eyes" in the wall. I didn't see them when I took the picture, but the weirdest thing is James' expression, and the orientation of his face: he's looking toward the eyes! C.R.E.E.P.Y!! I LOVE it!!!


Eddie Bo's phone call that morning was a relief, as well as a very sweet re-connection. I used to know Eddie when I lived in New Orleans but had lost touch with him after moving to Idaho in 2000. He sounded great, and we made plans to meet two days later at his uptown house.

As for Fats Domino, my Fairy Godmother was working her magic, as she told me to expect a phone call from Fats' daughter, Adonica.