A Change Of Venue

Well, if they freed me from this prison,
If that railroad train was mine,
I bet I’d move out over a little,
Farther down the line,
Far from Folsom Prison,
That’s where I want to stay,
And I’d let that lonesome whistle,
Blow my Blues away.

After prison riots that occurred throughout the middle to late 1970s caused the closure of the by now infamous B.C. Pen, I started polling local and regional politicians to allow me access to the jail so I could photograph it. I was turned down repeatedly. Various excuses, both official and anecdotal, were given for the refusal, but I persisted.

The prison, it was said, remained in a state of total disrepair and decay after a particularly nasty riot and its population had been transferred to other correctional facilities across the country. In fact, if reports were to be believed, everything was left where it fell that final day prior to the prisoners’ relocation. The Pen was officially closed for good in 1980, and all but forgotten. The subject came up in the press once in awhile as to what would be done with the structure and land it sat on, but no one ever seemed to agree on the proper approach.

My photographic interest was historical certainly; the Pen was rife with stories about its sordid past, attempted break-outs and even it’s cemetery which still exists to this day. A young woman who worked at the prison, Mary Steinhauser, was shot and killed by the Emergency Response Team during a hostage crisis in 1975. The press had had a field day with that, speculating that perhaps she had been targeted because of a fling she may or may not have had with an inmate.

Sure, all of that was in the back of my mind. But I was also gripped by an intense 12-year-old-like curiosity. How cool would it be to roam through this giant granite castle taking pictures? Cool. Very cool. (more…)

Day 18 - Wednesday December 26, 2001 - 2:03pm

It was Fitzgerald who said,

“Sometimes I think I’m a character in one of my novels.”

I understand exactly what he means. If old F. Scott had been a travel writer he might have uttered these words instead:

“Sometimes I feel like an expatriate in my own country.”

I certainly do. (more…)

Day 17 - Tuesday December 25, 2001 - 9:53pm

Christmas Day… in Fiji… or is it…? OK - I won’t go there again.

Christmas Day and the only thing that’s white around here are the ten — sorry, dix — French tourists who arrived yesterday. Believing they are in Tahiti (buy a fucking map!), they insist on speaking their langue maternelle apparently oblivious to the fact that no one else speaks or understands French. One of their ‘tribe’, a woman I believe (she had a little less facial hair so I’m assuming it was a female), is so disgusted with the way the drinks are being mixed that she commandeers one of the bars and insists on making drinks ‘the right way’. No wonder the Americans became so ‘buddy-buddy’ with the French during the battle for independence - they share the attitude. But who taught whom? (more…)

Some new shots up on the Flickr site. I’ve been finding many old shots in many old boxes. Some negs, some prints, some colour, some B&W, some old, some not so old. They don’t really have any category so I created a set called, ‘Flotsam’. That’s where most can be found. There are a few other scattered around as well. Enjoy.

Last year at this time — Christmastime to be precise — I spent most of the holiday season sopping up the water from not one, not two but THREE floods in my condo building.

The first was caused by a stuck drain and an overflowing washing machine in a suite down the hall on December 17th.

The second was the result of a faulty hot water feed pipe that burst on December 20th but wasn’t noticed until midway through the 21st.

Keeping with the Biblical theme of the season, my neighbour across the hall, Noah (it’s Christmas - would I lie to you?!), experienced a stuck drain in the kitchen while simultaneously suffering a burst pipe in his bathroom on December 25th. He wasn’t home at the time. I was.

These three events were completely unrelated believe it or not, though tied at the hip by one unmistakable common trait: they all involved copious amounts of water that wasn’t supposed to be there!

Between the ship traffic in the hallway and the carpet surfing I was still able to make a turkey and all the trimmings on the big day. I have to say, though, it was the first time I’ve overseen a dinner of any kind attired in a slicker and gully jumpers!

Well, guess what?! Flash flood… sorry: flash forward a year. Exactly.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and fell flat on my ass!
I stuck out my hand to help break my fall,
I was sitting in water clear up to my ba…

Anyway, you get the picture!

Wet carpets, wet window sill and a TV set in dire need of a sponge!

I guess the eaves along the roofline are just no match for the rains we’ve had this past three weeks. They’re overflowing and it appears as though there’s a crack in the window seal on the outside wall which is allowing the water to get in. And it is - lots of it.

I guess this is my new Christmas tradition - water torture!

Wringing out AND ringing in, I remain your obedient servant.

Day 16 - Monday December 24, 2001 - 9:53pm

Christmas Eve Day… in Fiji… or is it…?

The French in Vietnam and West Africa, the Germans in North and South Africa, the Spanish in Mexico, South and Central America, the Portuguese in Malaysia and Macau, the Dutch all over the east (Dutch East India Company, anyone…?), and the British in… well… everywhere else it seems. Although colonialism in most of its ‘original’ forms is dead, you’d swear the recent events with Mugabe in Zimbabwe have the Brits (and more than a few former Rhodesians one assumes) pining for the good ol’ days of Ian Smith.

It begs the question:

Had the missionaries not moved in all those years ago, what would Fiji look like today? What would their traditions be?

Tourism is the largest industry in the world and shows no signs of abating. The country of Azerbaijan is redecorating former Soviet politburo dachas on the Caspian Sea and turning them into time-shares. There’s no reason to assume that Fiji — without ‘benefit’ of European settlement — wouldn’t have jumped on the bandwagon and embraced tourism as a means to help feed the government coffers and prop up sugar cane exports, dwindling now as they are. (more…)

Day 15 - Sunday December 23, 2001 - 1:30pm

Throat infection, bad cold, pneumonia, plague, Ebola - pick one! Fuck, have I been sick the last two days.

I went to see the nurse (Diana is her name - large jolly Fijian woman doling out chemicals faster than Elvis’ connection!). She took one look at me and gave me a box of Strepsils. No, no, no, I said - this is serious. It requires serious medicine. “Oh well,” she said, “then you need some of THIS!” She handed me a pudgy mitt full of amoxicillin antibiotic capsules and suggested I take two every eight hours. Let’s see… 250mg per capsule, times two equals 1500mg per day. Fine, you’re the doc.

HO-LEE FUCK! I haven’t been that stoned since Santana’s second set at Altamont! (more…)

Day 14 - Saturday December 22, 2001 - Noon

BLECH! Still sick. See Sunday.

Now I’m hiding in Honduras,
I’m a desperate man.
Send lawyers, guns and money.
The shit has hit the fan!

You may have seen the following Christmas missive floating about the Internets recently, then again maybe you haven’t.  It’s funny and at the same time all too painful considering the place we’ve all arrived at.  Must not offend anyone of any stripe, colour or — Yahweh, Abraham, Allah and God forbid! — religious leaning (did I miss any deities…?!)

What makes this so funny and indeed a true reflection of our times is that I received this from a politician I am acquainted with.  He sent this out attached to a ‘traditional’ classic Santa cartoon graphic to many of his friends and colleagues and tomorrow will be called on the carpet for having offended someone with it.  That’s right - someone (who DIDN’T vote for him as it turns out) wants to ‘whack his peepee’, as Cheech and Chong used to say.  Ironically, his lawyer says the disclaimer at the end of it may shield him from any ‘action’.  I shit you not - this is true! (more…)

Day 13 - Friday December 21, 2001 - 9:00pm

Dick. Zilch. Zip. Nada. Nothing.

Still raining. See Saturday.