Monday, August 25, 2003



The Boys of Summer
Little League World Series
Williamsport, PA


Every year since 1947, dozens of boys between the ages of 9 and 12 descend upon Williamsport, PA for the Little League World Series. Although national television coverage by ABC and ESPN has led to commercialization of the event, the kids who play Little League still remain true to the cornerstones of Character, Courage, and Loyalty. Unlike the stories of overzealous hockey dads or soccer moms, this event seemed to transcend the rivalry between teams even though the game was competitive. Little League bans tobacco and alcohol from its games, and the result is a tremendous family atmosphere.

This year, some 40,000 people watched the final game at Howard Lamade Stadium, with over 350,000 visitors attending the 10-day tournament. Teams from around the world competed, and in the end, the Japanese team defeated Boynton Beach to win its 3rd title in five years.

I was fortunate to bump into Suzy Allman from the New York Times who helped to sneak me into to various photo positions and talk “shop” with me during the event. As I was wrapping up my shooting on Saturday night, I sat down at a public eating area to eat a couple hot dogs. A few minute later, a tired volunteer usher sat near me with her salad.

Veryl Simmons from Wellsborough, PA has ushered the World Series for the past thirteen years. I told her about my journey around the US, and how I was looking for things to photograph, and she told me about a game that is held right before the final World Series game on Sunday.

The Challenger’s League is a division of Little League for physically and mentally disabled children. Each child is paired with a buddy who helps them bat, base run, and field. The teams practice once a week, and play 3-inning games vs. non-Challenger Little League teams. Veryl had me inspired, so I called up Suzy and approached her with the idea of taking portraits of the kids, and she agreed.

We shot some portraits the next day. Not stellar work, by any stretch of the imagination, as we were pressed for time, and didn’t have the benefit of an empty field. But the pictures were meant for the kids and their families, and we did our best to shoot them like any other “normal” athlete would be photographed.

The game started, and we watched in amazement as kids with limited physical and mental faculty managed to hit a ball pitched to them by their coach. Even the most severely handicapped children had expressions of pure joy on their face, and squeals of laughter as they rounded third base, and we cheered as all the boys of summer headed for home.








Thursday, August 21, 2003



The Breeding Barn
Shelburne Farms
Shelburne, VT


Jeff Beer is the only person I know in Burlington, well, in all of Vermont. He is the brother of an old colleague and his company, Select Design, used to make t-shirts for my old company. Select Design ended up becoming a pretty big company, providing shirt, hats and other items to companies like Pepsi and Timberland. Being the courteous person that I am, I popped into to his office to say hello.

As it turns out, he was on his way out to Utah on a sales call, but he did direct me a few miles down the road to the Magic Hat Brewery and Shelburne Farms. Magic Hat is one of many microbreweries that has had some marketing success in the past few years. Their factory is in a non-descript building, and offers a tour and a small factory store filled with various tschoskies (made by Select Design, incidentally). I tried with little success to gain access to the factory floor to take pictures thinking that photographing a single bottle getting sterilized, filled, capped, and labeled would really make photographic history. So I left a bit disappointed.

A few minutes later, I pulled into the Shelburne Farms parking lot still thinking about the lost opportunity to photograph beer. A small information booth offered a guided tour for $9, so I anted up the fee and waited in a small, air-conditioned room for a multi-projection slide show made in the 80s to begin.

It turns out that Shelburne Farms has a pretty remarkable history. Established in 1886 by William Seward Webb (grandson of the notorious Secretary of State William Seward who purchased Alaska) and Lila Vanderbilt Webb (one of the ultra-rich Vanderbilt progeny) as a model farm for architecture, it was originally composed of 32 separate farms. In an vision to create a unified estate, they hired Frederick Law Olmstead, the man primarily responsible for designing New York’s Central Park and architect Robert H. Robertson who designed many buildings on the campuses of the Ivy League.

Lorrie O’Donovan, a volunteer tour guide, took us around the 1400 acre property on an interesting, but not overwhelming tour. After sampling some of the farm’s award winning cheeses, the driver pulled me aside and told me that if I waited 15 minutes, he’d take me around since he saw my camera gear.

Tim Cummings originally hails from Tennessee, but has been a globetrotter for the last decade having spent time in New Zealand and Canada. He is also between degrees in ethnomusicology, and has a special interest in the bagpipes, and explained to me some of the limitations of the instrument (only an octave range, with a mixolydian scale, etc). He landed driving the tours around at Shelburne Farms after randomly picking Burlington as a place he wanted to live, and on the suggestion of a violinist friend who told him he should check out the farm.

We hopped in my car, and Tim escorted me around to the cool stuff that most people don’t get to see. The Breeding Barn was the largest open span building in the US until 1932 with a roof that spans 2 acres. No longer in use for livestock, it now plays hosts to benefit concerts. Tim also practices his bagpipes several times a week. He showed me the old Dairy Farmhouse, and some of the livestock, and a place where Beeken Parsons, master furniture makers, stored their wood and build their furniture. We walked past the yellow “Caution” tape and “Do Not Enter” signs, and saw some really cool parts of the farm that were well over 100 years old.

The thoughts of photographing beer vanished pretty quickly. As the light departed, I got to witness another amazing sunset on Lake Champlain, and the day turned out to be quite a success.


(The furniture makers store their wood to show where it came from in the tree)


Wednesday, August 20, 2003



Sunset
Lake Champlain
Burlington, VT


Apparently I wasn't listening when Jeffrey told me that Burlington was located on a lake surrounded by mountains. The drive up 89-North was spectacular as the sun dipped into a cloudless sky. The orange light at sunset, a favorite of photographers, combined with the warm summer air has made me nostalgic as I drive around. The old Volkswagon ad invoked "Fahrvergnügen," and indeed, there is something very cathartic about driving around without much traffic.

I arrived into Burlington as the sun hung very low on the horizon, and as I drove towards town, I saw the glimmer of water. A few minutes later, I stood at the edge of a dock. The air was warm, the light was pink, and as the sun dropped below the mountains, I wandered off to dinner.

Monday, August 18, 2003



Old Friends
"Jack Gray's House"
Block Island, RI


When I started my journey across the US, I had a notion that I would have to stay focused and solitary. But taking a trip across the US isn't about confinement, even if I'm striving to push myself photographically. A last minute decision to join old friends on Block Island proved to be enjoyable as well as prescient. While we were relaxing at a local cafe eating a lobster roll, much of the east coast was hit by the big blackout of 2003. We watched in amazement at the spectacle that was unfolding, but since information was trickling out slowly, we went back to our day.

On our last day, we rented scooters and drove around the perimeter of the island for a brief two hours. Despite the dangers of riding, I understand now why motorcyclists are so passionate about their craft. With the wind whipping through my hair, I glided over narrow roads, and without a care in the world.

Tuesday, August 12, 2003



Student Volunteers
John Kerry Regional Headquarters
Concord, NH


Although the primary elections are still half a year away, South Main Street in Concord, NH is already dotted with small regional offices of various presidential candidates. A far cry from the Arnold Schwarzeneggers of the world, John Kerry is a decorated Vietnam War Veteran turned US Senator, who has articulated his positions on the major topics confronting the US today. Manila folders are taped to the walls with one-page positions on everything from healthcare to foreign policy.

The volunteers and paid staff are inevitably young. As one staffer puts it, they know that the young people will work hard for not a lot of money. At this point in the campaign, the office is relatively quiet unless Sen. Kerry is in town. The real fireworks begin around September when the campaign trail starts to heat up, and then of course, when the Primary Election rolls around in January, it's long hours seven days a week.



Catchin' Up

A fence surrounding a historic fort. Augusta, ME


A catch of mackerel by fisherman in Eastport, ME, the eastern-most city in the US.


Jordan, watches over his owner Pam White, who operates a hot dog stand near Bar Harbor, ME.


Two boys look out onto the ocean at Popham Beach, ME.


Looking for George Bush, Sr was futile amongst the horde of tourist shops. Kennebunkport, ME.

I've been most suprised by the number of nail and tanning salons that dot the landscape, even in the smallest towns. Either people are vain, or they just like to feel good about themselves. The number of fast food chains is staggering as expected, and might help to partially explain why we have such a chronic obesity problem.

Saturday, August 09, 2003



Justin Colpitts
Founder, Calais Skatepark Committee
Calais, ME


In 2000, as a sophomore in high school, Justin Colpitts decided that the small bordertown of Calais needed a place where he and others could ride BMX bikes and skateboards. With the guidance and support of his tech-ed teacher, Randy McCormick, the two created a plan to develop a skatepark adjacent to the municipal athletic complex.

Using AutoCAD and Powerpoint, and with the help of other members of the tech-ed class, the two presented their vision to the City Council at the high school cafeteria. With the council’s blessing, space from the city, and donations from local businesses, the Calais Skatepark Committee (CSC) opened the easternmost skatepark in the US during the Summer of 2002. In 100+ degree weather, students were involved with setting up the initial skating ramps on the newly paved blacktop.

Since that time, the vision has grown, with students continuing to be the driving force in this little piece of community development with a capital investment exceeding $100,000. Most recently, a concession stand was dedicated after being designed and built by tech-ed students at the high school, and then moved by the truck driving students into its permanent home. The kids have keys to the various facilities and are responsible for the upkeep of the facilities from mowing of the grass surrounding the park to locking up the concession stand, which helps to generate funds for the park.

At an annual skating competition, McCormick tells the crowd of several hundred that “I keep telling the kids, if they can design it, we can build it.” He hopes to use the success of the park as a model for other communities to turn student energy and enthusiasm into projects that have a positive impact on the community.

Joke Time:
My friend Dave and his family used to vacation in Calais, ME as a child. Of course, he and his sister got into arguments about how to pronounce the name of the town. Dave insisted that it was pronounced "Cal-lus," but his sister pointed out the French-Canadian influence and argued that it was pronouned "Cal-lay." They decided to settle it once and for all by asking a local, so they walked down to the local dairy queen and approached a kid on a bike.

"My sister and I are having an argument on how to pronounce the name of this place," he started. "So really slowly, say the name of this place."

The kid looked at them increduously and then with disdain said, "DAI-RY QUEEEEEN."

I looked for the Dairy Queen. There is none. Damn Dave and his made-up stories.

Friday, August 08, 2003



Brother Don & Brother Kenneth
Friar’s Bakehouse
Bangor, Maine


It’s only 6am, but Brother Don has already been awake for four hours. The smell emanating from the smallish café in downtown Bangor is, well, heavenly. My first bite into a freshly baked blueberry muffin confirms why the Friar’s Bakehouse has left its mark in the small northeastern town. An hour later, Brother Kenneth rolls in to open the café to the public, and they immediately start to roll in – one couple deciding on a dozen muffins and a couple loafs of bread.

With a small, manual dough mixer and $7500 from a patron, the two Episcopalian friars opened up shop four years ago, and began producing bread to finance their religious outreach. They opened on a Friday with only $38 remaining in their bank account, and immediately, the bread was a hit. The operation continued to grow into a full-scale, entrepreneurial business that includes challah on Fridays, which has become very popular with the reformed Jewish population of Bangor.

Brother Don’s culinary secret? In a former career, he was a hotel chef for 15 years, and later worked at a bakery. The father of three studied music in college, and met Brother Kenneth while working as a teacher at a Roman Catholic private school that Brother Kenneth ran. Both men eventually answered a higher call, and have now dedicated their lives to serving the gospel.

The bakery’s success has exceeded all expectation, and the pair has learned to limit business hours from Wednesday through Saturday only in order to work on their religious pursuits and give them peace of mind. Nonetheless, the phenomenal success of the business has allowed them to travel to places like Mexico to help the indigenous people of the Yucatan who lead impoverished lives. Over the past few years, they have helped the small community with everything from plumbing and electricity, to setting up schools. Although the brothers do the bulk of their work in the US from prison visits to hospices to running their own services, the gospel calls them to travel to all nations, and more pragmatically, “There are a lot more people in need in other parts of the world,” says Brother Don, “Especially in the Third World.”

Despite the PR exposure that has resulted from their novel operation, the brothers remain grounded and focused on their mission of helping others while making delicious food. One can only proclaim, “Thank God!”

Thursday, August 07, 2003



Dennis Tracy, 10th Degree Black Belt
Founder, Tracy Institute of Self Defense
Ellsworth, ME


Tucked away on a one-lane highway to Bar Harbor, ME, is a small dojo built into the ground floor of a house. A large gravel driveway is empty by day, but at 6pm on Tuesday through Thursday, it is filled with the cars of students. Dennis Tracy founded his school in 1971 following an introduction to the martial arts in college. His college sweetheart, Karen, eventually became his wife, and while living in Connecticut, she decided to take up martial arts as well. Karen was the only woman, in a sea of men, and earned the respect of other through hard work, and eventually became one of the top-ranked women in New England. Dennis also made it a point to let the other men know that they could fight him if they had a problem with his wife there.

From humble beginnings, the Tracy Institute is now one of the largest schools in the Northeast with ten schools in Maine and Canada, all run by former students. Tracy still runs a monthly black-belt class that is attended by most of these instructors. Students from the ages of three to seventy-two (40% of his adult class is women) participate in a sweat-filled practice that emphasizes physical as well as mental discipline. During brief moments of rests between grueling drills, Tracy eulogizes to his class about life, and how his cornerstones of attitude and respect can be translated into everyday life – a philosophy that seems to be embraced by all the regulars.

The Institute is a family affair – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, brothers and sisters all participate in the same class, even sparring with one another on occasion. After the kids’ class is finished, they are all invited to swim in the pool, while the adults practice. Tracy insists that it’s just because it would go unused otherwise, but one gets the sense that he is trying to engender a sense of community in the small town of Ellsworth, as much as he is teaching a martial art.

Now in his 50s, Tracy is still an imposing figure, regularly beating men half his age during sparring sessions. And it doesn’t look like he’ll be slowing down anytime soon. “We often think about what we are going to do in three, five, ten years,” he tells the class, “but I think we know what we’re going to be doing…it’s this.”